thought i had something more to say

i dont think why i wrote so much this week. never in my short fullfilled life, i have felt so inspirational to write more than 20 poetries. yup, 20 poetries in a week. i cant actually tell why i felt like writing, but heart's a weakling....cries without caring much about the ache. anyways, i love these 3 poetries i wrote. feel somewhat like Bob Dylan. ok, not like dylan, but atleast like Syd Barrett. check them out.....and if your are a publisher....call me....

Let the violins cry

As I brace my self for heaven,
As I wait for the day to come.
I clasp my hand for any forgiveness,
Keeping pleasures for my own.

It will be a while before I see you,
It will be a while before we walk.
U may forget all things we said.
But my memories all wont dissolve.

Shooting darts at all ambitions,
You were far ahead of me.
But one thing that will never change,
Are my propositions and humility.

And now your placing things in order,
And telling people the weird lie.
Forcing tears out of me,
When I let the violins cry.

My March

Everyday in March the late fall was blue,
Those young upright trees reaching for the sky,
like love they flourished and grew.
Above us floated the fair clear sky,
Which a cotton white cloud was walking through,
And with faith in your heart it shall never leave you.

Under that same sky we would fall,
Down rabbit’s hole and above eden’s garden,
We would run and crawl.
Only to find ourselves entangled,
Mercilessly in fits of flowing wind and shawl,
Outside I wait for cupid’s call.

Fine I feel cursed and roads are winding,
Deliberately I step into a place not meant for me,
Inching closer to submissive worsening.
Finding doors closed on the path,
I notion a pain increasing and admitting,
I stand by a fortress, loud and sacrificing.

I have said enough, and wish I could have said more,
Some things are meant to be silent,
Some try to reach out on your shore.
You know its cruel to keep mum,
Interpreting this for you is my docility,
For me its easy like a whore.

Moonlight’s Song

As the cheerless wind pass by my window,
I can see a washed out moon through the fog.
And then a voice inside my head,
Breaks the analogue.

I survived against the will of my twisted folk,
But in the deafness of my world the silence broke…and said,
"Follow me down to the valley below
You know, moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

My love don't you worry,
This cold world is not for you.
So rest your head upon me,
I have the strength to carry you.

"Follow me down to the valley below,
You know, moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul,
Come to me friend,
It's time for you to go".