𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘴 - A Collection Of Poems 🪶

Beyond The Scars

My limit is the sky
Where there are no scars
My limit is the heavens
Where there are no bars.

I wish to be a free bird,
And rise high and high
I wish to touch the welkin-
That is beyond anigh.

The scars I talk about is that of the spot,
Which was etched by a being so wild -
Digging the heart of this world- scratching and tearing it apart;
Gore of blood sheds from the heart of this society.

Thousands of cries are heard every second
But all the ears are deaf.
No hand reaches to the being -
So broken and torn.
Tears are shed everywhere -
Heart of the society is pricked with thorn.

My heart bleeds to see the scars.
The world I live in is full of mud -
Mixed with vice, atrocity and moral-crud.
I pity the world for the scars it has
I want to go beyond these hideous mars.

I wanted to be the Heraclitus- so wise and sage,
His wisdom taught me to break this scarred cage.

But why am I still here?
The world has given me being :
My breath, my sense, my essence-
This scarred world has given me all
Why should I let it break and fall?

How broken could this world be?

Somewhere in a Neverland :
A little girl is seeing her fellows dancing mertily;
Bloke or lass : nobody asks
Nobody slays there for their own fouls.
Smiles are drawn on everyone's face
And no one cares about your body or dress.
You are free to catch your dreams
Your baggy waist or burnt skin are not for grims.

But I live in a world so touched and blemished
Chiliads of color mix on its land
Making it dull and dry -
And as feeble as stairs of sand -
Making it break apart in drowning vile.

Utopia is a dream.

Dreams are the abyss - so void and null
But reality is a mirror that is beyond dull.
Dullness is the word that could never sketch this world
With the garish thoughts, my mind is whirled.

I want to drizzle this parched world with sprinkle of goodness.

Little did I know about the souls no menial than angels.
Those souls are the heal for this world so marred
They are the elixir of this society so scarred.
They are the hands whose holds are firm,
They are the holders of the hearts so tender warm.
The world talks tiny over these august being's beings,
For the world is busy with the worldly things.

My soul is revoked with the new kindled thoughts:
This world is a place where the devils show their fangs and vile,
And the angels teach us to be strong and smile.
The angels break those sinister fangs,
And heals the bites of the soul so wrung.

No longer does this world seems scarred to me -
Those scars are a blanket under which lies a paradise.
I want to tear that blanket apart -
And discover the gleaming heaven under the quilt of malice.

No longer do I want to run away from those scars
I shall renovate them with the med of ace
No matter what tsunami of vile the earth throws at me,
With grit shall I going it to face -
And spread the wings of solace.

This world is yours, so much as it is mine
I am a creature with a purpose so concealed.
But I have decoded that hidden errand-
To fly beyond the scars,
And unsully this shrouded wonderland.