Young Writers Society

#1 Pillow thoughts

The lights dim into
Midnight
The sun slips down
Lost into the depthless ocean
Dreaming of mermaids and
A new beginning

The half-eaten moon
Climbs over the sky
Hanging itself
In misery

Tiny, unnoticeable pinpricks of light
Hidden by invisible clouds
Shine solemnly
As if they would rather burn out of existence
Than watch wide-eyed children
Dreaming
Hoping.

The stars are almost finite
The moon is almost dead

The blue hued sky darkens
Wetting our hearts
With hopelessness

But as my head
Plops into a thin pillow
And my hairs
Suffocate the pillow
Like little streaks of black....



A little gear whirs

A little key rotates into place

A tiny, audible mental click






And inside me...


Hundred bubbles burst,
A hundred stars alight
A hundred moons cartwheeling across the inky black me

A hundred trains of thoughts
Whirring and puffing past each other
Throwing crates of old memories

Forgotten to-do notes
Flying past my eyes
Memories replayed in my mind
Audio cassettes of my childhood
Little feelings to accompany,
Reeling in and out

A hundred oil lamps are lit
On tables of forgotten love letters
That still crack my heart
Every time they fly past my mind

Small pixies of yellowed mischief
Giggling and racing on forest meadows
Of my imagination

Each thought flies into my mind
And unfinished, it’s replaced by another
Each bizarre pattern
In my own wonderland of pillow thoughts

My head buzzes loudly
Overflowing with thoughts
Unfinished, scattered
My heart weighs down
Under all the weight

Overlapped chatter
Of million thoughts
Stretching into the lines of infinity
My head is buzzing
My ears are humming
My mind occupied by thoughts

Until....


‘DING DONG’

It’s 2 am.

And as those million thoughts are swiped
And cleaned away
By sleep

Another gear clicks into place

Another memory is placed

Ready to be replayed

Tomorrow night

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#2 Little Drops Of Water

Dreams are like those
Drops of water
Barely hanging on your fingertips
Reflecting you
As if they were round mirrors

And then,
Dancing on your fingertips slightly

                                                          (Like the wind chimes fluttering by the touch of curious wind)

They shimmer for a moment
                                                              (fooling you they could wriggle into reality)

And slip down
Dissecting into
A million tears

                                             (Like your heart when you realise they were just fairytales)

They fall lightly
Into the white-tiled basin
Slowly swallowed by
The drain

                                                     (Like hope as it is devoured by reality)

They travel down
The mouldy pipe
Little bits of green algae
Sticking here and there

                                         (Those little bits of hope born by people who dared hope again)

They crouch through the dark alleyways
Of the pipe
Anticipating the end

                                     (Like you did when you picked up the needle to sew them into reality)

And they meet the end
Almost abruptly

                                       (Like your heart had done when the world rejected your dreams)

They fall down lightly
With a tiny plop
Into the cemetery

                                              (Where hundred other dreams were buried)

They sink deeper
Floating lightly
At the bottom

                   (Like you wanted to when you were abandoned by others for voicing your thoughts)

And they glimpse at the
Little rays of green light
[filtered green from the algae-infected waters of million other dreams]

They dissolve in the water
Miscible in hopelessness
They shiver
And smile


Penned down slowly into
Your own little book of history







Dreams are like those
Drops of water
That evaporate from
the cemetery
Weaving themselves into
a fluffy cloud
Of endless possibilities
And
when the time comes right


They fall down lightly



Right into the lap of




Reality 

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#3 A masterpiece 

The air
Twirls little brown corpses
Of dead tree leaves
Caressing them out of
autumn’s lap
While kissing buds of new leaves
On the shabby yellowed trees


It picks up petals
From the gardens
Of bird-of-paradise coloured flowers
Stealing a few
From spring

It plucks little snowflakes
From snowstorms
And
Avalanches
Stealing certain coldness
(Yet beauty all the same)
From frost bitten winter

It lures sings little buds
From their moss-soft blankets
And inhales soft loo
As the loo blushes, embarrassed shy


It weaves little dew drops
From gloomy monsoon
Chuckling all the way



And now,
It spreads all the ingredients
On its mud-brown canvas
Caressing each stroke
As if it was delicate
As a human heart

It sweats
It frowns
It smiles
It blushes

It sighs
As it completes the masterpiece


It hangs the painting
On its little wall of glory


Below naming the art






‘Life’

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Note: thanks for reading! ^_^ please do review and like this!