Half told stories

Some half told stories,
tired of waiting for an end,
embarrassed of being read,
are seeing through days for ink to fade.

Some half told stories,
afraid of suicide the climax could commit,
by reaching the last page before meeting an end,
are desperately hoping for different ends.

Some half told stories,
hoping the pen lying dead on their chest,
is lifted by a writer,
who can ferry them on his emotions to an end.

Some half told stories,
wandering through imaginations,
are curious to discover an end,
in anxious beats of desperate souls

To end the chaos…

I thought …

ripping the watch off the wrist,
would change the times,

sipping dew beneath the mist,
would quench the thirsts,

keeping hands off the thread,
would skip being culprit of the knots,

letting a tear off the eye,
would prevent the bubble bursts,

begetting words through eyes,
would escape the misquotes,

forgetting the ties,
would push the emotions away,

but it didn’t happen…

years were deprived of a minute,
sips weren’t enough to drown the thirst,
knots transpired to cast a web,
a tear moved out stealing all the pearls,
choked words couldn’t reach the eyes,
memories of the left held emotions to ransom,

and
the chaos survived

Waiting…

Holding onto the scoop,
as the melting ice cream lands on shirt,

Breaking hard,
as the wheels breach the hesitation of steering,

Sitting through a bad movie,
as the paid ticket looses a penny with each passing minute,

Burning fingers,
as toast loses brown but doesn’t leave the pan,

Waiting is just skipping the chaos,
as hesitation tries to cut peace fromĀ  anxiety….