Lost words of a poet


They smiled each day
As Humility made them stronger
The meek and amiable voice
Wasn’t heard.
The gazes of satire
On filthy inhumanity
From the large windowpane
And words deformed into meaning
Time couldn’t rob them of
From who they were.

The remains of those lost words,
Incite us to embrace an illusion,
Of time, being in a scurry.
As we cross paths
That unite us
With our mortal being,
The wanderer mocks at us
Steer us towards the light
Away from this misery.

Few lives we live
And for few
We outlive decades,
For the selfless
Mere blood and flesh
To ourselves, we deceive.

In this land of grief and fear
We die and reborn
From the ruins
Of those lost poets
And the souls
Who lived a life
Of discontent and drear.

May the immortals know


This human, a mere mortal,
Die everyday till bliss,
Breath each moment to anguish,
Still the desire, undone,
Alone in this crowd,
And clueless of how life goes on..

Those trails left far behind,
Hidden in the dusk’s horizon,
As the night sky shows us stars,
Along the man’s inevitable groan,
The need to embrace death grows,
Peace, all that living craves for,
In all it’s presence,
And in all it’s sheer pace..

The life that lost its path,
On the ocean so broad,
The life that lost its charm,
And an ever-winning sword,
The life that lost its rhythm,
And a soothing autumn verse,
May the immortals know,
That it’s only an alluring curse..