Death

I saw death today.
I saw how He lives,
Like the ocean embracing a ball of fire,
Like a heart taking what it gives,
Momentary, like the candles at your first birthday,
Solitary, like the time they parted away.
Like zillions of elevators with nowhere to go,
It was beautiful like a photograph in flames,
Disfigured lives in black and white,
Chess seemed to be one of his favorite games,
I saw Death today,
He told me how He lived.

(To be cont.)

Speak of...

Before this man is forgotten and his lies have become immortal,
Before he wakes up from a dream where he had lived,
Speak of his anger, of times when the soul clenched onto the fingernails and scars were deeper than birthmarks
while victories would fight defeats struggling to find their reasons to be,
Speak of his love, speak of balloons pumped with promises tied to a few autumn leaves,
And if you would hold his hand long enough, you might just be able to touch his heart dangling on the sleeves,
Speak of his tears, carving a path leading to conclusions and looking for shoulders to leave impressions on,
of  craters of pain that time failed to fill, of a time when the sand clock had come to a standstill.
Speak of the rights and the wrongs, speak of being guilty and free,
Tell them he was guilty when he fought his wars,
Tell them he loved not right but his wasn't supposed to be.... 


-Shubit
(Inspired by Carvens Lissaint - Tell them)

Pens

Pens shouldn't be named, they ought to be called by the first word you write with them.
It makes it more personal because until then you dont really "own the pen". Also, it makes you lose it a lot lesser too in context to the reason above.
But then the only flaw I could see in this thought would be 'how would you recognize your own then?'
I feel pens are like tooth-brushes, you certainly come to know when you're not using yours, by which I mean the one you have "bought" and been using for quite sometime now.
Stealing pens is almost like something you would do after seeing a lot of people around you looking up...you would look up too. It's something you would want to try, something like wanting to try what mannequins are wearing probably just to be exactly like them them.

Never Say Goodbye

One of my first self compositions with a phone mic as the recording device and four water clogged walls as the studio.

Of Mannequins and Love

It was raining cats and dogs...and love that day.
We proudly wore what mannequins were wearing through crowded days and deserted nights.
Under armpits and over smelly hair I got down from a train on a monotonous track to follow another
And like stars in nursery rhymes, everything beautiful would be juvenile
You were late at the overhead bridge but you still defined everything punctual to
the racing heart.
Hearts would be murdered and the elevator to my room would be the only eye-witness as it would blink zillions of times....letting us in...letting us out...
It took time but the toothbrush now shared its room with another one of its own as other little things too had company following our footsteps.
The seat belt at the co-driver seat now could finally make a move as its buckle clicked up with its love and defined our nights.
We mixed and hid memories inside an hourglass fearing and waiting for kingdom to come.
We departed when we realized that to change the sand...we had to break the clock.
Into glasses and between the mirrors of evil and the good
we stood apart waiting for someone to wear
what we are wearing in crowded days and deserted nights...