Sounds of the heart. Whispers of the soul.

Posts tagged “Poetry

What would you do?

In the solitude of the night,
thoughts of a miracle comes to my mind – you coming to me.
But then what would you do?

What would you do?
Would you take me in your arms?
Hug me so tight to squeeze out all the pain I feel.

What would you do?
Would you place my head in your lap?
Ruffle my hair so I can close my eyes and fall in a peaceful slumber.

What would you do?
Would you cup my face in the palm of your hands?
Your soft caress soak up all the tears I shed.

What would you do?
Would you bring your lips close to my ears?
Whisper a soft, sweet, “It’s gonna be Ok. I am here.”

Day breaks. I am still with my solitude.
You did not come to me.
The miracle and the answers will come another day.


Eyes Behind The Burka

As I walked back home,
lost in thoughts of my own.
Ahead a figure walked towards me,
dressed in a burka, black.
Black like the eyes that looked at me.

Black eyes looking into my eyes brown.
Looking, reaching somewhere deep within.
Eyes that had a secret longing.
Eyes that had an unbearable yearning.

Eyes that held tears of an unknown plight.
Eyes that held dreams of a better life.
Eyes that knew dreams weren’t meant to be.
Eyes behind the burka that looked at me.

What was it like living behind a veil all your life?
Like the moon behind dark clouds every single night.
Trapped in a cell with only darkness and thee.
Eyes behind the burka that looked at me.

The look in the eyes will forever haunt me.
The simple questions always perplex me.
And next time, I’ll look down,
afraid forever to look into the eyes.
Eyes behind the burka that looked at me.

The kid with brown hair

He had brown hair.
Hair that was once black.
But now burnt,
begging all day in the harsh sunlight.

He was very tiny. Young and lean.
But his eyes looked old in spite of him.
He was waiting, his eyes gleaming.
A film crew had just finished feasting.

He looked hungry. His stomach and spine one.
He was pathetic; he might as well have died.
He had watched the stars dine;
Hoping for a morsel with their each bite.

He stared at their dirty dishes
with the food they had wasted.
There was more food than
he had ever had in a week

He looked at the cook, hope in his eyes.
The cook glanced at him with little mercy.
A cleaner had started picking up the dishes,
emptying all the food in a waste bin.

The boy now turned his attention
to the cleaner with the bin.
He tagged behind him,
hoping to find the treasures that lay within.

The man picked up the bucket
and walked to the end of the street.
Four German shepherds stood there,waiting,
alert, hungry and on a leash.

The boy stayed behind,
wary of the furry beasts.
The man looked at the kid,
emptied the bin and fed the beasts.

Bomb Blasts – First thought

I sit in the darkness staring into nothingness.
My thoughts wandering to the blasts in the daylight.

I feel sad and sorry at the affected   people’s plight.
But hurt most at the repeated abuse to this glorious country of mine.

Stripped of its rich green blanket by gold-diggers and the corrupt.
Raped over and over by the greed and lust of mankind.

Writer’s Block

The blank page on my desk is staring at me.
With a pen in my hands, I stare back with a smirk and a smile.

Thoughts cross my mind, letters try to come together to forms words of pride.
I stop fiddling with my pen, and bring my hand down ready to strike this enemy in white.

The shining golden edge of tip of my pen, hovers, ready to strike.
My hands tremble as I make my descent to stake claim over yet another empire.

Love. Hate. Pain. Joy. Sorrows. War. Peace.
Words, words and more words. only words. No sentences. No lines. No quotes.

I scream in anguish. I tap my pen on the old hollowed desk. Louder. Faster.
My golden sword breaks, and I fling the pen in horror.
it cracks further before coming to rest with a thousand other friends.

My trembling only stops after my tears have drowned this eternal enemy.
I grab it with in hands, enjoying its silent, slow, death.
I shriek in laughter, as I toss its pieces in the air, and watch it fall down to my feet.

My nervous laughter stops, as I cast my eyes around the once bright room.
The enemy has grown very strong. Its numbers every increasing.
I am surrounded. I am trapped.

These white demons have engulfed me in an infinite blackness.
This will be my death. And they will be my shard.
The pure, silken white to wrap my corpse.

I do not have any great lines to leave behind.
But then what do I say that has not already been said better?
What do i write. that has not been written about before?
This would be my legacy.