This is a rant, an absolute rant
They keep me failing,
As the water runs down,
Better I leave wailing ,
Or else, they will leave with a frown.
And they say ,
That the world is white , black or gray,
That depends on your calling,
But they leave me for the greener pastures ,
Huh!! I wonder,
Tears take the place of words,
But they are to be dried even before they appear,
But the sound of words , has not vanished,
They have never had a sheath
They are buried beneath
Like the constant chirping of birds
And the chirpings
Are like the ghosts –constantly feared.
The chirpings start ringing like death knell
I wish to commit homicide of my own soul
So, I peep inside the inner well
And I find
That the birds chirping are the vultures,
Gnawing away at my ailing soul
Which long time back was pure and whole.
Vultures make me wonder,
And they make me mortally afraid.
Feeds on the dead, the vulture,
So does that mean that me too, is dead ,so I wonder
But it may be a dream, or a slumber,
Reflections of the sound of the words, I think
But one vulture laughs loudly , yes he did,
When I tried to bite, pinch and blink.
You feel this, so you are not dead,
You cannot get out of this, you are not on your bed
So it is no dream or any slumber,
We are feasting upon a soul ,
Which was once yours own,
Before to your soul mate it started to wander
It is dead now,
It was once part of your soul
But yours alone is still one and whole
They rejoiced loud with a happy cry,
As if they had another feast
And then I realized it was why,
Coz in their log of feast
My own soul was written against the next number!!!!