Dear Aries

Alive like the blood, Compelling as the rose.

It is all a simple rhythm to move along,

Maybe dance a little and colour the song,

It is the human nature to be adamant with prejudice,

Not for us, our senses can go beyond to empathise.

 

Peace is our stance while we listen,

And we expect the same from our whistle,

We may be horrid with the horns,

But often, humour can help you heal the wounds.

 

We are short-lived in anger and concern,

But the aesthetics shall remain and the future shall learn,

How trivial images can shape revolution for them all.

We hold the throne of lands on our head,

The passion that rules, hidden under the crest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dear Libra

We are blinded in tranquillity,

Surfacing the judgment from the canvas of the lost.

We run across intimate to their existence

Never to leave our trace in the thought.

 

Loyal as the wind, held by a storm,

Unknowingly affected by the sea,

Determined blindly by the play of a song,

We dance to the cause, only listening to the impact,

Rational verdicts that proclaim love as a fact.

 

Simple, yet complete, unlike the dreamer of the seas,

Our essence lies in the gravity,

The pull that enacts and justify each deed.

If you fall, only justice shall hear your call,

For I am the message that resonates the heartbeat in the fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Scorpian

Rush is known to hold their thoughts,

But you and I can slow down the fall,

And simply assembles the symbols in grace,

The empty smiles would come down with flaws,

Scattered naked under the Eagle’s thought.

 

We have the poison that can hold their nerves,

One reason for the shallow hold of their verse.

But the blue ocean, that we adore,

Can hold the poison till we are threatened with a sword,

Till the ocean would flood into the streams of our words.

 

We can stay and listen to the music of the shore,

In the serene eyes of the spirit, we adore,

Come around and we shall sing for long,

Keeping the secrets under the rhythm of the song.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Piscean

I realize they never settle,

I realize they never look up to the sky,

To find the spirit resting the strings to our nerves,

Rather, they drown and try to seek life in our troubles.

 

But as the inhabitants of the sea,

You and I shall hold the tranquil harp of needs,

For only when the ocean is calm,

They will feel the strings from the moon,

Pulling the existence to paradise from the clay.

 

Arid to their cause, we were blinded,

But always, and often their lucid dreams would tell,

That the souls rest on the verge of the waterfall,

Just like another one from the seas,

Seeking the symphony beyond the terror of deeds.

 

 

 

8. The Violin Play

“Hey, Alex. I guess I am sick. It is time to wake up.” I could only feel the febrile decay of my strength. My body was warm to its core, the brittle memories from the weird dream added to the problem. ” I had a weird dream. Fever dream, I suppose..”.

“Good Morning, take an off today, Dr Atlas. You think so much.” she came closer to kiss, the touch of her lips was cold. ” It is bad. You should have a break. Stay at home, I will come early as well.” Her voice was comforting, yet my body felt as if it would melt from the shivers through my skin. I took out the medicine and swallowed it with the last sip of water left in the water bottle.

“Yes, I will text them that I cannot come. Have a good day. Make something delicious. I need some positive energy in my mind.” I smiled at her and kissed her for a brief moment. The moment was not enough, but my body was not normal. I smiled again and closed my eyes, afraid of the dream yet searching for the answer of the Vedas. Wisdom could not reach to me eventually, the dream made no sense.


The endless and immortal space, a dream again. A drop of sweat rolled down my face. Another dream with no wisdom of real context of my life.

It was the space this time, completely empty just a sort of a cluster of beautiful colours in front of me. I was not breathing, not moving, not listening, but I was there. Kept at the moment, waiting for something to wake me up. I placed my vision onto the bright colours in front of me, the cluster looked like a coloured river contained by the moment. I close my eyes, trying to wake myself. I was stuck again, sweating with the vision of a giant super nova. A dead star, ironically my mental status at the very moment; a mind incapable of allowing the wisdom of the experience, process through its core.

I helplessly stare at the blend of colours, a golden glow around the deep red and blue blend of its centre. To the little philosophy in my head, it reminded me for the colour of blood revamped with the blue of the sky. Symbolic of danger, life and peace. I was certainly lost. I kept looking till my mind could perceive an image of a women’s face in the dead star. A beautiful face, red on the inside and the blue slowly converted into the black like the rest of the space. A slow descent of the blue into the darkness. A sudden sound gave me chills, it was music. A violin, a sad-single instrument that seemed to be the void around me. The face had darkened on the edges of the colour. The eyes had the blue, rest everything was red. Red to the essence, I did not even try speaking. Waited for the silly dream to send more cues of my sub-conscious head.

The music slowed down with the image of the women blinking her eyes, the movement again went forth to disturb the darkness. Her lips appeared and slowly the space around me began to detonate with a powerful tone to go along with the violin.

Each word is supposed to uplift your existence from the hell,

Each phrase had to pull your essence to the blue,

But you desired the blood! The wars!

You belonged to the skies, But the hour is rather broken to fly,

The words were dead when the red had coloured the race,

Only a few remain in the isolated verse,

You sought wisdom and here you end,

Dying with the meaning of those words as the ornament,

Just keep your soul, listen till inferno,

Sophia from the Republic has died,

They never read Plato in the dim light,

I only exist in this lost cell of thoughts,

Inside the mind of a sick person, inside the blank pages that were lost.

My body was almost gone out in the darkness, absorbed and devoid of my sense to a greater extent. Her face, the face resembled Alex. Sophia, rather a philosophy from the book I am supposed to read.

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Un Voyage

From this word, I breathe to lie,

To the world an illusion and to me, myself.

A world that appears to live with your mind,

With each word that you read,

My lie elaborates a reason to live.

Now that we are together,

You and me, lets embrace my visions though your eyes,

I will write about the sunset,

And you cry out for the moon,

I will incarnate a feeling,

And you colour it within.

But, before we leave to this empty page,

You should know that I am here for the play,

I run away from my own desires,

and leave such thoughts to rust in deny,

And do we really need to rhyme our journey ?

And I should warn you again, my friend,

Dante never burned in hell.

It was the man who wanted the travel,

Lost and never to be found again.

If you are willing to come,

Let me tell you, the river often flies with the dead of love.

And now you are my creation, a song,

We can fly like a bird,

Die in another word,

Live like the Bhrama’s call,

Deceive the stars of destiny above.

A poet’s point being a puzzle,

What difference resides between a human and a word,

A word and a belief,

A lie and a truth,

Rather all began and die out lose?

I believe I am a word of my poet,

I will end within the verse of life,

Yes, with a meaning that only he will decide,

A lie, A thought, Just an inspiration to write.