Deception

  My friend is driven through the lore,

My own self, hidden inside a dark robe,

The mighty exploration of the song

is to him the opiate of this play,

he explores and wonders night and day,

questioning the stars, asking for his name.

” I am the master of my trail,

I have discovered elements,

I am mended with the sky,

But I wonder how to derive

The arduous descent of my life.

Maybe, the world I see is all that is to believe?

My amorous stakes of the need,

My quest can never be deceived,

Of all that I have lost or found,

One thing has been my evasive need,

A desire to dream and bleed with the melodies of possibilities.

I will wonder throughout the fall,

Will look at the moon and dance till I fall,

For my descent is yet to announce,

The vast ocean, self-less and unbound.

I would rather decay in the morn of my defeat,

Then to be obsolete from the dilemma of my deeds.”

To him, the world was an endless hymn,

To him, the moon merely replied,

” Call upon yourself inside,

The lore would bundle your shine,

The descent of the space and time,

All hidden in an empty line,

For when you dance, I seek the night sea,

Pull the river sheets to fall a tide beneath,

The tide shall rotate the wind aloud,

And when you dance, my command shall reach its sound,

You are, the very core to me,

The friend lost in a puzzle with the false clay of need,

Icarus could not fly to me, He was lost within the only sea,

 Why don’t you wake up from the dream beneath,

And know yourself, how oblique is the sight of the dream.

One equation for all the falls,

solve the myriad of the lost accord,

Call upon the wind you breathe,

And decipher yourself, as the leave that dances with the breeze.”

That one incentive drowned his opiate into the river,

He woke up to find me bleed,

For he is red in the river, silenced from the dark isolation,

And I fly through the lakes of redemption,

I was the moon that heard the lore,

And brought the quest into the shore.

I am your name and the name of the hold,

I am the one who never bends with time,

or rhyme in the deceiving space,

The lie that the nature erased.

Rigel’s Alone Note

I have been living here in the dark with the illumine essence of the power that is enforcing the colours on these planets. I have been alone, seeking for a place to burn through my core senses, the senses that are only accounted to form an abyss of understanding pain of the fire that enlightens the ideal pattern of the day. The fire is self-made and after burning for years with the divine light, I have forgotten that my essence call onto me.

I can reach the planets near me, I see the life forming through my sight on the damp surfaces of their reality. They call me the source of life and I accept that claim of flourishing the power of creation to the elements of life. But maybe, I am lost now, in the admiration and the worship, I have lost the sense of understanding my real frame of existence.

I am Rigel, I am the son of light, but with my age, I have lost to recon a simple flare. They call me the star of life, but I can’t find anything apart from this darkness and I am lost.

Irony hold my creation in a blunder of my lost essence, they sense a light in me, but over the million years that I have lived, my elaborate space of understanding has disappeared.

I am half a billion year old, and I cannot understand the space I am put in right now.

I have seen my kind go into a blend of colours that takes time to reach my eye, I want to give away my lost sense into me when I am gone.

I wonder if I will ever be a super nova, brighter than my darkness that surrounds brightness in its core, I wonder if I will bend the space into halves, enable time to pass by through me and escape the darkness and limits of my sons and daughters.

All I can say is that, this darkness came to me to realize the velours of a super nova, the one who defined my creation. I will blow out to another dimension and the world will dissipate into fragments of time from the blast of light.

I appreciate this awakening of understanding that I am lost.

I will seek in this darkness to understand my true light.

Mother to the Universe

Dropped down to the celestial tray in the clay,

Brought up through a vivid theme from a play,

Drowned into a suffocated sense of need,

Driven through a valley forcing the air as believe,

The spirit was left within an abstract of her dream.

She is the mother of existence that surrounded the sight,

Where the little soul was left to fight,

Only the essence know the reason behind,

Hidden in the common lies,

And someday the soul will cry,

And the mother will help her remember a broken tie,

The bond that revolved the stars to resonate the faith,

The bond that shall recall the mother to destroy the dream of need.

Infinity to an Eye

One universe, One eye,

The solace hidden in the circle of our life,

Pulling the globes of consciousness,

Yet we revolve with the rhythm of our lies.

One day the planets will dissolve into the sun,

And the essence of life will meet its beginning,

The beginning of the song that created the vast illusion,

Shall preach the real infinity,

Into the black hole and off the galaxies,

The shadows will dissolve into a narrow sea,

And only the one, the one will be sensed through the shapeless beings.

The narrow sea, an escape from the world behind.

But everything will disappear into a illusion,

As an irony when I open my eyes.

 

The Coloured Truth

An expression from this universe,

The rhythm of our hearts,

The assemblance of the stars,

Colours of the hopes far apart,

Are we drunk in illusions and scars ?

For all we see is dark.

The colour unknown,

Filled within our vision for the globe,

We might have ordaned our planet with colours,

But they keep fading in the space of the rooms,

As if they set like the sun into the night,

And never return to embark the truth of life,

Sciences pounder over this painting of illusions,

And someday they will bring out the frame,

Years to years, we will be decieved by shades of immitation.

As if literature held the core of this universe,

And everything meant out meant in,

Do we feel the darknes within us ?

Darkness all around and inside,

But what colour is it, unknown.

The colour we cant fathom to our conscience and lores,

Something as bright as invisible to our light,

Somwehere where the frames dont fit to remind the night,

And the where the sun resides over every ally.

Where dark embraces through light,

And there is no colour undefied.

-Sagar Arora

The Story Of A Human Being

 

“She had blood, but no nation,

She had love, but not a destination,

She had colours in her life,

She was the Nur of Humanity”

 

She was trapped in a cell, grey walls were the only companion to her thoughts; no memory about her past, just the pain trembling through her nerves to the head where no questions could fall apart. A cell was her knowledge of the universe, somehow a woman in her twenties lost all her vision into an abyss made of four walls. She looked at the gate and gazed to the different colour in hopes, till her eyes lost the sense to behold the vision.

She opened her eyes in the hospital, she heard a lady near her calling out, “Nur?” “Open your eyes Nur”. The woman grabs a sense to a world unknown and he could decipher nothing but the colour of her cloths. She was in a hospital bed, with strings digging into her heart, has she lost it all? She thought, remembering herself, finding her consciousness. She asks out to the people around and the lady replied “My dear daughter, Alllha has blessed us! My dear child, you suffered an accident last month and just regained consciousness. I am so happy to see you, Nur.” She knew her name and the fact about how she cannot retain anything because of injury; she could not find herself within the mist of the situation, but she felt a sense of harmony with presence of the people around her.

Nur found a place in the Khan family as the only daughter and build up a new life, after a few years of regaining the senses of the world, she started teaching in a small school in Pakistan. She was able to educate herself with the new generation and her life was progressing with a normal phase of love and affection for her work.

Her injury remained subtle, but she used to have nightmares having no symbolic representation, she could gain her memories but her positive attitude lead her towards success. She fell in love with a man named Umair, they married and had a baby girl. Nur’s life was running through a simple and sweet approach of time and situation.

One day, Nur and Umair had a vigorous fight over an issue of her working for more hours and not looking after her personal health, the night following to the day bought a tormenting dream.

I remember what was told, shoot the prick in the face, that’s what commander general told me. Ahmed Husain, the man who gave coordinates to the secret Intelligence base in India that reckoned its faith to a terrorist attack. I remember what he said to me, “Neha ! Find the man and shoot the prick in the face”.

The target was aimed, I could sense the feel of accomplishment. I waited for Ahmed to be alone in the room, so that a hit can revenge the vice he initiated to my Nation. My aim was fixed on him, his family went out and the last member that went out was a small girl wearing a pink traditional wear, my heart throbbed for a moment, but I knew the mission that I had to accomplish.

I took the shot and that’s all I remember.

It was 3 am, she woke up with her heart running out a similar sense of pain to her nerves. “It was a dream, it is just not possible.”

She picked up her phone and typed the words AHMED HUSAIN. The search results flushed a sequence of visions, she closed her eyes and realised that Neha was never Nur.

The lady stayed there in her bedroom, with her eyes closed, with a heart throbbing out for something that cannot be described. The feeling could not be highlighted.

She opened her eyes and saw her daughter sleeping gently, the baby was dressed in pink and the single colour provoked a cry of her life.

“What’s the matter, Nur?” Umair asked her, as he woke up in fear.

The room with a family amalgamated through faith was reckoned to silence. The lady took her time to answer and after wiping her tears she said, “ I am lucky to have you, Umair. I love you”

The Mystique Creativity.

The erythemic stance of the blood,

the vibrant speculation of the eye,

the hold of a sensation through the skin,

the essence of expression from a lie,

entangling the vision of light and darkness,

through the greatest valleys of our thoughts,

here we are, wandering in the canopies of our ethos,

the believe is fading, enabling the scripts to be lost.

Human, the  discerned existence of the universe,

are lost with the calibre to create,

unknown to the fundamental element of this curiosity,

and far away from the mystical existence of the clay,

the material was everywhere, abandoning the glare,

provoking the ethos to enable its birth,

and the creation to witness their fall from the grave.

The serpent drew its poison to the light,

and we were left with the fruit, well-defined,

the fruit was the emblem to learn and seek,

but where we breath, does not justify the need,

follow to seek, and provoke the totem out of reach,

find the lost mystique , be guided to the real colour of the sea.