Category Archives: poetry

Ember

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With every whiff of air that winter evening,
gushes of fire ripped across the windows.

A calmness of contempt, in those red eyes,
as the white ashes blew away into the darkness.

The warmth within, morphed by the icy touches,
Stillness of fire, a disgrace to the frame.

Time was up, so was the night, a hollow morning
followed a shallow night.

You walked your path, to where you belong
An ember of life, left behind.

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Rebellious grin

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Dreams are what keeps you up, he was told

You don’t need coffee to pump you up, he was told

There is no shortcuts to hard work, he was told

Winning should be fun, he was told

Studying hard cannot backfire, he was told

A good (earning) job is a great accomplishment, he was told

You don’t need coffee to pump you up, he was told

Dreams are what keeps you up, he was told

He woke up, Ah! Freshly brewed coffee, he smiled in bliss.

 

Why does it feel so long

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I close my eyes and,
I can still feel
the dusky brown skin.

With my eyes open,
I can still feel,
those smooth tanned curves.

With a smile on my face,
I can still feel,
The sensation of you on my lips.

With every breath of air,
I can still feel,
The tingle of your fragrance.

With every passing moment
I can still feel
The freshness of our moist kiss.

I agree, its been just a while,
but,
Why does it feel so long.

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P.S 2012 has been a no coffee/tea year for Rambler..so far. Why this, Why this new year resolution di.

Obsession with the move.

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There are days when I feel like a train,
train on the move,
passing through numerous stations,
few minutes of halt, and then the gallop,
people getting on, and some getting off,
a sense of belonging, short lived.

There are days when I feel like a station,
a station, the common still ground.
Trains loaded with people, come and go
few minutes of commotion, and then the calmness,
people getting off, and some getting on,
a sense of abandonment, short lived.

Makes me wonder,
Why this obsession,
Obsession with the move.

The “what-if-not” inc

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As he walked few steps,
Into the fork he chose,
at the crossroads,
overwhelmed by the poisonous sweetmeat,
bought joyously at the “what if” store,
followed by his multiple twins,
the “could have been” zombies,
neglected, fell his protégées
the “should become” angels,
sadly, rotting at their well hidden store,
the “what –if –not “ inc.

Inspired by Ideasmithy’s post “The What If Store“, and the discussions via the comments on that post.