Memories

A five year old, with his father's clothes bagging over him, looking out at the world, confident, indispensable. he is the ruler of the world, in the armor of his idol. he moves along the roads of life, with his head held high, looking with jealousy at the tall creatures, unnoticed, he imagines hes big and controlling 'em. when the crowd subsides, he realizes, in tears, hes lonely, he calls for his mother, shes right behind him, she gives him a hug to fill his emptiness. one noble day he discovers the thing called chewing gum, has fun sticking it into other's hair until he realizes it is edible, wonders for a moment how much he missed. he needs a hand at night, to fight the evil monsters that pop up in his dreams. he has the hand with him, he sleeps in peace.



Now he needs no hand at night, he has power to fight anything. the picture of his parents with him beside his bed is now replaced by a beautiful angel. instead of being haunted by deadly monsters at night, now he swims in the ocean of heaven created by his love. he's happy and is there to thank his parents for everything they did for him.



Still.... i miss the young him sometimes, which is resting in peace deep inside me, free from mischiefs and fears.

sometimes when i feel lonely, i open up the door and meet him.........................can never forget him.


Originally posted at RITWIK IN SEARCH

Melody of my life...

Hi friends....well this is my first post to this blog...
i wrote this poem back in 2007...hope you like it.....


I catch the hold of my delicate strings

Strike them and try to forget my sins

These strings unweave the hurt below

It slowly loosens the hurt once known



Rhythm of these strings along with my music flow

Like water drops down green leaves they go

They strike a chord deep into my heart

The chord which fills up my ache at last



The music fills my empty ground

Like sand into a pit dug out

Dug out by those filthy hands

With the harshest strike like sharp knives

Into the soft sands in which died many lives



The music flows like the soft sand

Deep down, away from those filthy hands

From minds of wicked people who try

To make me cry till my mind goes dry



Yet again these strings move

They strike a chord and change my mood

These pits are filled with minds not dry

And I tell myself-"No need to cry"



"The sand will come, the sand will go

Desperate hands will dig at you

But you have to be as soft as sands

So that you can flow deep with music

Away from those filthy hands"


ORIGINALLY POSTED AT RITWIK IN SEARCH