The Paper Scribbler
Giving life to the written word, one poem at a time.
More works can be found here.
If there is one thing all of us need to stop doing, it is to stop growing inward -
making more space for others around us, as we gradually wither into oblivion.
If you believe in storytelling through poetry as much as I do,
If you believe in storytelling through poetry as much as I do,
Art Credits: Girl with Lilac by Michael Taylor
Crude, zig-zagging cracks,
in dilapidated old buildings,
groaning under the promise of new life.
Nature finding ways to overcome the rubble,
and take back what's hers
Reminds me how beauty always finds its way,
even to the darkest of corners.
Image: Pinterest
I walked into a painting today.
From waking dreams in half-forgotten caves,
From waking dreams in half-forgotten caves,
and skies generously sprinkled with stars
to walking into a Monet worthy wallpaper
at day-break.
Never a dull moment
when you return the mountains' call.
Image: Dusk, as seen from atop the hill
An existential crisis
If there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of,
it's that existence is a curse,
set to doom humankind to eternity.
And yet,
the only thing that makes it all worthwhile,
is living it.
Image: The dying flowers against a wall in my bedroom.
Home Again
After exhaustingly dreadful days,
I see you,
and I'm home again.
Artwork credits: @artparasitesofficial
Blazing
You say I'm the simmering embers,
of flames long subdued -
the last shred of warmth,
on a cold winter's night.
No, darling.
I am the blazing fire.
You say I'm the simmering embers,
of flames long subdued -
the last shred of warmth,
on a cold winter's night.
No, darling.
I am the blazing fire.
Rhythm
The day you stop barricading your tumultuous heart,
like a fragile fragment of glass,
wrapped in synthetic covers.
Is the day you will notice its steady rhythm,
like the war cry of battles past,
and deafening roars,
of ancient oceans.
The day you stop barricading your tumultuous heart,
like a fragile fragment of glass,
wrapped in synthetic covers.
Is the day you will notice its steady rhythm,
like the war cry of battles past,
and deafening roars,
of ancient oceans.
The Golden Hour
When the sun kisses the horizon,
And the last traces of day
Still linger in the air.
And just for a brief moment,
The world stands still.
What could be more perfect than that?
When the sun kisses the horizon,
And the last traces of day
Still linger in the air.
And just for a brief moment,
The world stands still.
What could be more perfect than that?
Art
To be able to turn - evolve - convert,
your emotions- anxieties - frustrations,
into something productive.
That, is art.
Sing it.
Write it.
Sculpt it.
Dance it.
Art it.
Constellations
Your heart,
is a bundle of constellations.
And I'm just a beginner,
learning to stargaze.
Your heart,
is a bundle of constellations.
And I'm just a beginner,
learning to stargaze.
Forgotten Child
In an alternate universe,
where hidden motives don’t govern our actions, just yet.
The forgotten child isn’t a gender,
or a species,
a different shape,
size or colour.
But, a memory of what we once were.
But maybe it isn’t an alternate universe, after all.
In an alternate universe,
where hidden motives don’t govern our actions, just yet.
The forgotten child isn’t a gender,
or a species,
a different shape,
size or colour.
But, a memory of what we once were.
But maybe it isn’t an alternate universe, after all.
Shadow
I grew up believing I was the shadows
I grew up believing I was the shadows
of people who shone much brighter than me.
But every shadow has a purpose.
I just haven't found mine yet.
But every shadow has a purpose.
I just haven't found mine yet.
