Life at the Border

Lines and creases have made an impression

a region of conflict, straight to the heart

A place where definition ceases.

Wise to stay at the border

it troubles to learn that emotion has no role

Passion void of niche, for fact of distinction.

Life at the border appeals to none 

as identity and feeling lack the truth.

Indecision, the only way to remain 

at the border of choice and emotion.

The  choice is kept at bay.

the truth is miserable to say the least 

If any attempt to know is made, 

a collapse of sentiments is evident.

frustration may build for times ahead

A true block is beneficial 

There, life made superficial.

~Nikhil~

Aware

Shall it be said the thought changes view

A time, when feelings begin, overdue

why does the idea arise only when 

there be a degree of else. Should we 

be just who we ought or a form of hope

Understanding the rationale, no room 

despite the pull of emotion looms

I know the lack of comfort is temporal

Sure the solace be where it is 

torn within like the mast of a ship

on a stormy night, Should I know 

and understand the superior message?

With a pattern so sure, I try

Doubt and query to cover up the lies.

Bid away the source 

Maybe within be it establish 

permanent for me.

Garden of choice

Rays of the source deal a pick

One of difficulty and joy

Be ever alive to welcome a 

new season to the fold 

A life of mixed hearts. 

Shall the time be Fall or 

may it simmer for the dry summer?

Could the angel of snow pave the 

sidewalk for the birth of spring?

Questions are born in this garden of choice

thoughts a plenty, answers impossible

When fate presents a maze, often simple to daze

Little do you know the passing of tide merely 

strengthens this bond. With every smile and glance, 

tips the beam balance. A word initiates prosaic form

abandoning simple cryptic subtitles for the complex pastures

of the mind. Shall his mind cease to dwell in such intricate thoughts?

Be it impossible to cease the natural assimilation of the common, the negation 

of the weak. With right control and foresight, may the  future be oiled akin to greased lightning. 

A pulse racing to the pace, slow careful thought may inspire solution,

Can the mind be ignored to placate the soul or reconsider?

An assortment of words, has to ceaseth some day.

For the garden of choice leaves me with one

A choice between the fine lines of life

Be it or not, strife unavoidable

here I wander alone

the only garden 

of choice.

~Nikhil~