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

Underbelly of change

Should i break the mirror
Or turn off the lights,

Should i draw the curtains
Or turn on the lights,

Should i scream it out,
Or mumble the tension,

Should i listen a bit,
Or let the eyes fake attention,

Should i erase it hard
Or tear the page,

Should i fiddle the thumb
Or bite the nail in rage

Maybe i should just be….

Be with yourself

When a thing is slipping from your fingers while you await the arrival of another,

when roads lead to destination, but you don’t feel like travelling any further,

when the dilemma of rushing or letting it go begins to churn your peace,

when your maturity is making your silence pay higher fees,

when you have run out of options and don’t have a plan in place,

when you have run out of gasoline and you want to set everything ablaze.