by Amaan Ahmad
I met happiness at the gates of sorrow,
Trying to read the labyrinths; It fell upon the lips of horizons,
Where my paths lead to the blind I set my alarm to the moon,
With a wish to burn its shadows
With the colors of my broken dreams,
I walked with the lover of melancholy,
And crossed the old lanes of loneliness
Where dreams had meet the graffitis
Of the forlorn time and history;
Where do my stories rest?
I had asked the dead verses--
It had showed me the lips of my dead muse,
But I had found only the splinters of time
Showing me the dreams' laughter
On the threshold of the faded graffitis;
I drank a few drops of my thoughts,
With a hope to die in my womb;
The shadows had knocked upon my reflections,
Warning me of the philosophies untold,
Will they, who once had succumbed to nothingness, define the sorrows or the futility?
The sentences had been lost so were the dreams,
And here, I still sing a sad lullaby to the shadows of the moon streams...
Amaan Ahmad is a 34-year-old Indian writer, artist and philosopher. He has been researching on philosophy, psychology, and other related subjects. His art and writing revolve around the symbolism and surrealism.
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