Little girl.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl…

Who watched the birds fly as their wings curl..

She had to see the world and knew she could try,,

So she sewed a pair of wings and painted it sky…

Once upon a time the kings raged a war,

They snatched away her wings and trapped them in a jar..

They took away the needles and colours of sky,

And shot arrows with the note “Do not dare to fly!”

Once upon a time the arrows broke down,

Music and love surrounded the town..

The little girl learnt to dance and heal sick birds,

And collected their feathers to write afterwards…

Once upon a time the girl found some yarn,

She spun it with the feathers and people begun to warn..

Running through the fields, crying with joy,

She spread her wings and learnt to fly….

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Unsaid..

In the warmth of an autumn evening,

On a busy street with twinkling lights..

His glance pierced the crowd for her,

And as he met her eyes..

All the noise disappeared..

What remained was a brilliant smile,

And words unsaid…

Poets

I pour my pain to ink,

Delinquently it flows on the paper..

They read and say, “Beautiful!”

Ironic…

Wings.

2d7da6eb96ce0ee85bb10d3eda2901faI’ve always wished to have wings.. To be able to fly on my own and run my fingers through clouds… I guess we all do.. Right? But what for? What excited Da Vinci’s imagination about the possibility of soaring through the skies that he presented “The flying Machine” to us..? Why did the Wright brothers were so fascinated with the gliders that they changed the course of human civilisation by giving virtual wings for generations to fly.. Was it just a means to travel distances in a shorter period of time or an endless desire to connect.. to connect where we all came from…

Yes, we all came from the same place… Remember? How Adam had to leave his true home.. “The Heavens” in order to make this world a beautiful place.. A new  home, a family… But did he forget about the place he belonged to? No..! Afterall, we are all his family too.. Why wouldn’t we wish to fly back…

Incognisant

Sometimes, being incognisant might be a blessing…

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I kept staring at the beautiful painting of Lake Saiful Muluk for a long time, with a feeling of delight and admiration in my eyes.. A beautiful lake, perfectly surrounded by snow covered mountains, like a fragment of imagination from an extraordinary poet.. Just too good to be true.. Or maybe it was..

How many times in a day we go through pictures of grandiloquent mountains and mystic deserts, beautiful lakes and serene beaches.. Pictures of children playing, lovers holding hands, girlfriends smiling and celebrities dancing…  There are always two sides to every picture, one that we show to the world, and one that’s on the other side…

The explicit side is usually a depiction of smiles and colours and comforts and joy, objects we all need to solace our vexed souls… Then there’s the implicit side, which shouldn’t necessarily be dark or pitiful, but usually not as colourful as the virtual image… Even the beautiful lake was painted on a blank plain canvas but look how beautiful it turned out to be..

Though it makes me wonder if the people living in those mountains have a life as tempting as their surroundings? Or the children in that sepia shaded photograph, laughing and playing in mud have enough clean clothes? And that overwhelming painting of lovers holding hands firmly like they’ve never ever separated since the moment they united,  will be exactly like that in the next moment?

What lies behind everything that we see, this persistent curiosity, this distressing feeling of being unaware maybe too intriguing to avoid… But sometimes looking at the perfect picture and believing everything it says is more effective in comforting our minds than knowing the truth.. Sometimes, being incognisant is a blessing..!!