The Self Speaks......

Marching down the dunes,
crossing the faded lines of identity
a moment lived longer enough in my space
as secured .....as in peace

Therez the door, therez the path,
as new as the old
a chance , a speculation
for the self to rise,
a stranger waiting in this path of light

Flying in warm blue skies
the rainbow traces the rain,
So does the mind...
as a rover in course of time.

We gather , we build
nestling in the furnished wants,
cult in our own ways
Yet, life takes the invisible breath
to make us live in need ,desire
wandering in the same world of thirst.
cult in its own ways.
A ray to the future
not in the palm of fate,
is the trust in the seed
for the reasons unknown
speaks the soul,
Cult in its own way..

But then, Why does life struggle in its own hands?
Coz , the rose makes its own thorns. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Why shouldn't i?

I know not - why am i writing? . But, i dont know 'why shouldn't I ? '
If the purpose is to erase the white blankness of the mind by colouring this page with black letters, Let it be. If it is to kill the burning silence in the heart for unknown reasons,Let it be. If it is to harness the freedom of tomorrow, Let it be.....................i am writing.Why shouldn't I?

The page stays on,in the color intended,
to welcome the untold,
to see what it unfolds,
But then , what is the meaning it holds?

Nevertheless,
I write in lines of the thoughts that questions me ,
In words that urge me,
In sense that follows me,
But then, do i write for what you ask me?

You see, but a drop in the unseen rain.
A memoir of life...Written ,unspoken.
An old verse....sung uncomposed
But then, why is it still unheard?

Coz,
Once upon a time it was told in glee,
Writing is a want to run free.......
An expression unlaced,
A literary form unchased.

But then...... why am i writing . Shouldn't i?