Tales of the Wanderlust

The colours on the canvas fade slowly As the winds of life erode the surface Of my our imaginary worlds Those worlds that are made and destroyed By wills and fancies – ironically not mine! For solace we can fall back on Karma, Honestly where will civilizations be  if not for these philosophies? Well, for some, dreams are like bubble wrap, Meant less for nurturing, more for bursting Either for the pleasure of others Or for ourselves, as we have nothing better to do! But thanks to those fancies we beggars can ride once in a while.

Don’t call me a drunkard; I drink to be honest The world kills the candid men; you either lie or die Spirits make us blurt out the harshest of the bitter truths Hence listen, sober fools Often the protagonist and the hero of a tale are different The protagonist is destined to be, but to be a hero is a matter of choice The protagonist shoulders the responsibility because the hero bears the burden The protagonist was because the heroes rose Sadly, the heroes are forgotten as the legends are propagated No one knows which is inherent and which you absorbed over the years Tales are a grotesque mixture of innocence and vile astuteness They now spread rigor mortis slowly into inspiration Should I fight or should I love the death of the spirit The answer glows as the warmth spreads Leave the coils and be a free soul eternally And hence I drink and strive to peel off the layers to reveal the reality Don’t call me drunkard; I d...