Books that smell of a time long gone past

Only words and sentences

A sentence becomes a thought

Unspoken by the tongue

Black ink seeping onto crinkled paper

A blank sheet

Words can either

Make you or break you

Plastic casings send tingling through my fingers

An invitation to the world left unexplored

Sharp and bright

My eyesight waning


Driving me on

A wave of nostalgia, guilt and death

Cursive writing curled in its elegance

Eternal grace and laughter

Disintegrated into pieces

Broken shards of glass

A jigsaw of mismatched pieces

That will never fit together.

Imagine the children orphans

The women widows

Scavenging through the neighbourhood

Begging and begging

Just begging for him to return

But the door has been opened

And the train has left them behind

It will come back some day

To the platform

Till then they will keep waiting


Now we are in such a tangle

In a snare that even the cleverest of spiders

could not weave

Every step is etched in stone

And could not be erased

We make our own destinies

But fate does lend a helping hand

And I'm juggling all of my deeds

Standing upon the tripod

An acrobat

tall, poised and steady.

One slip and it'll all come crashin to the surface

One snip and

All the threads fall away

For I'm weaving a masterpiece

That still has flaws

Which keep bubbling to the surface

Bringing anxiety in its wake

But even when the world is ending

And the walls are crumbling

The fire is starting

And the sea of voices is calming

He'll still be there

The only one who has always been there

He'll find me a solution

And give me the answer

Some may call it wistfulness

Some may call it stupidity

But it makes no difference to me

It makes no difference to me