Light at the end of the tunnel

There is some inkling on the paper
That sometimes can not resist the water
And washes away.

Perhaps, it has to.

If I cover it with hands
It wont yield
If I let it be in open
It might not heal

But there is always light at the end of the tunnel, if its a day
And only I can see it, nothing is better than faith.

Black be it, the darkness
Dark be it, the sight
Rough be it, the journey
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I can only see it
If I have to.

-knightesS

Drops on the window

There is a window here, from where I see,
In large portions of the day it remains closed by the opaque covers,
Curbing the light mostly and few thoughts,
That would have come otherwise,
This window stands between me and my reflection,
I can peek and know it all,
I can see when the sun is down
And the light is gone, but not further.

Here I sit, with curtains uplifted in front of me,
And I am aware of the sound that comes faintly, like from a distance,
Drops on the window, and no exact reflections today,
Just me, in infinite particles of water, scattered on the surface of this large eyed window,
As the sound grows, I become anxious and timid, more scattered and bewildered,
Touch them, the drops, and they'll merge,
Drops on the window, like thoughts.

-knightesS

Turbulence

There was this lost feeling of turbulence,
Fierce streams became sluggish,
Just the heart beat raced between the extremes.

There was anger mingled in the talks,
In random talks of random nonsense,
All continued in rhythm, all now is past tense.

Misconstrued were the truths of life,
Chases and day dreams, aesthetic ideals were true,
We raced in and out, all races and clans without any clue.

Saw with real eyes, unreal birds singing in the garden,
Caught the fishes with the young ones in the yellow boat,
But once the arrow is released, on the holy water the carcass floats.

We fought the speeds,
Now we ourselves clog the pathways,
With our dead plots of future,
Turbulence is long gone and slugs dried,
Nothing to fight,
Darkness waiting for the light,
Like two ends of the line,
Moving forward and backwards.

-knightesS

Nomad Scribbles

Like the waves that keep moving
Never stopping, always moving
Displacement of words is natural
Sometimes they are at brim
Sometimes dissolved in the grim
Words, oh I lack a lot of them,
Compelled to fill the pages anyhow.

As the ink leaks on the mind like patches,
There are circles formed, like blue suns,
Its an ideology for a scientist,
And disgust for a masochist,
Patches, I wash them all,
Stains are faint, but their boundaries crawl,
I'm those patches, self deprecating.

-knightesS