It is rather late or in another way, way early. There were people on my facebook still trying to chat with me like 15 min ago. I don’t know why so many people want to stay up late. Maybe they are all like me. How am I like? Good question. I thought about this couple of weeks and said to myself this. I am like just any other man one can find in the mirror if you are a man. If you are woman you may not give me a second look if you meet me at the street corner. That’s the case with majority of people however what makes the difference? It just that I am not a hypocrite or a person who get lost in the flow of the masses. I either swim away and get to calmness or I never get in the middle of the flow in the first place. Will that make me a protectionist? In a way yes, as I am the one person I should protect in the first place. As I keep myself at bay mostly these days many familiar faces gave me strange looks. Some faces don’t look at me anymore and some of them are fighting with their own shadows to erase my face from memory. All these makes me mind a blank white sheet on which, I am tried of writing story after story. Maybe I should just leave it blank so that someone will find it someday in someway to write a new story and make this strange face unique leaving a smile on this face.
The above said thought at that time kinda triggered a writing at that time. 15 or 16 days later I just felt the same after reading what I wrote. Hope you all find this strange writing a little familiar.
Tragedy Of A Middle Aged Bachelor.
The nightly stars one by one bowed away,
Far across the landscape darkness bound,
The spring mist with hollow dreams,
The wind in haste joined them in dance,
The lame morning somewhere in east yawned.
The old moon hid under the blanket of light,
Lazy birds from branch to branch of a flowerless tree hopped,
No songs, just screeches of nesting nightly bugs,
Bats with stomach full upside down lay and flapped their wings,
The blank journal page in light cold breeze turned.
The tired eyes in waiting for an unseen daydream drooped,
None seen as all ended like the journal page bye breeze turned,
As everyday felt like yesterday,
And yesterday to tomorrow cloned.
Yet another spring morn between yesterday and tomorrow lost.
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sympathizing, relating…good poem
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