Wednesday, January 18, 2012


Trapped in the deep ravine of self,
Lies a mortal man,
Crumbling inside the mirror of deeds,
Lay with fear, hand in hand.

A mirror to lie to,
Yet his grave conscience to face,
The mortal has lived for ages unheard,
With a pen, a broken heart and a crippled grace.

Oh no, not a poet ever,
Still the ballads of confusion prevail,
Demeaning the mere existence of truth,
Hanging by a broken rail.

Oh no, not an artist ever,
Embossed in the paint of the fiery canvas,
A canvas of lies and grim reality encore,
Spends a day with friends, and night with the dream whore.

Hush the valley, oh he is falling in,
The immortal man, who is dying within.


Lady Whispers said...

You better write poetry more often
This was sooooooooo goood

Don't we all die within somehow?

I totally loved it :D

Nik said...

Thank You.. :) Sorry for being late, had been busy lately. And I would like to write poetry too...but i really have to get the hang of it.. so will slowly learn and write...

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