New Horizons

I walked along those memories of wood Stretching farther on the roads than they should Memories which clouded the happiness of today And filled my mind with bitter sweet decay Such decay of people I haven't long spoken Yet whose remembrance I have,  unbroken Where two roads diverged in the woods one day, I chose the one I had travelled to the Past's bay Not remembering the importance of now I walked along a path which had faded away somehow I was seized by its sadness, yet the thoughts never ceased I was seized by the memories, my own pitying disease Even my dreams, whose nights over due Managed to fill me with ever-hardened rue And hence I live on , in a world full of twos' One the present, and the past which couldn't do

I woke up in a sudden, as I had That beautiful morning I heard their chirping, the birds’ Their rustling, the leaves’ I tasted the fresh air of eos As I had, That beautiful morning I set the oven as I did, everyday I smelled the rising bread Much like I had, That beautiful morning I watered the plants, picked the flowers Tended the leaves and shined my shoes, I brushed my hair  Before I went over to visit you As I had, that beautiful morning I walked through the gates, Slipping off my shoes, as you preferred Feeling the green of the grass under my bare feet, the morning dew And hence I walked For you wouldn’t wake from your deep slumber As you hadn’t, even then On that beautiful morning I lightly kissed the petals of the freesias you liked, for apparently, roses were over rated I kissed them before placing them Upon your grave where you lay, waiting, sleeping your death Much like you had, One beautiful morning

I wince as the light falls upon my closed eyes Irritated, I shut them further tightly With a sigh of resignation, I open the couple Waking to the dreaded winter of dawn Sleep—oh how I long for it! My day begins with its farewell, and throughout, my desire heightens Every waking moment, I wish for Sleep to grace me with its company, Its dark tresses caressing my eyes shut, Its warm embrace hugging my bodice And yet it prevails in the shadows of Time, lingering at the edges of my consciousness, teasing my mind Alas, as Night falls, it hits me with loud activity Thus is my state of mind, that at time right, I cannot fall asleep! And hence my thoughts wander, Wander to Life, Light and Being Anxious thoughts quickly follow, abolishing even the slightest drop of calm As is with the human brain, I glean my own answers to my unspoken questions And what with all my anxious tossing and turning, I remember the verses from my scientific learning It is th

I see my mind—oh what a sight! As an endless room, and yet so bound. Thoughts scattered like furniture thus thrown Millions of fragments glistening against the back-ground A room without a door and hence my mind secure, I go further within, trying to unravel A conscious reminder, that my thoughts remain tenure It seems so natural, like walking in a park And yet my mind seeps, deeper and deeper into the dark It seems though, as unhealthy as it may that I could have found a darker shade of (my) grey As I venture forth, I visit my past But beautifully so, it holds no black cast! The happiness surrounds, holding me firm The exuberance of it all, caressing my face shocked It is then that I conceive the reason for it all, The darkness that had once become my fall The blazing pride, which stung my tongue red The anger in my eyes, which made hearts drop like lead The intimidating glare, the snappy words All seemed from another universe! As I ha

As the words embed themselves on the paper, I must confess, I've been meaning to voice my thoughts through ink for quite some time but alas, I remain as lazy as ever. I commence now, with my Procrastinator's Affair -- an affair not-so-sought after, atleast by myself. I fell in love with Passing Time. Oh! How so thrilling it had been! It wasn't long until it moved in with me. Yet, it soon bode me unwell. It became my sole company, and its'. I stayed,relentlessly staring, glaring into the void of Nothingness and somehow, that became our golden age. My former lovers sat, unopened, warmed by the dust that clothed them, on my desk. Reading! Out of question! New authors rise everyday don't they!? And also, one must understand -- what with the coming of the New Age -- that TEXTING is also a literary art, as for a while I thought it to be one too. But now I've realised that I mustn't embrace that spiteful lover but instead must dwell deeper into those pages