It's a collection of some unbounded poems which somehow might pattern up to the psyche of different phases of our lives. It's how Q/A soliloquies permutate and combine and conclude subtle life events and their chronology. But the question paradox sh...
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Revelations are intrusive; So they seek the ugh of submission, As helplessly do the submissive humans- Gulp down the victimhood of temptations and trepidations. It's innately humane to play with pain; Nevertheless it's that hideous pleasure- That speaks so sweet of soury savour.
The saline aftertaste happens to be as corrosive as pain, and, As addictive, even to the most sane; We live and breathe and preach entitlement. Everything seems fair for these pretentious symboits, for the sake of sanity and contentment. The call of morality, and the urge to forego the bitter antecedents, serves you solitude.
Latter seems suffocating at the first... Seldom do a few get through... But is there even some kind of finality waiting at the shore's due? Is it even possible to detach one from the dimensions of time and misery? Is this visceral reverie the boatman, in this seemingly eternal stagnance of monochrome ? Bid him adieu to the reality and return home. Where you can sigh in resilence, fall into her arms and surrender to the warmth of her neck,
As her strands brush by and finger tips give you the touch of compassion. And both of you stay awake, lost in stare- The Rhythm of her breath as your lips cease untouched... Do you feel the time ticking by?
You smile to be kissed to sleep, as she whispers a tickling sensation into your ears.... May the words remain undistinguished... Let the soul gets some rest.
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