Welcome to ‘The Pocket Diaries’ a global platform for every talent, a suburb for passions palpitating beneath the thick layers of necessities and indeed an initiative to unfold innumerable hidden talents forth you.
A peculiar concept to bring your dreams to existence by providing you the very platform you always dreamt off. An opportunity to publish your works worldwide and indeed an
endeavour to provide you a ‘mysa’ in this contemporary incessant world.
After a futile search of the house, I looked into his room,in the tree house he had built as a child. I opened the door and darkness enveloped me. There was a stale odor in the room, as if someone had died in there.My first step tumbled on an object. I searched about and held it in my hand, a broken syringe. I took out my phone and switched on the flashlight. The illumination lent the room an eerie silence. I saw a bedraggled body, huddled up in a corner. Cautiously, I went ahead, my heart thumping with every step. A number of other syringes were lying about. I approached the figure and shone the light on the face. The body emanating a foul smell and the hollow bones crackling in my hold. I looked at the face and gasped.
A face with sunken cheeks.
I stood shocked and quite lifeless myself, as I stared into my dead brothers eyes, blank and bleak.
Ahoy!!! hope you are all doing well. Today, your humble servant, presents forth you the first part of probably his longest poetry and the very first ballad… So, here it is… enjoy the first 2006 characters… 😉
Once on an isle, made of Glee,
A peasant fell in love with a maiden,
They were young kids back then, immature and guile,
Yet pretentious of wisdom Sophie cried,
“What purpose do I fill of yours? Obsessed with my slender waist and lissom neck, or something else that you adore?”
“Nothing much superficially to be obsessed, just the tenderness you carry within besides the way you dress”
said the peasant with a wry smile and suddenly “pardon” surprised Sophie replied.
“Oh! You’ve heard already, what I said,
It’s just the novice way to address”
Hiding her lovely smile, beneath the protest “Aren’t you afraid of my family’s power” she said.
“Fear is relative term I think, and seeing your beauty it ought to sink.”
“How unabashed peasant you are… Feel the agitation of the hour.
You’re talking to the daughter of grantor, seeing you behavior he may begin a war.”
“A war killing innumerable for a spark of love. If the grantor pleases so, I’m afraid soon it will be a land of crows.”
P.S. : The title MAY be temporary, wait for the complete update and continue reading my first ballad.
In the middle of seasons
where numbness lays,
the dormant devil speaks today.
Some may call you drier than sand
to some you may seem wetter than rain,
Same may not pass you even as human,
some may call you humane.
It is nothing but the way you see.
There is no definition of you,
You are no type, symmetry or pattern.
From men like free birds to,
men like dedicated workaholics.
From the bubbly neighborhood women,
to the lifeless gaze of intellect
is what you are made of.
From a world yet to be discovered,
to the world, a long lost one,
From intricate tales of grand achievers,
to an ever smiling flower vendor outside.
A temple is what you’re made of.
I wonder, why do we have to talk the same,
like the same and feel the same
as a pre-determined order of civilized,
I wonder why we must result into the same,
when the entire cause is different.
As i sat down, reminiscing the moments we shared,
I noticed intricate details,
that defined our love, the bond we shared.
I tried to bury my feelings,
but the crevice in my heart won’t be filled
and the tears in my eyes won’t stop,
I was devastated as I realised,
it was meaningless to be alive without a reason,
I am not here to wander aimlessly,
Devoid of purpose,
I was hopeless, as i got a call,
which changed me, my life, my everything,
that call was by my