gilmour BLues

when i was a child
i had a weird dream
a guy with a guitar
and a hallway full of scream

as i turned to life
distortion entered my veins
rythm surpassed my spirits
and now i'd take the pain

and then there was a guy
the boy of "Barett"
he was coming back to life
and i wished he was here

the boy kept rhyming
and kept running like hell
he remembered a day
and felt his pulse well

a saucerful of secrets and
a momentary lapse of reason
the boy obscured by cloud and
a delicate sound of a thunder

dogs, pigs, sheep behind the wall
all the time and money and MOTHER
he was the dark side of the moon
and shone on his crazy diamond

i can feel the gilmour blues
and movement of those fingers
i have become "comfortably numb"
let the solo engulf my soul

freedom and ME

dark and dull all over
when despair over triumph runs
hopes starve to death
and freedom beckons

when brotherhood unites
to bring an uprising
the flame evolves from dark ashes
and history keeps revising

theinfinite force from insides
oozes out of souls
and the efforts intermingle
to bring about drastic goals

breathing in the fresh air we,
stand straight facing the sun
years have passed when we were free
but why still freedom beckons

i look at myself and feel
the surroundins are dumb
although i am a part of freedom
why my feet are limping and numb

when all the ways lead
to the same woeful end
then how can anyone feel that
freedom is not to pretend

when the dreams of freedom
shackled by my own mother's son
when hearts produce hurts
why shouldn't freedom beckon

fooTbaLL

unconvincingly i stride along the deserted passages
my heart noticing those fearful messages
the feeling of loneliness brings a chill to the spine
small whispers kill the remaining confidence of mine

well it seems like a horrible stanza
frightening, scaring sort of extravagenza
but beneath me, besides me, lies my soul
whatever people call it,i call it football

the corridor may be empty but i have got someone
i am inspired to perform, i really fear no one
the feet are moving well, my body stretched
the more i practice more, my heart relaxed

the match was not a match, my performance condemned
dumbstruck i limped, deeply depressed
my body aches and down i fall
after playing my soul i called football

but somewhere in the darkness i find a glimpse of light
again i rise from my ashes, my fists clenched tight
one can take the life but can't take the soul
i will once again play my soul, i still call it football

the desire of transformation inside me beckons
i mould, i modify, i cross my horizons
stupendous modulations keep making me strong
i perform, i win, i can't do anything wrong

the climax concludes, i responded to my heart's call
left everything to play my soul, i call it football

PEFECT CRIME....

Moonlight grazed the lake last night,
As stars aligned for a beautiful sight.
Her radiant eyes sparked a flame;
Whispers from the wind called her name.

Sitting on a bench with a lovely view,
There was nothing I would rather do.
Leaning her head against my shoulder,
I kept her warm as the night grew colder.

The crime scene was perfectly placed;
Go in for the kill, with no time to waste.
I grinned as I gently kissed her forehead.
“Baby, I love you so much,” I softly said.

She opened her glamorous eyes so wide.
“I love you too,” she smilingly replied.
Kissing her lips, I showed my affection;
In that moment, there was a connection.

Together we committed the perfect crime,
Stolen from our loves, that precious time
We left no fingerprints, no reason, no trace—
Then went home to our lovers' embrace

AM I DEAD!!!!!!!!!

The doors are open,
and the windowpanes are swaying.
Quietly, I lie upon the floor, motionless—
am I dead?

Silence echoes through the room,
while dust grows thicker on the books.
The walls seem to close around me,
and still I wonder—
am I dead?

The room is as deserted as a grave.
I see myself lying on the floor;
then I fall to my knees
and whisper a prayer for myself.
I must be dead.

But who is he, kneeling there,
praying for my soul?
If that is me—and not some dying dream—
then tell me,
how can I be dead?

My morals are buried, my spirit extinct;
my heart rings false, my love indistinct.
Every word I speak becomes a mournful breath—
perhaps there are crueller things
than death.

I stand beside myself in mourning,
paying tribute to the man I used to be.
I have travelled too far to find the road back,
yet something in me refuses to leave.

So, God, if this is what it means to live—
half a man, half a memory instead—
don't leave me here to mourn myself.
Tell me why I am not dead.

Last Decibels

I lose the lightness of being myself

through the last few breaths I exhale.

The fear installs itself upon me;
it grows darker, and I grow pale.

The world around me revolves, making
the last moments even more woeful and dark.
It's not Earth's rotation, 'cause
I know I am already part of the Earth.

The people around me seem to come close,
although I know they are going away.
Who will hold my hand now
when souls all around seem to decay?

All the sounds have started fading away.
I can feel my time is almost over.
I can't hear the last decibels muttered;
down I go, sinking lower and lower.

I tried to give my best, didn't I?
I am the only one who thinks so.
I am a part of the past now;
it's time for the seed over my grave to grow.

Beginning Of the End

desires leave the path

breaths no more inside
loneliness to live with
blind are all eyes...

Extraordinary scenes
seen around the dead..
is this the end of beginning
Or beginning of the end.

the land beneath slips
can't hold my feet
everyone sinks deep...
Realms change indeed

Fear not to be felt now
it excludes from divine
life leads to death and ...
death leads to life

endless surprises wait
after devastation........
there wont be any pain
this is end of CIVILISATION.

rotten scar!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I lean to my length,
and loneliness smirks.
I feel a bit lighter now,
having left the world uncovered, unconquered.

It hit me hard, hard on my head,
and left a rotten scar there,
and pained me till it grew uglier;
left me dead... Jesus, I wanted to be dead,
to see the light beneath the dark.

And I can't touch my scar,
even though there is no pain now.
My fingers don't hurt my eyes anymore,
and I want to be blind for it to be darker.

The grave suits me more
than those earthly treasures.
Loneliness brings relief,
and lightness takes away the grief.
No more gloomy days or nights.

The rotten scar shines off,
and I can't be anything but grateful,
thankful that it rid me of myself,
my rubbish-clot self.

God, just give me one more rotten scar.

dreaded echoes

Lies on the tablecloth,
but my mind, like that stupid moth...
deserted passages, hollow dreams,
silent feelings, terrible screams.

And somewhere in that brain,
those blurred images remain;
damaged shells instill fear,
swollen eyes and dried tears.

And as the night gradually falls,
you can't tell skulls from cannonballs...
mesmerised by serene dust,
victims of bloodlust.

Femurs peeping out of shins,
whoever loses, whoever wins;
strange hands close the eyes,
dreaded echoes reach the skies.

pink wound and black rain

fighting our worst fears
leaving behind red tears

opening those sealed windows
chasing our own shadows

leaning against cold blood
crying for some black rain

the violet flash passes by
the wound is pink, and so is the pain

don't ask for love anymore
ask for some more life

and stop searching your reflections
at the sharpened edge, of the knife

cut your throat deep and hard
kneel down and pray for death
see the serpentiine in my eyes
hissing of the breeze is not a myth

if your eyes can't bear any more
pull those balls out of the sockets
stop looking for excuses,
stop searching empty pockets

ANUMEHA

Against my will, I stand,

Beside my own reflection, still;

Gone with the wind, as they would say,

Dry and desperate in the month of May.

Dark, deep depths engulfing me,

And all I want is to have my say;

Drowned by my own self-control, I turn around—

There was hope, but nothing I found.

Far from me, she laughs, she sings, she dances;

I remain a prisoner of my own circumstances.

My heart was true, but my words were few;

I was only myself—she found nothing new.

I was torn to pieces, the sun staring at me;

In the midst of doom, I wonder—where is she?

She was my life; I was deeply distressed,

My mind bewildered, my thoughts suppressed.

Helpless, I drift along the breeze that blows;

Happiness starves while misery flows.

Joys are few, and sorrows are more;

Alone and aloof, I stand at the shore.

I am not a poet—it's the pain of my soul;

On this parchment, I have poured it whole.

Her essence still lingers in the air;

I loved her—I truly swear.

spit on my face

Stop the crying.
Let disgrace have its end.
Whatever is left of me
is too tired to pretend.

Forget the pain—
it has forgotten me.
There is a peculiar misery
in surviving endlessly.

Break these shackles.
Set the captive free.
I have carried my own prison
everywhere with me.

My veins have grown silent;
the pulse has lost its way.
Something inside me is breaking
a little more each day.

I stand at the edge of absence,
neither lost nor saved.
Do not ask me to turn around—
I have forgotten what I craved.

Darkness gathers slowly;
the path dissolves beneath my feet.
The earth withdraws its promise,
and eternity refuses to speak.

Switch off the lights.
I have learned to see through dark.
There are graves we enter breathing,
and wounds that leave no mark.

Let me sleep now.
Let the silence take its place.
If this is all you ever saw in me,
turn away without a trace.

Take the love I could not bury,
take the years I cannot replace.
Take whatever still remains of me—
and spit on my face.