Hope for peace....

Looking across the border,
I see the glowing sky
embracing a new dawn,
a stream,
mirthful,
as it bends
along the meadows;
lush green fields,
blooming buds
gesturing the arrival
of spring.
And I see
a flock of birds,
homeless,
not belonging
to my skies or his,
I see bustling streets,
playgrounds full of
sportsmen and women
in all their passion.
I see him
who looks like me,
I hear his tongue
that sounds like mine,
I see the glorious sunset
as it envelopes him,
And the moon
adorning the sky.
It all looks
like a reflection...
....I hear echoes
of a gunshot.
Curtains fall
before my eyes, as
the scene disappears....

The Dead come Alive

An unfeeling
mass of flesh,
an empty heart,
dry, sightless eyes.

          ---  

A string breaks,
pandemonium hits.

          ---

Storms rage,
oceans ravage,
skies echo
wailing winds.

         ---

The throat chokes,
heart bleeds,
head screams,
eyes weep.

What do I write?

Lying on the bed 
I think of what to write...
....words don't flow out
of my pen
my mind is clogged
vaccum surrounds me
I've sucked all the noise
into my self.
It's waiting to explode.
I realise I am too conscious
of myself,
I realise I am trying to pretend.
My pen leaks out
a random flow of ink
shaped in words
I strike them out
they don't manifest my feelings.
I don't want farce to appeal
to the eye,
I want honesty to touch
the heart.
I am waiting
for my words
to strike a chord
with the strings of my heart.
I am longing
for clarity
that will give my writing
a sense of purpose
and shorn it
of its randomness.

Lying on the bed
I think of what to write....
....my mind is a clean slate
I want to colour it
with thoughts
and feelings,
I want for it to
lose its barrenness
and be fertile
with imagination.
I want for it to
be bereft of fear
for it is,
the place
where revolutions were conceived
and philosophies were born;
the sole reason
for Man's greatness.
It boasts of coveted freedom,
which,
feared tyrants failed to snatch,
it is a guiding light
to the often faltering humanity.
It has been
subject to manipulations,
deceiving history
into changing its course;
scripting moments
of momentous change,
all, of course,
owing their occurrences
to the enchanting influence
it wields over the body.

Lying on the bed
I think of what to write....
....my mind is deluged
with a rush of thoughts
flowing in and out,
a haze of colours
mesmerises me,
letters, words
dance before my eyes,
songs play out in a loop,
a multitude of
smudgy-outlined faces
gazes at me....
....And I realise
with an epiphany,
It is this very train of thoughts
I shall elaborate on!
Lying on the bed
I think I know what to write on.

Of Love

Of the racing heart,

quickening breath,
the gentle brush of lips.
Of sweet whispers,
blushing cheeks,
musical laughter.
Of cool breeze
flirting with one's hair,
soft music
ringing in one's ears.
Of quiet exchanges
of shy looks, stealthy glances,
soft embraces.
Of searching eyes,
hands that wipe away tears.
Of the beautiful paleness
of Life, like love,
subtle, yet so strong,
inconspicuous,
despite its lingering presence.
Of the Red hue
of sacrifice, of blood
and vermilion.
Of transcending boundaries.
Of dewy mornings,
glowing sunsets,
moonlit nights.
Of Love,
that walks you hand in hand
into the infinity of the Horizon
and the eternity of Time.