खानाबदोश ।

 

Refill

The mourning is over,
Do your thing,
Roll on baby.
The path is open,
And you’ve got no stopping.

It is time.
Time to get over the baggage,
That weighs you down.

Get on with it.
Roar now,
Your loudest one yet.
Let it be heard,
From miles away.

Lose yourself,
Except this time,
In the starry night,
Or, the foggy mornings.

Shatter the bars,
And take a deep breadth.
Start afresh,
Embrace your thoughts,
And create magic.

 

Photo Credits : Google

 

 

 

Your song

Sing that song,

However hoarse you sound,

I will gather the rhythm,

From your broken words.

I remember the euphony,

Word to word.

It reverberates in my ears,

The melody divine.

I won’t complain,

And, with ears intent,

Will pay heed,

To your mumbles and happy shrieks.

Sing to me,

About chaos and peace,

The magical tune,

The music of life.

 

Pic credits : Google

Free

A hippie soul,

Spotless heart,

He traded in thoughts,

Of love and art.

Like an eagle he flew,

In the open sky.

Never cared to flaunt,

Hatred, he couldn’t give a try.

A lone ranger,

Out of sync with time.

Found himself so free,

In thoughts sublime.

He witnessed life,

through intent eyes.

With open wings,

He was ready to fly.

Talk to me

Talk to me.

Talk to me about the night and the stars.

And how you got those concealed scars.

The weirdest possible notions,

Or your withheld emotions.

Tell me, the journey so far.

What hid you?

Behind the imaginary bars.

I want to see your ingenuous eyes shine,

Say it as it comes to your mind.

Without judgement,

I will always lend my ears,

I will be your confidant.

 

Image source : Google

The calling

At 31, he felt complete.

Married now, a dad soon.

A big house, he owned cars.

But, something still itched his heart,

A faded meek linger in his ears.

A slow whisper now,

About to dwindle.

But the urge remains.

Once a sculptor,

He swooned hearts.

He moulded expressions out of clay,

Carving prolonging memories.

When all went silent, he heard the call.

A call so true, sweet as music,

The sound of happiness,

Into his laden ears.

Poking him, to embrace the whittler inside.

The calling has arrived.