To the promises she is meant to keep

An accolade to the merriment of melancholy

Drawing in the angst of sorrow,

Fearful of the uncertainty of tomorrow.

Perspiring on the beads of the broken glimmer of sunshine,

We seek solace in the eternal stream of the divine.

Honing on the bliss of solitude,

Leaping on the melancholic trail,

Scared to death, recollecting the memories that were frail.

In the stillness of today, the voices in our heads dance,

Convulsion setting its fangs deeper into our beliefs,

Puts us in a trance.

Kisses of forever hanging loose on the thread of vows,

Life is a novel of adventures,

Where the best of both dazzle and dark endows.

Complacent to the mundanity that surmounts the day,

Diving into oblivion to avoid the miseries seems the only way.

How contrasting is a human,

Whose life is a parody?

A paradox of drawing tranquillity in its plight,

Embracing the sombreness of darkness yet mourning about the absence of light.

We, humans, are complex beings,

The ones who pack ourselves into pitches that sell,

Unraveling journeys of hope light and recovery,

We are plots of the stories we never tell.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An ode to promises

Bound in the notions of forever,

Convulsed in the doting cries of endeavours

A human cries under the depths of sleep,

For he is a slave of his word, he has his promises to keep.

Oh, man! Will you return from the foreign lands,

To honour the syllable recorded of the trodden dark sands.

Will you keep the burnt hope alive,

To be the magnanimous ray of light in the toil and strife.

How often do we hear the tales of victory and valour,

The knight that scarred his existence,

Are the tales we savour.

We doth to forget, the promises of his lover, her plight.

His dreams inhabited her in the slumber’s light.

For I have been told,

Many tales remain untold.

The world adorns the hammered wheeling of its way,

To glorify a man’s small deed, to overlook a woman’s dismay.

Lamenting on the vows she ought to fulfil,

Her dreams are packed in the suitcase of entitlement,

For she is entitled to live to her duty,

To be an object of a man’s desire,

A subject to ogle on as beauty.

She loves to sing, she loves to dance

To dance madly in the name of her passions,

To view the world through her glance.

But she is bound in the name of love, that leashes with promises to keep.

A woman that beholds the creator himself,

Who transpires from existence to mortality,

Cries under the waters of sleep.

Cries under the waters of sleep.

-Hridya

--------------------------------------------------

Querencia - The place from where one draws strength.

We laugh, we cry, we dance, we lie but we never say goodbye.

When life strikes you like the bolt of lightning, time and tide stand verdantly tall,

You cry at the plight of your misery and in the clutches of hopelessness you fall.

Pain becomes the sweet nectar of the mundane times,

Rejections and dejections forge to be fate’s prime.

Days stand on the edge of night,

Freedom loses its way out of sight.

Transpiring the conflict pining the walls of the heart,

The omnipresent rays of the sun tear the soul apart.

Conundrums of the melodies that elated the mind,

Are now the lyrical beasts crawling in the hind.

Stars are fragmented pieces of broken spirits that adorn the sky,

Humans are nothing more than shattered pieces that smile through a lie.

Tales of valor and victory we hear,

We dream to succeed, to persevere.

But the fire in us dies,

when the world speaks its lamented lies.

The sacred meaning of mortality is life and death,

But we live in a world where one dies,

Before embracing his deathbed.

Where we befriend the smiles that bury the tears,

And betray the tears that are engulfed in fears.

We learn to live with forgery,

To tame our souls to survive in misery.

Love is the sweet nectar of life,

That keeps us alive.

We often search for it in others,

We all are wanderers searching for a home,

A home where abundance holds its presence on the door,

A place where no matter who we are, love is the core.

I name myself the wanderer who searches for a home.

I laugh, I cry, I dance, but when the world boils me down,

I go to my smile.

Beholding it in my embrace,

My existence thrives in its grace.

The moon, the sun, and the stars,

It knows all about my life afar.

In my pain, in my moments of grief,

Where the world has no clue.

It cries with me and bleeds blue.

When the world cages me with its bars,

I hold my pen closely,

It is my querencia,

The one that knows the strength behind my scars.

-HRIDYA SHARMA