Tag Archives: dreams

A Pocketful of Sand

“Greeting the Ocean” by deadpoet88


I sat alone by the seashore
Waiting for the waves to catch me
And take me out to sea
Yet I felt a strange fear
Of being washed up on alien shores
And finding the emptiness that haunts me.

The sands were soft under my feet

As the sea would come to greet me
With a delightful coolness
And splash me when I least expected>
Leaving the taste of lingering salt on my tongue
And the rough sand clinging to my dress.

I danced a waltz with the ocean

Catching the water in the cup of my hand
As the waves rolled higher, engulfing more sand
And there was no one I wanted but you
To hold my hand as I walked on
Into the ocean to greet the highest wave.

I surrendered to the saline waters

Letting it play tug of war with my body
I watched the pebbles roll out beside me
Too feeble to resist the smoothing waves
And crab peeked through the salty liquid
Before being carried out to sea.

Then I found myself standing

As the waves crashed against me
And took me closer to peace
And I walked away from the salty sea
With an unexpected gift left by the ocean
A pocketful of sand and a smile on my lips.

There is something about the ocean which draws me towards it. I guess most people must feel this way about the ocean, but I somehow believe that I have such a liking for it because I spent much of my childhood living near it. I didn’t visit it that often, but if I had known what a wonderful the sea is at that time, I’m sure I would’ve gone there every chance I had. Some of my earliest memories are about beaches, seashells, and the sound of the waves. Somehow I’m feeling kind of nostalgic about it. There is nothing like sitting in the water as the waves lap over you. I can just sit and listen forever.

Welcome to the Machine

Welcome to the Machine. Taken From: http://pinkfloydandthesundancekid.wordpress.com/2007/11/16/welcome-to-the-machine/


Welcome to the machine, fellow human,
Whose senses have dulled over the years,
Placid stimulation gushes through your nerves,
Can you feel any real sensation anymore?

Welcome to the machine, rotten taste-buds,
Daily indulgence leads to monotone,
Until there lies no difference between
The tastiest food and distilled water.

Welcome to the machine, morbid minds,
All emotions are discarded as aberrations.
And the heavy perfume hides the stink
Of our decaying brains, intellectually deprived.

Welcome to the machine, hardened bodies,
The magical touch, the feel of frigid cold,
Or softness of skin on skin, has faded,
The only sensation left is that of numbness.

Welcome to the machine, dear humanity,
The machine which drones on,
In the background of our mind,
Taking with it the sound of silence.

Welcome to the machine, dulled musician,
For there are no differences left
Between traffic horns playing their symphony
And the notes flowing through the radio.

Welcome to the machine, plastic faces,
With layers of lies upon more lies,
Concealed so well it’s all that shines through.
And the only beauty seen is plastic smiles.

Welcome to the machine, dead dreamers,
Whose dreams were killed early in life,
And life was spent trying hard to avenge
The loss of the only thing that really mattered.

Welcome to the machine, hollow faces,
Where all personalities merge into one,
Programmed to breathe, programmed to live.
Programmed to be absolutely no one.


The above is greatly inspired by a song by Pink Floyd, “Welcome to the Machine”. I guess it has more to do with what the title and the music evokes in me than the actual lyrics of the song. I thought and thought about how the world works more like a machine, where we’re told to follow a set path, and become the plastic successful person with no real personality or dreams of his/her own. Yes, there is still a lot of variety, a lot of individualism, but somehow I believe that there isn’t enough of it. Then again I guess we all live in a little shell, and we only perceive things as we see them around us. We’re all little frogs in a well who haven’t seen the ocean, and some of us might never see the ocean. Anyways there I go rambling again.

Apologies for my lack of posts, I’ve been kind of busy, but more than that I’ve just been suffering from writer’s block. I hope to be back soon with something better, I know I’m not entirely happy with how this turned out. Hope all my fellow blogging friends are doing well. I apologize for my disappearance as well, will try my best to visit your blogs as soon as I possibly can.




The clouds have arrived,
In chariots, driven by wisps of vapor,
Entangled and entwined
In the greatest phenomenon
To bring down a shower
Of the first monsoon rains,
To quench the thirst of the earth,
Baked by the summer sun,
Rendered a lifeless brown.

We wait in anticipation,
For the rain to pour down,
And drench our weary hearts,
But the clouds hang over us,
Teasing us, taunting us,
Bringing us cold winds
But keeping the rain at bay,
Letting out only a few drops,
To let us know they are heavy
But cruel in every way.

We can hear them laughing,
And see their smile,
Then feel a drop of life
Fall at our feet,
The sky is charged
With the greatest energy
But we will have to wait
Longer than we had hoped
For the Tempest to come in
And let the roads turn to rivers
That will sweep us off our feet.

And lo’, the storm’s a comin’,
After waiting for days,
It’s here to bring color
And sound sleep to the tired,
With the pitter-patter of  drops,
That fall on the window,
And give us promises
Of a cool and windy morning
We wait in anticipation,
As the rain sings us a lullaby,
And we drift into sweet slumber.


Perfect Poet Award Week 45

I got the Perfect Poet Award for Week 45.  I would like to thank everyone for it!
I would like to nominate Jamie Dedes for the next award.
The above poem is my acceptance poem.


Dream On


The dust of our fathers fall to the ground,
We’re left to pick up the torn pieces
Of their dreams that never took form
Wispy, sick, and cold to the bone
Twisted out of shape, crumbling to dust,
Spreading its rust to the dreams we once held,
Until they too break at the slightest touch.

Our dreams are Ghosts that haunt us each day,
Constantly reminding us of what gave up today,
To build a tomorrow that we will always delay,
As we chase after things that keep us this way.

And we are always chasing, chasing all the time,
After things that help us slowly drown,
In a cup of our own blood, sweat, and tears,
Invested but never enjoyed, in this unknown tragedy,
Until the seconds fly by and leave us pondering,
Where all the moments went that we were to cherish for life,
And it sinks in that we’ve lost too much but gained nothing of our own.

Our dreams are Ghosts that haunt us each day,
Constantly reminding us of what gave up today,
To build a tomorrow that we will always delay,
As we chase after things that keep us this way.

But I would rather have my Ghosts,
Haunting me day and night,
Reminding me of the little forgotten sparks of life,
Than hear the tragedy of the voices in my head,
Hopeless and forgotten by the waters I once tread,
For if anything, I only feel inspired to dream again
Though the dreams may never be more than fleeting dreams.


The Last Leaf

The Last Leaf


Swaying to the rhythm of the breeze,
The solitary leaf, hung by its stem,
Orange, crinkled, a little naïve,
Though it had lived to see the winter,
And had watched as his brothers left him behind.

It remembered the song of the Nightingale,
As it sung through the night,
Its song heard by few, but still sung with much blithe
Sitting nearby on the very same tree,
Oh, the nostalgia had set in much too clearly.

A home the leaf had, and many friends too,
Rustling in the wind, whispering with trees,
And thinking, just thinking of forgotten memories,
Life was a lively affair with many changes unseen,
But always felt as one season changed to another.

Winter was upon the horizon, waiting to lash down,
A chilling breeze left the solitary leaf astound
But he held on, with all his might,
That someday he may see the dear sunlight,
And be surrounded once again with rustling laughter.

Alas, with a gust of wind, the end had arrived,
His crinkled stem could hang on no longer,
And he was blown into the sky, far out and above,
He knew now what it felt to fly and touch the clouds,
Before he slowly fluttered to the ground, content.





Here we stand, like lost souls,
Stranded on the island of our inner thoughts,
With nowhere to go, and nothing to take us away
From the Tempest wrecking havoc
When all we long for is some clarity.

We go on living, without a care
For the dreams that made us who we are
The same which we buried underground
Like treasure hidden beneath the sand
We pine for it, but it is lost, and cannot be found.

Life has a way of teaching us
To adapt as times passes us by
By becoming colder and more indifferent
Towards even what we once felt strongly for
Until someday we have no feelings left at all.

/*Yet somehow, the numbness almost fades
When it comes down to you,
If even for only a moment, it’s all I need…
For now.*/

Faces come and go, like the pages of a dull book,
Read too fast, without peeping in between the lines,
Or really trying to comprehend what has been said,
Yet each word has been glanced at, each letter sounded out,
And we claim we have understood everything.

Disillusionment is the easiest road to choose,
When facing a fork in the State of Confusion,
It seems well lit, but the night is long and dark,
The sun never rises, the moon never sets
And we are prone to stumbling, a little too often.

The journey becomes a compromise
We make one step at a time, one event at a time,
Choosing necessity over our aspirations,
Picking mediocrity in a life we never wanted,
Over the excellence we could have achieved.

Still they tell us to dream, to dream big,
But I’ve lost mine, they fell out from my pocket,
Unnoticed, as they softly fluttered to the ground,
But all hope is not lost, for there must be a way,
To rediscover dreams, and start a sincere chase.

It is time to unlearn, and rebuild.


To Nature

Somewhere along the woody roads, the icy cold streams of one’s imagination can be heard, beckoning the unknown to come forward and take a plunge into the night. The woods are a lovely place, for it is where the earth comes into existence, where the earth becomes a fountainhead for all the beauty, for all the life, for all the wonderful things that nature has given us.

The song birds chirp happily, letting the song of their heart diffuse into the air, until a faint fragrance of life itself hangs lightly in the atmosphere. The Spirit of Dreams descends into the forest and brings with him the dust of hope, sprinkling it onto all that can be touched, and the soft glitter of this dust warms the heart and brings to it solace from the storms of everyday life. Silken threads of sleep bind us and gently lay us on the forest floor to become one with the meaning of life, and bring to us the cravings of our hearts. What would we be without nature’s dust shimmering in the twilight bringing ease to our minds?

The streams are made of crystals, sparkling like rainbows formed at the first shower of spring. Like cubes of ice, the water slips off the tips of our fingers, leaving traces of a frigid freshness. The golden fish glide through the silver moonlight, catching the rays on their fins as they dance to the music of life. The river cleanses all the dirt in our souls, leaving us at peace with a polished heart of gold. The water heals all that it flows over, and the blood of our hearts is returned. The water spirits smile brightly on the river bed.

The wind locks the trees in a dance inescapable, bringing to life the heart of the woods. The leaves rustle, the branches shake, and the blossoms fall, making a carpet at our feet to lead us softly into the heart of its dreams. Butterflies flutter, playing games with the ancient and wise trees, laughing as the leaves fall softly to the ground. The leaves are Mischief himself, harmless but fun, shading us from the moonlight, and letting in the sunlight at noon. The trees admonish these little fluttering leaves, leaving a mist of their breath hanging loose in the air, waiting to fall onto our eyelids as we sleep. Oh, dancing leaves, swaying trees, keep the world at your feet and protect it.

Dewdrops on the mossy floor glisten at the crack of dawn, like embedded diamonds singing the song of their soul. Each flower having flavored dew, attracts the honeybees to sing softly, whispering in their ears. The drops on the grass bring to the musky Earth a gift as they trickle down the stalk. The dewdrops bring a promise of life renewed, a life we have only dared to dream of. As the day does progress, growing older, unto death, the dewdrops slowly disappear, with a vow to return at the rebirth of a new beginning. They are tied to the dawn of a new day, the birth of a new start, these dewdrops of my heart.

Sadly, the beauty is fading fast, merging into the artificial pseudo-ecstasy, the temporary intoxication given by the most lethal of drugs. The song of life grows fainter at every passing moment, as more of nature is taken away, to heed the addiction of the material world. If only we could learn to live in harmony with the life around us, if only we could respect this special gift, this gift of nature, the elixir of life and death. There is no intoxication, like that of nature dwelling in our hearts.

Note: I got the above image from Utsav’s Blog.