Fell asleep to the rhythm of screams,
drifting in the dark death sea.
The bed of tears was cold and stiff,
losing every last bit of me.
Storeys and storeys carried stories of my life,
playing in continuous loops.
Living in that each and every minute,
all the feelings were infinite.
Couldn't remember who and where I was.
Everything was surreal.
Unable to recollect what minute was mine for real.
Felt like a no one with memories of me,
like a new born trying to grasp reality.
So I started rising towards the light,
woke up with a fright.
Not knowing who I was,
my world was paused.
But the day was a little more brighter.
The grass was a little more greener.
The pain was a little less intense.
And my eye sight was cleaner.
In the cold sea it doesnt matter who you are.
All I want to know is how you are.
Tell me your number of giggles and laughs.
Show me your pains and tears.
Sing me the tales of your proudest moments.
Tell me your fears.
For flesh may turn to ash or soil,
but memories prevail.
It's the number of your adventures that count,
not the names of the ships you sailed.
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Thoughts of a Juvenile
PoetryWords are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hob...
