Soumya Scribbles...

They say there are three seasons now. I differ. I say there is only one, greed. But we have remained the same. With ours and with mine With a mind selfishly claiming 'divine'. We have blamed and awaited a full moon. Have feared the scorching Sun, Back-stabbed the winter with a prayer of spring. Mocking this obstinacy, it has rained in winters, Clouds have shaded some summer noons, Autumn leaves have never denied the gravity. The rainbow we see bent with stripes across the horizon, Was straight until you & I realized that the earth is round. SoUmY@

A pen. A pen and a paper. A pen and a paper and a plot. A pen and a paper and a plot and a poet. A poet and a plot and a paper and a pen. A poet and a plot and a paper. A poet and a plot. A poet. A perfect palindrome? Starts and ends in uselessness. SoUmY@

I often stop by the mirror and see If the diary behind my back overshadows me. I know its not possible. Because physics has rules that sets lights straight. But in this world of poets and stories They have a different rule that even they don't know! I fear, One day I will not be fast enough To chase down the words I believe to have caged. I have seen people who are phobic to noise. Trust me, it is still better than silence. SoUmY@

6:00 AM - Alarm clock. 8:00 AM - Office calls. 1:00 PM - Lunch break 6:00 PM - Love awaits. 8:00 PM - Love departs. A routine that we follow is named Love. Difference? Is of a film to that of a theater. How ' much ' do you want? One pound of flesh? no more, no less. Or may be two stanzas full of four lines. One will say the other betrayed, The other will protest under another curtain. If you can not find love Inside the pauses, After the lines, Beyond the adjectives that die down to yet another punctuation, you haven't really felt love, have you? And if you have, still set the alarm clock to a time convenient, You will never know how time runs by and tide awaits Where love lies dead but still pretends. SoUmY@

Purposeless is the soul That lives for his, And is owned by others. To share a word Through love or award Transgresses the barriers And shows us the world that breathes together. A bond that frees us more Binds us less and respects Till infinity tires and rest. SoUmY@ [p.s.- The award logo (butterfly award) is generously passed on to me by Usha ma'am and Sashu , two amongst my very few inspirations @ blogging. Continuing the trend, lemme pass this award link to Rukhiya Cinderella and anyone who finds poetry respectable, its for you. Own it because this logo can not find a better place but your musings museum. So, as Instructed in the Ways of Award Presentation and Conferring, this is what has to be done, as I understand, from Usha ma'am :) 1. Put the logo on the blog. by downloading the picture and adding it as a picture widget 2. Add a link to the person who presented it to you. 3. Pass this one, and link other bloggers that you'd like to share it with.

Hopes are white Nights! I know them black. I met a man the other day He sees but never observes. What is the difference between two lives When at the end you see black and the other observes death? Is the pain any less and certain? I love to see kites flying Do they mean independence? You fly high with your greed strung... A rooted flight, How much can you pay for such freedom? I know I talk gibberish, I have grown old now. I see white and black In stripes of unknown dimensions. But you? You have an irreparable wound of shallowness. I see your blood and that is not blue Will it ever coagulate? You fear, I laugh. You can never know how porous you are; I know. I saw your soul walking down the street that day. You were too busy selling your dreams. SoUmY@ [p.s. -> hemostasis is the cessation of blood loss from a damaged vessel. Coagulation is its defense mechanism docs, pardon me for if I am wrong]

There were times when I used to find nature selfish Because it was seasonal; And not like poetry that comes Even in the outrageous summers or rusty winters Or catalytic rains. Its been long Where Memories have flooded down Many a prayers That had names of us and verses. I still stand under that pine Where words used to come to me Like soft breeze that blows within, For inspirations better lived with you. Today this pauper poet awaits them And the pine leaves fall as if gifting me A silent poetry of yours, in rhythm. I still search for those crystals that My palms had soaked thence. The color of blood was faded that day. SoUmY@