The Now.

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 the sky was then lit,
By A million stars,
illuminating 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,
In Unseen valleys,
And pained hearts.

It was clear now,
to them
that nothing was more important,
Than the skies they were seeing,
than the moment they were living.
-Anirudh Shankaran.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s