Stories

None of the stories saw the dawn,
they lay scattered, strewn across my floor,
A canvaas splashed with colours,
Colours that never bothered to match.

The characters changed with time,
sometimes, they just hobbled and fell
sometimes they walked into oblivion,
and never returned to the stories 

Now, I ponder alone in the dark,
perhaps, they became a part of some other story
stories which lie knotted in the dust
away from the naked eyes

perhaps, stories too have a destiny,
some are never meant to be born
while some never see the dawn

Wait

Somewhere, on the other side of the world,
Lying on breasts, you weep,
The naked floor touching your skin,
drowned in the darkness of the night

It rains in the capital,
the rain drops sparkles under the neon light,
I wait in the rain, sitting under the street lights
the breeze caresses my crippled thoughts.

Neither the wailing stops, nor the rain subsides
Tied in an invisible knot,
another day passes
Awaiting a better tomorrow.

I slack

In the misty mornings, I day dream
under the warm of my worn-out quilt
about a book that I wanted to write
or about some half-baked plots or
some half-written poems. I slack.

From a corner of my window,
which remains covered with my bed-sheet
all day and night, a ray of light escapes
and dimly lights up my room,
I dream again about the many things which I wanted to do,
about the many men I wanted to be
and the many men which I have become. I slack.

My bed remains messed up always,
just like my head. I slack.

The desktop, which stands testimony
to the innumerable days which I wasted,
looks bogged down by the burden of guilt
which otherwise should have been mine. I slack.

P.S. This lines are an extension of the poem written by my friend goirick. Please do Click here to read his one. Thanks