Lover, you are so sad

To love with all your heart is easier done than said. It sounds the most valuable thing yet, who can define it? The pathetic situation of everyone doing it to everyone is a arm bender when spoken about. To value a life, to respect a life is no bewilderment. It comes with ease, it comes without awareness. You believe its' the real thing when its' just a time you let down the rest of the world and your sanctuary is setting your eyes on this beauty, hearing this beauty or feeling this beauty. Hurrah! you are in love?

Beauty is admired by them all. The pretty faces, the famished lips, the flowing hair, the skin so fair and the walk so light you will put up with any fight. To see deep in where the Satan of it all lie low, till you murmur the best out of them is a sight you wish you saw way damn before. A reflection to your inner is your face they say; and I sit and laugh with all who consider it and seeks a refuge now that they are nothing but wounded and grasping for a clear breath of air. I shall not help. I shall not be the saviour. No one is, but your loser self.

Beauty is a horror that unleashes the many other horrors that you will cultivate as long as you believe in it and bleed with it, ignorantly.

When death calls

A call we never await for. The spontaneous bewilderment is much more than a human mind can take. The beauty of it rises when hope acumulates invisibly. The sudden laughs, the sudden smiles that dawn amidst the clouded wails and mourns is almost a miracle. Death doesn't like it, it simply wants to root down in the hearts and grow pain. Thrust down the angels of cherishing moments, jubilations of a life time and a future to come. Love will not die, nor will its' life. A life has acheived too much, seen too much and heard too much to let it all go with the a gasp that would be your last or a blink that would be your last. You live with those you shared, with those you loved and those you cared for. An eternal journey it is, an immortal one.

The dogs that shun when death calls will shun for life. Never do you want to see them or else you will wipe them. The dust that clouds a shimmering wand, you will wipe them off.

Death will call, and the dear will not depart. You live, you live, you live with the ticking time in our hearts you live.

For my best bud, Chanuka.