Music...

For the ones whose hands aren't free to feel
For the ones whose eyes aren't ready to see
For the ones whose ears aren't open to hear
The beauty ... the rhythm that for them flairs!

The natural beauty you wander in
For you will it certainly sing
Sing the songs of life to you...

The autmn leaves would play notes of love,
The flowers will then merrily dance ...
The birds high above will sing the song...
And the air too will circle around...
Bouncing you higher to dance to its tones
Letting you harmonise to the music that has been prepared by the Gods,
For me ... for us ... for the human folk ...

Just give it a chance
Just put down your headphones for a while
And listen...
Raise your head out of the digital screen ...
And see ...
What you have missed all this while
What over there has forever been
Unnoticed, unseen!

- The_inkdiary

Wishlists

Wishlists ... why do people make them? 
The idea of wishlists has always fascinated me.
Wish-list: a list of all those wishes that hold a potential to make you happy, a list which when made brings out the innocent and child like honesty to the fore and somewhat ends up with a blushy pink line on your face.
For some, a wishlist is a piece of paper, having mugged up all the strong goals and aspirations of a person's life kept in a remote corner of a room saved from all the eyes around.
But for some it is a list of innocent desires that are waiting to be read by friends, family or someone who can pamper them!
The little child sitting deep in the heart always wishes to hide the scroll of your aspirations on the most obvious place... under the pillow. On the top of one's skin is an imposting desire of the list lying at its place unattended and unseen. But under that very cover is a bunch of butterflies running up and down waiting for the paper to magically vanish away (secretly read by someone! )

Pages...

I am afraid of flipping the pages of my inked diaries...
As in them lie the leaves...
Leaves of unsaid stories
Leaves of unattended thirst for glories
Leaves of unimaginable fears
Leaves full of bleeding tears

Pages inked with a watery heart
Lying unread ... untold... unclassed....

-The InkDiary

Seen-unseen

A story of hearts did a poet once weave,
Two hearts together, under the same roof did rhythemically beat,
Playing the tones of innocent love ...
Creating the music of affection!

But eventually time made them bleed...
Tears of anger and unattended greed!
Creating unknown distances ... slowly tearing them apart!

Each wept a suppressed tear for the other,
With soulful belongingness gushing immidiately under!
Covered with a skinny layer of howling anger
Creasing their seamless laughter!

Each knew the pain,
Each knew, the other bore a teary strain.
But none of the hearts were so firmly concrete,
To wipe the droplet off the other's cheek!
And so, in the noisy scilence do they weep
Unattended... Seemingly unseen....

-Angel Pandhi

Broken Patterns

Embossed fonts chizzeled over a seemingly infinite base,
Rubbing my hands through all the patterned gales.
Addicted to the rhythemic movement of my hands,
Over the ornamentations on the temple wall in colourful bands
Carried was I to go with the flow,
Unaware, unattentive of what went around
Lost in the patterned world!

But the rhythm did something interrupt ...
A wiggled tuft,
Blossoming life inside a lifelessly lively pattern
As if taking forward the baton ...
The responsibility to burst the monotony bubble,
And bring twists and curves even inside the cracked part of the motif! 
Yes a pretty life emerging from the broken pattern!

Nature - Mother Nature

When a hug is what you need,
Go, visit the natural breeze
And yes your thirst will it heal!

Just close your eyes and breath,
And the mother nature will do its bit
And will it circumference the airy arms around you
Trying to assemble the broken pieces of you into you!
Don't worry it won't drive these pieces apart ...
It would circle around and provide a motherly comfort! 
Because afterall she too is a mother!

Lost

Shining dimonds on a vast floor,
As if toppled upside down,
But not yet off their bore.
Dropping shine over the light-scorched houses ashore!
Yes they are the stars!

One day a childlike curiosity popped inside me,
How many such pearls does this earth carry?
How many of them do witness our midnight melodies?

That night when the clock struck nine,
Aiming my sight at each star that stays upright,
One, two, three,  four, five...
Counted I till midnight,
Unaware of how far the count was carrying me!

Now breaking the chain of my count frantically,
I banged my head into a brownish tree!
Somewhat scared, maybe of my own shriek,
Fell I onto the floor of that empty street!

I rolled my eyes around sulkily,
Eaten up with fear,
Lost did then I feel,
And hence dropping a flood of tears.

These flooded eyes and the dark night manupilated the midnight scene.
The concrete road seemed like rushy water,
The swishing of trees a shrieky scream,
Waving to me with demoniac laughter!

This moment was a do or die,
Either could I stand up and try,
To get through the gushy water,
Or else stay and let the cold blood flow within with a hasty high!

Now cluching myself really tight,
I was ready to try,
To step into the gasty flow!
But when with fear went my tears all dry,
A road concrete enough was I standing by!

No gales, no waves had there ever been
My mind had then created that adernalin high,
Which made things seem so scarily wry!
Now me has found a braver I,
Which knows when imagination imposts to the reality of the eye,
The heart will always help you through,
And will let you look out for the daring new!

-Angel Pandhi