Pages Beyond The Epilogue: Story of the Creators (A Collab)

Guys, this is a collaboration between me and fellow writer karen hayward. It is about us , the poets, the thinkers and the dreamer. Please do share your thoughts on this.

The Story 

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Collaboration with Artist #1

First collaboration with an artist, also a good friend. With- Subhankar Bala aka Aaron, the painter.

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Credits: Subhankar Bala. 21 Aug 2016

LAST WALK

Slow decibel, the silent noises,

I am terrified and it is dark.

Indifference bellows the path,

In steps that chastised our thoughts.

Here I am now, weeping peacefully,

Among the ruins of our existence.

I constantly search for the fallen pieces,

But they are gone with our last walk.

This crimson red trail, covered in your whispers,

Where I walk with the sun,

A fantasy to catch the night where you hide.

I am terrified and this heart is starving,

For I know it only wants you,

To serenade you our last walk.

  • Teddy ©

The Dire Truth

What is word not meant for pages,

You’ll say I am silent behind my true face.

What is fear not meant for brave-hearts,

You’ll say I have seen all that comes apart.

 

You’ll come and suffice with hymn my heart doesn’t sing,

Memories you lived, hopes you’ve sowed creeps away

and you’ll say I write because my truce has never

made it your way.

 

What is sleep not meant for dream,

You’ll say illumination inside me are reflection of dormant beam.

What is life not meant for love and lust,

You’ll say I’ve walked roads engraved with dusk and dust.

 

You’ll come and close the gaps, in-between I am trapped,

Faces you’ve drawn, kisses you left creeps away

And you’ll say I write because my prayers has

never seen more than your dismay.

 

Are you blind to the silence of your shadow?

Where I wake up every morning and grow.

You’ll say life has moved on beyond my watch,

I am still counting the days lost by your gift of botch.

 

You’ll say I am never meant to be yours,

And am I only meant for your abhors?

You’ll say I lost every fight I lived in,

Am I suppose to win where I have not been?

You’ll say I only write because I cannot ride the flight,

And when your speech will die, corpses of my dire truth

will show you why I write and a goodbye.

Grudge Of Past

For what your sin, you are not priest

For your very deeds, your actions die in peace.

 

Beyond that walk after the glimmering light,

You see reality and tragedy of a fight.

 

Like the ruins of Savannah, victory befits worthy,

You ride your chariot, swords follow you to your destiny.

 

For your shadows call the night to fall upon the road,

Your naked beauty warps the paradise on your fearless robe.

 

For the fear that drowns, you ride the wave and wind,

You are the ground of impeccable leaps and clear sights.

 

For what is possible, some remains a dark mystery,

For what is not, sleeps obliterate what goes away blissfully.

 

For you may become a sinner or a prodigy of the past,

For your mind be what you are and you, what you become.

Peace of Silence

Unsettling winter days,

tired of the golden sun

Creeps up on the bare silent words.

Open roads crossing the bench,

walking toward the waves.

Shadows on the wall talking to me,

a pure conspiracy to pretend.

Sounds from the past and failure,

echoes of void reality.

Now its silent, smell of the burning letters.

Blame of windless hush above my voice,

I sleep over the faint solitude of peace.

A treasure lost in my darkest hours,

Dreaded silhouette of my silence.

Tears falls over the bosom, sips in

A crack, to ring the bell inside someday.

Rain and Fire

A flawless sensation certainly I’ve seen,

Perfection that shivers in your imperfect face.

A clear line draws the envy in your eyes,

That goes round and trap eyes hungry for beauty.

You smile, you blush and I get lost in your ecstasy

Those nights when god forgets to bless me,

Blessings endow upon me with your face.

A burning passion to search the truth has ended,

When you found me and my heart found yours.

I can forever admire the simplicity you show,

Your face tells thousand silent stories to me.

Your soul and heart has bestowed upon me,

A will for rain and fire to exist inside together.