Writing a poem is
Quite anachronistic.
The myriad misrepresentations of truths
And relativity of impressions.
The memory as a wall
In which no one can write .
It is a block.
A picture painted is not
Firm and reliable.
But the wall was
Rough and old.
A feel gives a glance to the
Still photographic views of mind.
Like the hopeless readings of
Ancient literature.
Everything has gone.
No word ,no sign remains.
It is a parting experience.
Forget to smile,cry and die.
Life without death is more
newer and tasty with time!
A face unearthed from
the mind is still a museum piece.
Nothing is a discovery.
It is human custom to
Forget the past.
Love is also the withering
Element of the past.
Love is a spoiled spirituality
And greed.
It is a whispering of hatred ,
Jeolous and suspicion.
Man is a caged being
In front of unlimited lust.
No poetry , no fiction is seen.
Poem is misunderstanding
Of meanings within the words.
The images are bygone .
The meanings are pretending
To be truthful.
The pictures in the verbal
Geography of words are
Silent and not alive.
Beauty is no more.
The images are false.
The moods are quite opposite.
Songs are not
Suited to the occasion.
It is cheating.
Smuggling
Masking.
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