Heap Of Words

Thought the snowflake, 'I'll pave my way'; Made storms in teacups everyday...

They said that he loves books, They said that he dont care for looks. She met him- a chance she took; "You look like the one in Jungle Book!!"

While i'd hate comebacks (ref: post below this), was suitably silenced and appropriately humbled :) More often than not, they appear to be The staff to lean, the call for company. The shoulder to cry on but the butt of all kicks; For all roses they get, a million thorns too must prick. And in spite of this, the once you break a heart it's said, "You know my friend, they ARE just men!" You know not how-when what went through their minds, Instead, (pause) happily putting on your blinds, You sit in one corner writing this piece While seething with pain, his heart still bleeds. And you know my friend, though they just "act like men", Your stanza is more sense when substituted with "women"!

More often than not, they appear to be The staff to lean, the call for company. The shoulder to cry, the ass to kick; The roses they get, the thorns they prick. You know not though, just how and just when, They break your heart, and act like men .

Raindrops srtiking my forehead, First the caress, and then the shower. I get soaked in seconds, water in my bones, And then the pleasure abandons; I remember... How we loved to dance in the rain, You proclaiming my derangement, and I yours. But venture we would, into Gods' offer Of rain, and closeness, and us... and bliss. The ground that rushed to meet the drops The drop that rushed to kiss my cheek Oh it would, were your hand not near, I'd lie if say, I'd prefer the rain. The curtain of bliss that bars The world from us, and us from them The outside, suddenly rendered private Its neither you nor I, it was just us.

A regular evening. I know not how, nor when. The walls come crashing down, of a sudden. Its like my world was sitting in a nutcracker , Waiting to be crushed to peices, biding its time. Who put it there? the Gods? Or Fate sublime? I sift about the ruins, salvaging scrap, and memories; Hope to rebuild maybe, and stem the agonies. But gaping craters are all I find around, Nothing to fill the bitter voids with; Except maybe, absurd hope and homespun myths.

What won't I give today, For a humble solitude and space to pray- More mental than physical- and go as far as you can please, For I'm still smarting from your blows. For I'm bitten today, let me be shy; At times, I suppose, its ok to cry.