MUKESH CHOUDHARY
Some things unheard,
Some words unsaid.
A beauty unseen,
And those, who lived,
Living undead.
Come weary traveler, you're split at seams,
Let’s warm our souls in this bonfire of dreams.
Cast a fire, spill your flame,
Mend that tired, ragged frame.
"What do dreams cost?
Oh, so much, I found:
As I sacrificed my connect,
In lieu of the mount;
To see by thee, by thine eyes,
The sound of vision — that;
That minor ever might realize,
Yet mostly never fruit,
And life could never count."
Where do our dreams begin,
Where do our lives end?
What songs from our vision of love
Shall we sing for their pleasant nightmare then?
"To break a butterfly
Upon a wheel,
Shave the iron, slam the steel.
Such is my zeal that — I can't yield;
My Faustian deal,
The ghost unsealed,
An undone peer whom cold winds steal
From the unforgiven those, who kneel —
When their conscious dims and
Sorrows field,
Our greed will burn the heart it feeds,
Doused in wines of souls it feels."
An Arts graduate, with honors in English, and then a postgraduate for the same; the author has held and built his presence with, within and around the traditions of artistic literary expressions, for he thought them "cool".
Oftentimes a busy dreamer too busy dreaming to dream, he could be found traipsing along, or spending time on and belong with nearby benches that he might come across, preferably in the uncrowded anywheres, mostly known or maybe somewhat unknown. Tendencies all of which are still likely maintained.