THE SMALL TEMPEST..

A cubical structure lying above the head,
Stops the physical attempts to reach beyond.
He blames me of being possessed;
Regardless of the awareness of facts.

It's not a hindrance, it's a stereotype,
That is made by the people going through.
I always laugh and explain him;
Don't be so downhearted dear.

Things are going to be easy with the time,
The criticizing lips will get sealed.
The only thing we need to do;
Is to be placid amidst the storms.

Whenever there happens an off-centre live show;
The audience gets troubled of the unpredictable outcomes.
This vivacious welcome we must accept;
For the "Growing trees" are the most perturbed ones.

 

WELL, IT'S ALRIGHT...

Thought of another note;
Just another poem or another quote.
But what should I write?
The morality or the magic beneath;
The eyes of the scrupulous beside.
The rain or the rainbow;
The colors of the rejoice.
The sermon or the words;
Uttered by the last voice.
Although I haven't read them;
But think of preaching like an unalloyed.
What if I say, I do hate reading.
And wish to have a blind horse ride.
Nothing is there but the reins;
Steering the random things
That come to my mind.
What if I say, I am little crazy,
For the very desires;
I have put up around.
Well, I think it's alright...