The Silver Hawk Space

Honestly, I always like being honest so here I will share what I feel. I don't understand a poem when it is written by using fancy words. I may get the idea but I don't get the feeling  of w hat the poem is trying to tell. That's the irony I guess. Poets only know what they wrote in their grandiloquent poems. Yeah. That word is similar to Fancy. But I write in simple words. Not because I don't write so that everyone can understand it. No. I don't get the correct words at the right time. It's absurd right. Maybe I don't have a good vocabulary, maybe less intelligent. I try indeed but just words don'tcome to me. I will say I was never a writer cause a writer is the one who can relate one object to one person to ample of things and create metaphors. A writer is the one who knows what to write, how to catch the eye of the reader, the eye-catching words. I made myself a writer by writing my heart out. I made myself write the writing which I never imagined. I...

I always wondered.  W hy the name possessions fo r something that you have?  I realise it now, back then I was possessive about things called toys. Belongings, what are they? Something which belongs to you until you realise you have to let it go. You belonged to me and I couldn't share you with someone else. Even when someone asked me to give you. I would become possessive cause you were my possession. Belong, I believed in this when I was a small child. You were my favourite among all my belongings. But you too vanished like the shooting star, within seconds. I was afraid to let you go. I had that feeling I would lose you if I let you. Alas! I let you go and I never saw you. I never found you. You never came back. That time I cried, All Night for some days. I got over you and found someone else. Today, I am having the same feeling as that day. I let you go again when I knew you would never come back again. But there's something different, I am not crying. Tears are n...

Bus. A box of chocolate having lots of pieces called people in it. The only thing here is not every piece taste sweet. It might be bitter, ignorant, sweetest, lame, aggressive, happy what not. Just like  Berty Bottis Every Flavour Beans (Hp fans will know). The first type of bus is the normal bus, where the freedom of solitude exists, the communication lines are open (through eyes), the one where we can think, visualize and see the world outside. Listening to sound of the engine, that of the outside hustle and bustle. Those who like this type of bus are strange yet normal ones. They like their own space, like to flow their thoughts through their minds. The second one, Musical bus. This type of bus either don't know how to value others alone time or they don't want anyone to remain alone, want everyone to be cheerful and happy. Music understands us when no one can right? You might be saying buses don't play meaningful songs, they play disco ones, trending ones. Even in th...

It was a sunrise That led me to him In the midst of finding the iridescent pearls In the teardrops It was a smile That led me to him I was searching perhaps in myself. It was a sunset That led me to him. Which I always admired But not more than him Maybe it was his heart That eventually led me to him. A tender heart A delightful smile An artistic mind Which I ended up amassing From him...