Poem: Stream of consciousness

note follows a note

like night follows day

rusty old piano

still ready to tell a tale

but I fear I don't know

the keys anymore

what will we

achieve in this lifetime?

I wonder who will walk

behind me, trying to finish

all the ideas I failed to create

all the stories I failed to write

all the poems I kept inside

it's easy to judge the past

when looking at it from the future

how it steals us from the now

the long hours spent

being locked inside

your own shell

ever noticed what thoughts

became a part of you?

how some words

became a comfort zone?

some evenings it pours,

pours down in your mind,

the things that could've been

the moments you could've lived

leave a different taste of the days

maybe find a way to best describe –

the rhythm of the hearts you miss

the warmth of a loved one in your bed

the scent of your newborn in your hands

the way you felt happy when you

stretched the limits of your body and mind

the freedom you find when you acquire the void

the constant yearning to hear the music

and just dance in this universe

of possibilities and dreams

*

 Sometimes you hear a song, and thoughts just pour out; it's that simple.

 

Poem: This world is our playground

Wood creaks in the wind,

the cold sweeping

through the walls

blazing sunrays

painting the evening skies.

All the places your mind

wanders to in dreams,

staying with you like a reality

you once lived through.

All the scenarios you feed your mind;

unknowingly you change

the colours of your everyday emotions.

How much does the shadow weight?

Does it drag you down on the floor –

or does it lift you up?

What kind of messages did you store

when you were young?

What went through your head -

as you were searching

for that person you should be

as if the community knew,

as if it was written

somewhere for you to follow.

When all along, it has only been written in you.

Then you come to realize the freedom,

which at some point,

might have suffocated your mind.

You can't outrun

what happened; it follows you.

Which path you choose

is only up to you to decide.

There are two worlds -

we chase each other through.

One in which we act as mirrors

and walk towards whatever satisfies us.

Second, where we get lost

in reflections of the first one

in our minds.

And whatever we do, we die twice.

This world is our playground,

leave something meaningful,

make a change,

                before you exit.

*

Poem: Back room

I woke up cleaning your back room

picking up the pieces

of the mess you made

trying to take what was mine

and erase myself from the past

some things in life are simple

like yes or no, like go or stay

I wish I knew then

the game you were playing

the way the choices you would take

will make me question

my own reasoning and blind trust

it could have been easy

every mans happiness depends on himself

time heals but it never gives back

the things that could've been

we run, chasing the ideas

we paint in the mind

not sure if they are true or false

we say what we want

leaving the other person

to determine if it's the truth

shake of the dust

of the wrong rooms

you’ve been trapped in

and take notes not to

enter them again

*