stories,,incomplete, untold, unkown

A pen in my hand, a paper on my desk, thoughts spinning in my head and my eyes looking out the window. a flute is being played somewhere away. a faint trail of soothing flute sound comes my way.

i write of the days when i swam in the skies, walked on the mountains, sailed through the deserts and flew with the winds. i woke up. reverie the ultimate paradise. no flute, no song, no ranja no heer, no love…

i wander in the forests and dance in the twilight, reach for the million zillion stars but i wanted no moon, at least not a full moon. hmm sounds familiar, no? i drop my pen and slip low in my chair, my eyes still outside, on the swing floating to the breeze.

i trip, i turn, i look down. dust on my feet..bare. theres sun and moon, both light and bright. one yellow, the other gray and white. the journey i walk was the distance too short. when started, when ended seemed so surreal.. and so i drop my pen and aim the blank page towards the bin…

its the pen, the tales, the stories never told, unsaid words scribbled here and there, some hidden in the mind. the ink smudges and a drop falls from above. the thought melts into the paper texture and disappears. a secret dissolved…..smudged.

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2 thoughts on “stories,,incomplete, untold, unkown

  1. poetical….v.nice wasay seems like writers block is still there oh and the reverie reminds me of sir omers enlish class wid me driftin off into ma thoughts n he saying: roohma bataa… remember

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