Death’s Diary

In the darkness of his dark beating which he had given for his own death,

There are many things to think of, there is much of a story.

He didn’t had any interest for building a mystery

Roll a dice by hiding few this is how you live,

Its getting his eyes while she screams with nothing she could do.

A gentle breeze rode through an open window,

Coupled with rain that came in like saw dust.

She had enough books at her home,

She was rereading her fate by the Bloom.

There is a monstrous doorway ahead of her meeting,

Where i see myself waiting for greetings.

Each night before bed; she would open a fail safe guide to grave digging,

Buried deep inside it, her name was engraved.

She mouthed the words and touched the birds,

She turned noisy pages into small packed death dairy.

Dream-Scream

As every hardship was reflected with the after ease. But nights have turned so scary with just dusted breeze,

Here am i backed with a sound clicking the mind off. Beats of slow life are so sudden with no answers yet so general,

Once was that symphony loved with life turned lyrics. The grudge stands no chance for my beloved one pained in those flicks,

As she still is there but he has lasted for nothing, As a river so wide to hold secret like something.

Is there anyone in this life with everything, But with everything he had nothing,

With that name everyone had to heal. But with everyone he stands as none to feel,

In the pale moonlight he stands on mountain up top. Stabbed in chest with no reason to stop,

Clouds hail supremacy over the set of thunderstorms. Evil has spoken through eyes with nothing so suffice,

He was a lord for now who has lost battles of life. He is in a dream which make him scream.

The Struggler, Continued

Aerate the chain of happiness with my heart duped in love, Dilate those tears where i falter to speak.

Malicious is the sight of himself, as he has irked himself daily.

That layman is a ghost now, with sense left in malevolency.

Millet has grown all over his drenched soul, with all hope for her return left on omnipotent.

She is a rector of her decisions, he is guilty for simony of his respect.

Fate has tagged him as stark mad, Unlade his soul from the body, It’s Time.

Soul leaves sawdust behind, diacritic was his life over begging her love.

Dialected will he be in safe heavens, As angels will witness the struggler continuing.

Kashmir : A bit from my side.

All my life I’ve been scared of someone standing over me
I suppose my first stand over was by the tyrant, we thought was liberal
as he couldn’t vanish before i could even remember him in good
for some reason when i was a boy i liked to fight, i liked to resist
a lot of time I lost, with sometimes blood falling from my nose, with a bullet chiseling in my body, with tears soaking my happiness out.

Many years later i needed to hide, i tried not to sleep because i was afraid of who might be there when i woke up
will it be the death or the tyrant
but i was always lucky it was always my mother nation
when I was hiding, i dreamed of a certain death; a death as a martyr
the hardest walk was when i tried to find it
out of sheer luck and many footstep i found whats behind the veil of death
I slept with it for a long time, i told it about the dream , sufferings and pain.
but out of this thought, what did i see when i woke up
it wasnt the tyrant but someone else standing over my pain
by time i grew old enough to realise that train your dreams for fists
now i live in curbing, as bad dreams sill live in my sleep
one night after my usual nightmare a shadow stood above me
he said : tell me what do you dream of
i said freedom “AZAADI”

In return he explained what the dreams were made of
its makes me realize that the best stand over I’ve ever known is not a man its the false sympathy that tyrant beholds
the road of red stars followed me to live as deist
a portrait of freedom hangs in answer of never-ending pain
as joy of mourning has made me live in no ease
what was i scared for
the identity of shadow; as it had seen everything.

 

Poor Little boy.

Which sound lies in those channels of lifeless soul

That picture so opaque standing against the wall,

Talk about that broken switch leading to unsorted energy

Odious was his name for his story was never oyez.

He lies on his pallet with no future pallid,

No precint for his outgrown love is seen

Precocious is his happiness that lead him to all this pain,

Meet a presbyter hear the tales of untold love

Everywhere ruth was found,

Pyre is the end point of all those tears

She was a rector with no mercy for him,

Make me a servitor and i will lavish my life over your feet

Grotesque will be my death for if we coalesce someday

Dilate the word of his death

For now his soul is entailed,

She may enrage her known people

Ensanguine his name under no shrine,

His love was incoercible with no beginning

Inaptitude for her standards; abash him and let him rott in hell

But who knew he was abatering her pain.

Willy are the people last words what he said

Odious are their desires

Patter my no name in your lullaby as i will then fight the fire.

Nothing is poetic.

Twinkling orange in black with a stormy gush of fire kissing the moon silence in dramatic.

I hear dead mourning in graves i see children crying, i walk in the black noise with no essence of light.

Shots of crackers hail in safety a walk side by makes me fearful, a spin off wind till time we suffer hypocrisy.

With stand of talks, old ones tell the tale of justice and survival. Young dissociated in illusions, i walk back to my home where four walls fire some rage. I enter in guilt with talks in gesture and head bowed down in respect.

My other half is missing resistant and resilient, with anger widowed in love. With his absentia i fell a part missing am i scared for him. I am in fear for him.

The wooden show of pride acknowledges no shame of leadership, follow in ignorance we end in misery.

Life you dying beauty.

Faces

As they move i could see the few

As beauty of night largish in broad day light with dew,

I could wait till horizon falls for that one face which she always took me as an object to laug at.

Multiple stare and nervous eyes play around with my soul sad

Free will choice or destiny well it wasnt bad.

Dont take me mad shall i show you a thing or two,

Wings cover the crescent black red with me howling and nothing to do.

The greed of being called more and shift of her being cursed for thrist of knowledge ultimately she left,

I was falling in silence with being guilty for no theft.

Scream for the place as stars fall in space

Before i walk past far away come up once and show your face.

Getting old with time but that one beat less never dies,

Name pays for remorse and face for loud cries.

Poor sobbed feets find water shores,

No lalubby will fill his music chores.

Morning Mourning

That shade had its own music

Those strings speak their own pain

Once again left alone in those patterned lines where my soul will drain,

Come back and leave again

As he wasnt dying in his own dreams with no gain

Someday these rituals will end and the funeral will start

Like her name hits my heart as a dart,

Sadistic music flows in air

With no love seen still emotions land up in high gear

Yet silence has its own chords of line calling

Oh my mistake become my misery and never treat me well as i will always be falling,

Those lights thumping of the night calls for your name

Eyes wet soul drenching in limbo of unsure emotion maybe its just a game

Those drums beat with the heart loosing its name and place

What and why and where stand at for your name with out my ugly face,

I dwell in no one with no reason to run after your shallow name yet it has relief

Thundering it is in the morning with my soul mouring in its own way thats my endless belief,

Anger and confusion was what she had by her side switching in itself which side to take

While a trembling chipping voice stands behind everyone and smile but its always fake

Just words to stake his own wings of love and love only

Heart had no madness but road was difficult to suffer with no one to say a sorry,

He couldn’t forget

He couldn’t forget

The name

That name

That face

Each Morning a soul used to Mourn, With daylight cutting off the sky and no reason to build up her name But stories started and it never ended by my bad name,

No way to meet her, No reason to see her,As every reason is built to meet her with just no reason ending by breaking my skull.

“Same as she became unseenia and he became nevertold”

Evaluation Module

History claims the evolution was a basic fragment in the cloth of modulated evaluation relating human intelligence and emotional stability. The cross of this section defines everything that sustains the picture of mortal human development.

As everyday is no Christmas so getting twisted is maturity, wishing for a lift and taking the ride makes things pretty clear. Sometimes this unabashed and absorbed cinematic leads to the drama of human reality.

Sadness and depression being a key of todays pain. As its like running back to the double up by leading no desert of selflessness uncreased. So the way is long take the hail of beats and the voice behind that and sense the uprised question feel the reality as piano faces fingertips.

As sun meets the sea at a point of no raised knowledge.

WHY AND HOW

Mental distortion of these two words can be chained by the algo of emotions that can thrust up a human with no binding trust and sway of love and hate.

Lead the path take your choice as

Not making a choice is also a choice.

Kashmiri Intifada.

That head bows in shade of pain, witness my scream in life with no gain
I may witness death but my fall will create an uprising.
Kashmiri youth have been subjected to psychological , emotional disability leading them to shed education and rise up with arms.

Focus on this picture is about a boy screaming in prostate position with a stone in front that will be hurled by means of no nationalism , no mainstream, no separatism its just a havoc , a madness a ray of hope that keeps us faithful for the promises that we deserve.

“Hindustani Jamuriyat ka Jinazah hai yeh”

Kashmiri Intifada.

PC: Sanna Irshad Mattoo

“Yimov ha mor ladke”
They( police) killed a boy

A Kashmiri protester after witnessing how ruthlessly police vehicle ran over his fellow being outside Jamia Masjid on Friday, June 1, 2018 in Indian-Administered-Kashmir.