Standing between the no where and a closed door,
Will the pen of the mysterious poet be able to sing the poetry,
The doors seems to stay locked till the virtue of heart vanishes into the dark,
Why does the song sounds always sad,
Words hide as they see the musician on the go,
Feeble faith hangs loose, down to hit the wicked ground
Will the pen of the mysterious poet be able to sing the poetry,
The doors seems to stay locked till the virtue of heart vanishes into the dark,
Why does the song sounds always sad,
Words hide as they see the musician on the go,
Feeble faith hangs loose, down to hit the wicked ground
The beauty disappears with time,
Somewhere deep with in the music echoes,
Dancing on my guitars, jumping across the steel lies,
Unseen beauty, disguised in pain,
A low pitched voice that says HANG ON !!!
The fading echoes of dreams, all set to leave the never ending sleep.
Somewhere deep with in the music echoes,
Dancing on my guitars, jumping across the steel lies,
Unseen beauty, disguised in pain,
A low pitched voice that says HANG ON !!!
The fading echoes of dreams, all set to leave the never ending sleep.
Who has locked the doors, barred behind the prisons of hope,
The beautiful world of the poet lays barren,
At the verge of endurance he stands,
Never to look back at the historic moments of his self,
Insane or esoteric... The poetry crumbles as the song starts dancing on my guitars...
A loud cry and a never ending river of tears,
Veiled by the beautiful rains from heavens would be what he wishes for,
Running after a smile that slips like quicksilver,
Trying to compose the experiences and pain in to a beautiful song,
Scribbling down the words as they start flowing abundantly from the insane mind,
The poet sits behind the closed doors !!!
The beautiful world of the poet lays barren,
At the verge of endurance he stands,
Never to look back at the historic moments of his self,
Insane or esoteric... The poetry crumbles as the song starts dancing on my guitars...
A loud cry and a never ending river of tears,
Veiled by the beautiful rains from heavens would be what he wishes for,
Running after a smile that slips like quicksilver,
Trying to compose the experiences and pain in to a beautiful song,
Scribbling down the words as they start flowing abundantly from the insane mind,
The poet sits behind the closed doors !!!
For the world closed the doors but not the heart, not the mind, not the emotions...
For the poetry knows no ends, no frontiers,
For the song never dies....
Still the hope remains, in the form of words,
No matter how tough are the plots of time,
Feeble yet determined, Insane mind never gives up,
Chasing the chances of breaking open the locked doors,
No matter how tough are the plots of time,
Feeble yet determined, Insane mind never gives up,
Chasing the chances of breaking open the locked doors,
Driven on by the desire to see the bright-side,
The poet writes these lines as he rests,
Dark heaven is his paper, dreams are his pens,
His words are his imaginations, his silence conveys it all...
The poet writes these lines as he rests,
Dark heaven is his paper, dreams are his pens,
His words are his imaginations, his silence conveys it all...
Rest for a while any friend ! Toil has been the company by far,
Sleep for a while and forget the time and the world,
Travel in the dream lands all alone,
Not to worry about anything or anyone,
Just You, The poetry and Music !!!
Sleep for a while and forget the time and the world,
Travel in the dream lands all alone,
Not to worry about anything or anyone,
Just You, The poetry and Music !!!
