Monochrome!

My world –

An institution of memoirs,

Reverberates a mellow time.

Spent silently —

Hollow, but full of noise.

The orchestra of life,

Keeps playing pain and joy

Through lone nights in drowsy voice

Commitment and remembrance —

O’ Beloved my choice.

Anna-Bolton-Monochrome

~A.N

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Dream

A wish, a supplication, a desire to see an elegant beauty of endurance, the only conceptual truth that the heart knows and brain keeps trying to carry out. The ability of synchronizing pictures into a flow of a perfect scene like notes of the music aligned on one sheet producing mesmerizing beats and sinking hearts in an ode of classical melodies. A series of phantasmagoria that develop in the darkness of the night like small parachutes of the dandelion forming a beautiful yet too delicate flower. This is a beauty of the dream rising from nowhere, when even the psyche holds no hint if it is playing along the mass lying in the strata of the comfort cozy place, contributing to the creation of a fantasy. The aspiration is just not for a dreamer to see and enjoy, simply for a persona it is an ability to set a foundation during dark and host it as a fortune to the world during the day.

With the Oceanic depth,

Flowing and then resting forever,

Within the cast of the gambler, “the red mass”,

They mimic the truth and the lies of the world.

Away from the lips,

Untouched by the foreign ink,

They die poisonously for one thought,

From where, none ever returned back.

Dead! As if the poet was never born,

The couplets stay, echoing within the core,

To whom the pensive mood was a friend,

And the virtual calmness, the reflection.

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P.S: This is student’s dream. Difficult to understand and harmless to be executed, but enough of strength needed to get it finished.

~A.N

ONE LAST TIME

The veil that kept hanging between two,

Burnt on just one sight.

To dust it was lost forever,

While in an inward eye-

droplets still float to extinguish the fire.

Running through hurricane of the feelings,

A voice broke in a clumsy fashion!

“Neither an inheritance of love it was,

 Nor it belonged to a fashion of modern living?

 Then why I believe you to be a dearest,

 But find you far from even being a friend?”

 

Watching a step of mine tendering backward,

Like the last seasonal snow snuggling in the soil.

Exerting hard to scroll up a voice from the chest,

“Harshly I can’t even think of sharing a word,

Swiftly, like an autumn struck leaf falling to the ground-

 Such choice has been nailed out far before,

To questions:

  I would have shared desserts for calming you,

       and explaining true,

But the choice is none!

For answers I can just be lulled and share a comfort,

For I know to both we are the dearest and I bet that is so true.”

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~A.N

“Take Me Home….”

Like the sunlight waking up from the dark,
Forgetting all flaws of the past,
Nurturing a day in the lap of the spring flowers,
Take me home and settle me same.

Like the shades of the supper time,
Birds rushing to fill thy crops and collect the grains,
Tired! Still too young to feed thee home,
Take me home and settle me same.

Like the moonlight settling in the dark,
Making promise of a beautiful time,
Cuddlng in a twinkle of the stars,
Take me home and settle me same.

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~A.N

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The Prophecy of the Childhood.

The alluring blossom time,

Reminiscence for the mature nights.

The locale friends –

School time greetings and giggling on secret meetings.

The evening visits –

Flying kites and racing old cycle tyres.

Euphonious trilling of the rhymes,

Echoing in the streets and waking up the oldies at times.

The grannies running after,

And the children jumping in laughter.

A promise of the memorable time,

With an innocence on ride.

Playing with the virgin snowflakes,

Warming hands with the cold lakes.

Burning face in the fields,

Fighting on runs and betting on spinning blades.

Art of believing the life under shades grey,

Covering miles together making new pathways.

Those childhood games and the peerless smiles,

Forbidden stories of the ostensible modern lives.

The Prophecy of the Childhood~A.N

Evening on the Porch.

It was the evening, the sprinkle of droplets started, the smoke which was rising from the neighbour’s house was losing the thickness and power of escaping, and our very old pomegranate trees were shedding leaves in a welcome of the winter, a tribute to the autumn and a company to the rain. I was standing at the door of the back porch waiting for the tea and admiring a beauty around. The outside cold gentle currents of the wind had already turned me impatient to have the sip of the Noon Chai, the traditional Kashmiri tea, or call it the Salt Tea in the English attire.

I was still waiting for the vapours to take off from the teapot and condense over the ceiling when the three little kittens with their mother joined me on the porch. I rolled a ball towards them and waited for the response but all in vain. They were in plan to have some rest. On noticing the three young ones I was in too jiffy to make a response. Mama, “Out of the three the one with golden patches is awfully beautiful”.  Before my mother could have replied the dark kitten sat in front of her mother as if she did understand me and wanted to teach me a lesson about beauty. While the young ones were making the storyline I was handed over a cup of tea.

First sip, the tea just changed the sense of climate and the warmth already starts gripping within. The mother cat had by now placed her hand on the head of the little black one, started licking his head, and cuddled him. While she was busy showering the love, the second one joined. She again did the same. Seeing this, the third one, whom I praised for the beauty, too joined to share motherly love. She lifted her left arm quite gently raised it above all three, placed it over them, started licking their heads & patted them one by one, as per their respective turns. This nudged me. Wasn’t I praising one? But to the mother they all are one irrespective of their beauty. And love isn’t the believer of difference it is a stand for the unity. I got a lesson to never guide a line of mark praising the beauty, instead speak of it unanimously.

This abundance of love reminded me of the message that I few days back had written for my friend whom I love unconditionally and it goes like this:

“I have no idea about love. I don’t know what actually it sounds like. I don’t know the feeling of being into it. People say love for our creator is reality. Then same people say love for parents is unmatched. They further confuse me with love for a partner and thus they keep bringing on the definition of love for different identities and this way love turns more about individuality instead of being unified.”

This text I couldn’t stop relating to the scene of minutes. Where’s my message of questioning the individuality of the love was being beautifully explained on the basis reality of the unity. Furthermore, the classification of the love on the basis of who we love stand dismissed.

An evening on the porch

 

~A.N

Autumn

The autumn on way to goodbye,

Waves back the cool breeze,

Gives me goose bumps,

Relocates me back to the mornings,

When the snow topped mountains shine again,

Welcoming the spring,

Bringing the hope of the life again.

The silhouette of the naked tree,

Calmness of the autumnal eve,

Harvesting for the winter approaching by,

And smoke forming patterns in the sky.

Reflecting the end of the life,

All this while collecting things for to survive.

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~A. N