In the quiet creases of your wallet,
Among bills and borrowed time
you carry a moment of me
A photograph turned talisman
Tucked away with ur metro card....
folded between everyday storms
and small sunlit errands.
I wonder, if he knows
Those pictures arent just paper to me,
it is a relic of our almost-forever,
A forever that brushed past us and kept going
Like I am the bookmark
in the unfinished novel of us,
I wonder…
when he pays for tea
does the shopkeeper notice
how his fingers lingers a second longer
And he pauses for a heartbeat
Right over the pocket
Where my picture lives
And though the photograph is still,
the story is breathing
paused, yet not ended
waiting for the day
he no longer needs ink and paper
to remember
how much I mean to him.
~Nilashree
We are all there in memoirs that live on
An unending story that's long bygone
We’re the result of someone's love story
The produce of shared love amatory.
Those whom once made wishes upon a star
Wishes that made us become who we are
In the Garden of Eden long ago
Where temptation lit up romances glow.
Our happiness, sorrow and heartbreak too
Maybe a dream that did or didn't come true
We are all characters in history
The wonderful book of life's mystery.
As time goes ticking by, the pages grow
Each one of us helps the magic to flow
Whilst making footprints along life's highway
A journey leading to Heaven's stairway.
However long your love story may last
The memory will remain of what’s past
Love flows through future generations too
Those who will be a little bit of you.
Love is ageless, love is what gets us through
All trials and trauma we ever knew
Continue to write of each stage of life
The unfinished novel on which we write.
No form, no function
just self-induced destruction
blocked receptors unravel
observing the undeserved
a second serving
of an unfinished novel
page by page pulled into their quarters
there's not one getting away
the ticker streams across the screen
and I can hear their screams
or so it seems
the bought, the sold
real stories never told
those dished and displayed
taking silence to the grave
whispers I hear whispers
I reach into the frozen waters
washing with it the angst away
parched taste buds now tingle
unfortunately tomorrow's another day
I just got done with the dishes after another family meal
they all said I should have a restaurant, where I could slice, dice, and peel,
and then I informed them the amount one is paid
to toil in a boiling sauna - kitch, and they said "that's all you made?"
and why I began painting, and for reasons withheld
for what good are such talents for-barren and shelved??
It's always been a far off dream of mine, to have a sort of day/night diner
where the food is good to the extreme, and the night life even finer...
to find a financier is the trick, with no degree in my hand,
but I've thought it all out, and have it all planned,
just like my unfinished novel, and my paintings aplenty
like my scattered genius brain, that shuffles in frenzy...
but here is my point, with You at the center
for Kinshala, you could ease ily be my soul mentor...
I've seen it inside, you touched me and tried
to lift me to a new center of being, where my best is applied...
We only need time, and I'm not giving up
though the stakes are against us
they won't force me to drop
my One chance for truth, for life and for love
for Peace is Kinshala, like branch is to dove...
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