It feels good
To bask in the sun
to feel it’s light
all the beauty around
Moist shores and gentle winds
Coupled with laughter
All this
And much more
Living in the ruins
Of happier shores.
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on the verge of tears
it’s not the best feeling or the best place to be
and everything seems tasteless until the tear falls away
and it wont
it will drain you and pain you
and stop you from living
today
it will cease all the joys
all the little pockets that you could have lived
until that tear drop falls
On the verge of tears
walking along the road side
By the river
the thousand people laughing and living
it is not the best place to be
but on the verge of tears
is where you’ll be.
gods in the living
we are spectators
normal people
in normal homes
in unhappy and happy families
reading and dancing
thinking and drinking
to the tunes of the creators
the gods up above
in their sorrowed castles
writing poems
and stories
and life
the creators
the writers
the poets
the understanders of life
we are mere spectators
dancing to their tunes
the Gods up above
we are fine down here.
alive
A Bumpy road,
Winter winds to blow the soul,
Two people they rode,
With no direction, no goal.
Mustard fields whistled past the road-sides,
Yellow’d in harvest,
Glittering in gold, in the light of the dying sun.
Black Curtains, soft-kill the light
Flocks of bird flee past the skies, that bleed now a blue
Flying away from a deathly winter night.
Lights, slowly surfaced
And now the sky was lit,
By A million stars
And also their scars.
It was clear now, to them
Just like the skies,
That they needed nothing,
That everything important was unimportant,
That the truth,
Lay in the yonder,
Lay in unseen valleys,
Virgin-forests
And Pained hearts.
It was clear now,
To them
That nothing was more important,
Than the skies they were seeing,
that nothing was more important
Than the moment they were living.
-Anirudh Shankaran.
a strange kind of homecoming
the days of nights are over
days curtained by nighteous darkness
eyes half closed
half open
unwilling to see the world
in this misery
the days of nights are over
everything seemed dark
And indifferent
not a soul could affect me
for death was already in me
the nights of indifference are over
the fog clears
and the sun appears
there is light
and I can smile,
For the days of nights are over.
The dirt and some truth
The feeling of being grounded
Is nice
And settling
Everything around seems very true
And all that is not is fake
There is a clear difference
between this and that
and most people would give anything to get that
and it feels good to be grounded
to feel your feet on the ground
nothing above
Not the skies
Not the lies
That we were told as kids
wanting to be astronauts and scientists and actors
The truth slowly settles
and it is a good feeling
for some time.
everything then
drowns
Like quick sand
into the dirt
the same truth that seemed so fair
and true to the natural scheme of things
It will consume you
and you will drown
In the dirt
self furnace warmth
smoke rises from somewhere
something is burnt
and the stench seems peculiar
it draws me to it
but i am just a little too eased seated here
everything was made of white
from then on
just the smell of something being burnt
bringing me back to my senses
constantly reminding me of its presence
but i choose to ignore it
and sit down while everything moves
faster than ever
and i am seated slowing down
while the world moves
and i slower than ever
the smoke wouldn’t wear down
it kept burning until
i felt my fingers black
burning.
life on a lifeless shore
water sits
lifeless even with birds;
still and blinking
as the sun slowly sets
a cow now rests
on the Meadows by the water
all the grace
and all the life
everything that the water gave birth to
slowly dies
away into the winter night
when there’s no , what?
and all the people
trying to make their sorrow seem bigger
try to speak
and cry
I don‘t know why
Weeping in silence without the luxury of tears
is fine
even better
better than stories of how
my sorrow took me off my feet
1
2
3
shots of whiskey
drunk neat
thats how you do it
thats how you weep at night
when theres no one seeing
when theres no one spying
when you can cry
without the luxury of tears
when theres no words
to speak your sorrow
thats how you do it..
slower
the slow death of a clock
of time
of moments
lost not knowing where
or how they pass
the slow death of time
of life
of everything around
and all thats left are thoughts
and dreams
in the deepest core
satisfied in their own sense
but leaving you alone
with a life
spent
sitting
smiling
wondering
where life has gone.
