That May Day

That bright summer afternoon, no orange sun to see, Warm lights through doors it stepped in like a crowd. A warm loo sweep through the door went flung open, It murmured voices so strange, so undesired. I had my head down bench and rimmed through past, 'Yet the may day I not wish the same' I heard my voice. Though wisdom had no answer, no fresh did I saw, The warm sets declared and here grimmed a nightmare. Ill face no swarm to fly, no bird to chirp, Little gems that fallen and crushed levy haven. Dried red lips of mine murmured 'Yet the may day Had the sun rose through west I not wish the same'. And monday morning today is cool, Expedition of what sun to see, its orange. Silver sky and me eyes far away the view, Its clear as pearl threads from heaven. At last my way is clear, not the way it disappear, In the breeze so fresh and drizzle frizzle. At last my feet can step where destiny doesn't want to, In the time of mine and none of other, the way I want to.

You know how that is...

Its a time, mere personalisation, and an unbelievable arena of human artistic period where one doesn't know what's about to come next even though he recognises that its just what he wishes for!

So, there is little time left to live in the love of destiny and the rest to put the abilities onto tests.

It seems a little time to realise the facts that only one step have numerous fringes to cross over, and believe that this one step have strong tendency to let the fate change forever...

A one designed for millions, packed in boxes, shipped to various boats of the world and to the mysterious destinations worldwide, that one is only for you!

With a silent show and all audience dispersed, one has to point on tough decisions , rely on the fate and let the tides afresh him with new breeze of all those familiar voices tailored for you!

So, you know how that is, its just the time to let it go, the time shall fix the appropriate proportions and make everything as it always should be!

An Old Man on the Porch

He is 7 years old maybe, mere orange furnished colour on the anatomy, fairly looking eyes and a big bright face.
He walks in grace, leads his peers in the toughest of terrains and furious of the rains.
He is an old man on the porch resting on his big mind, below the shade underneath humans' visions that sets him displace his throne.
He is a night prowler, every rise in another dark pace.
He is a friend, near and dear, exemplary compliment since times, a security men ruling across the pendent, all designed in money and pride.
He is the hero of his story, his mandate presence made the mystery more applaudable, a world where wests swims into easts and be friends, friends forever.
He is old, yet his throne is inevitable, beyond all lessons thus he stays and coexist and leaves fierce flights in dust....
He is a dog, mine a street borne,the best companion of all times, standing still in generosity, well a God's own gift wrapped in essence of pure love!

Acoustic Guitar Strumming By Me!