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Yellowed pages surroundingThese hallowed words.Warped and yet preserved pages,Bestowing priceless knowledge.Textured and hand-made papers,Seem to belie some ancient scriptures.Their reality however,Is of old tax records. – Arsh
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Does anyone else feelThat the Sky feels closerThe older we get?My younger self would whine,Seeing no stars in the then polluted sky.Yet today I find,Even constellations here shine.The forever cloudy sky looks dim,And often finds an inky undertone to lie in.The Moon is perfectly halved,Drowned in both Darkness and Light.Today, I only happened To see
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Calling to the ever-changing cloud,Clouding over all life’s problems.Calling to the rapid lightning,Shocking through the worst dilemmas.Calling to the crackling storm,Charging through any controversies.Calling to the flighty mist,Hazing over occurring uncertainties.Calling to the torrent of rain,Barraging through the enemy’s meagre defenses.I call upon the fury of the thunderstorm,In the hopes that my enemy may be
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A most curious thought came upon me today.Such a mundane actionOf lighting a candleIs hardly what one would call’Thought provoking’.Yet on this day,In this very hour,I suppose I could blame the environmentFor this unexpected conflict,I find myself sympathising with a Matchstick.One of many,A most unremarkable one, at that,That so happened to expire in my hand.Once
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Untethered from this sordid reality,Feeling numb through all life’s trials.Making choices from behind a glass screen,Screaming and never hearing it. – Arsh
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It all starts with a thought.Abundant yet never truly provocative.It remains, neither developing nor dying,And simply exists.However, it never ends there.That is only the beginning of this tale.This half-baked thought, desperate to survive.Struggles to grow.It festers, clinging to the mind like a parasite.It only continuesTo grow and grow,Till it can be avoided no more.And curiosity,Like
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When you pluck a featherFrom a bird, It feels pain.When you pluck a flowerFrom a plant, Does it scream?Does it beg for mercy,Or cry for it’s loss?Does it feel anything for it,Or is the plant glad to see it gone? – Arsh
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Lorena, or sweet Lorraine,As good-natured as the name portrays,Victorious as Laurus nobilis’ many triumphs claim.Yet I do not know anyone with this name.A careful balance between Darkness and Light,She is indeed ‘crowned with laurels’ and sight,Not only easy-going and bright,But also forever wondering with delight.Untouched by blight,She is morally right,For her ideals she will fight,But
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They say war makes humans unique,Yet octopi and ants fight the same as us.What is the difference then,Between us and them?Yet if war doesn’t differentiate us,What makes us any different from animals?If there is such an answer,Couldn’t anyone just tell me? – Arsh
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I can never understand howA person can associate the night,With its peaceful presence,The numerous stars,The ever changing skyAnd the lonesome moon with evil.Maybe it is because the night holds us when we are most vulnerable,And sees us for who we are.It is only the Night which can see all our sins, and all our misgivings.It
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Luminousis 