• ankit0729 6w


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    People are the source,
    inspite of where they come from
    To the stories, that define their roots.
    Memories from their past,
    Can help to trace back cultures,
    Drawing out ideas,
    And to find something new.

    The poet said, seeing on how
    The world has taken on us
    Experiences humble like never before
    But reality haunts even in the daylight
    Is it done, or anything left anymore.

    His past was dead,
    None of his creation was in a shape
    He was inconsolable, yet smiling,
    when he said
    My days are over,
    Please help me,
    If you’re going that way,
    Learn from my past,
    before you start to comprehend.
    Don't question others,
    Rather yourself first.
    Neither take nor ask any names.

    Do not go too far,
    leaving your love behind.
    As I have climbed up the ladder before
    To live so called living life,
    High on intellect and power,
    I see similar traits in you
    Don't know if its only outside,
    Or inside too.

    Charm is selective
    But so is Versatility
    I don’t know, he said
    Which side, is lying the most Everyone’s a storyteller here
    Hiding agenda’s behind
    None to my surprise,
    One can see it everywhere
    As the telecast is worldwide,
    I know you couldn’t see it coming
    Not only you, but many are half blind.

    I said I know I am the unfortunate one
    Could not see once,
    what was at plain sight.
    Not using my misfortune as a defence of any kind
    While I save my life and stay afloat,
    I know many are dead, already buried inside,

    I said you don’t know where
    Im coming from
    Once I was mad enough,
    To treat her anxiety with my silence
    But now Im loud enough,
    still hard to hear
    knowing what exactly went wrong,
    Not taking sides anymore,
    Still anxious even when I try to sleep
    Wondering, there are hundred ways to say good-bye
    Pity I chose that one,
    I still Don’t know why

    With time, I have given up my highs Knowing power is also a weakness.
    I don't squash anything,
    that I pass by.
    My promises may have been dead by now,
    Like nothing can be undone ever.
    But in the wake of every morning,
    I realise I have kept my efforts alive.

    Might sounds like a good narrative
    As I like not to resolve things too fast.
    Want conflict to linger,
    and tension to engage
    It keeps past in sync with my present
    in which
    Some stories are urgent,
    Some are less urgent,
    Altogether nothing seems important at all.

    My self imposed limits
    have led to a margin of error
    Difficult to discuss in small spaces
    Still trying to keep my order composed.
    I know I shall not see her like again
    Under threshold, Not below sense,
    You find me, lost in verses,
    trying to make them apparent,
    only in a vague form.

    Snap some threads, broken many Knotted few and none retied.
    To the poet I said,
    Now I know why we both are here.
    To share stories from our vantage points . Both revised and unrevised.