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Sometimes I sit and wander.. through the deserts
& the cities ;
and deep, these thoughts goes,
in the ocean
then all at once
I am afloat.. !
WHEN INSIDE IN MY DEEP THOUGHTS I AM ,
Sometimes I wonder Who I am ?
People asks me,
They say, they want to know
I say
I find..
When I am in this place
There’s no need to explain
For I am
this place,
and this place me !
Still I would search for my lost friend,
Sitting somewhere, waiting..
For me to turn.. my conscience
Won't let it go..
Won't let it go..
The most loyal friend of mine
Turning each smile, each moment alive
The essence of life.
Going deeper & deeper will make you find me
It's a journey you were keen to keep
Don't slow down as the lights are about to blow
After that it would be very hard for you to know
Just open the doors & let the time take control
See the life through the hole
Broken wings & lost toys
Silent wishes on the sky
In the end you might survive
With a simple memory of mine
Can't let the heart go the wrong way
Life's a path ,not eternal place to stay.
What's hidden, is what's conserved
It have reasons, reasons written before.
Change the ways & know the truth inside
Complete those unfinished lines with a smile.
No one might understand the changing signs
Say, it's a power of something deep inside.
Might never hear the voice that's inside
Have to take decision, the choice of life.
Something is said between the lines
Life's simple when truth is beside.
Someday you may understand,
A hope is in my heart
Someday you may see those eyes,
A bundle of questions unasked
Someday you may see the heart,
A lot of love, hatred and childhood
Someday you may feel,
An evergreen’s life’s need.
~For my mother
Sometimes I think of collecting smiles..
Sometimes I think I might find it under your pillow,
Or in the tea I made for you.
Sometimes I wonder If you find it
When I simply smile at you.
I find mine in your warm hugs,
When you say you love me too,
I find it in your light.
And at the doors of your heart.
~For my mother
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
(...)
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