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Showing posts from April, 2014

Caws of the crow

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Don't laugh at me, or think that I have become slightly looney, But of late, I have realised there's beauty in even crows. That beauty unappreciated by most. Back where I come from, The cawing of crows is bad omen, A sign that death approaches. Here in Delhi, they seem to command a little bit of indifference.







Kindred.

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What it was,
Would never be known.
Was it a reciprocated one,
Or one of the more common,
That of the unrequited sort.

Touched by tragic beauty,
Of the impossibility,
There was a longing,
And a sense of despair.

Song lyrics exchanged,
Each leading to a frantic decoding,
Of words unsaid.
Were words unspoken,
Or was it just a dying man's grasp.
That would remain unknown, undecoded.

Each meeting led to a reawakening,
Of something deep within.
Each awakening hastily suppressed,
Lest it turned the soul into hollowness.

With each glance, a silent goodbye.
And a hope, for clarity.
Kindred spirits we are, they say.
Or is it because of the unknown.
Lest things are unravelled,
And beauty be lost.
Let it stay amidst shadows,
Forever unspoken.

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