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Wednesday 30 March 2016

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.
 

Saturday 19 March 2016

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.
*

Saturday 12 March 2016

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
*