His Inner Colours


He has a habit of painting memories,

And he painted the memories inside his heart,

He has a habit of hiding his colours,

And he called them his inner colours…

 

It often rains inside his heart,

But his inner colours never fade,

It has been months and years,

But he preserves these colours with care…

— Anoop © People and Hearts

Advertisements

I’m the Voice


I’m the voice…
I’m born as the voice…

The voice of the unspoken words…
The voice of the dying soldiers…
The voice of the rolling tears…
The voice of hungry children…
The voice of traumatized victims…
The voice of aching people…
The voice of the dead…

The voice of falling trees…
The voice of the dying mother nature…
The voice of life and death…
The voice of extinct species…
The voice of dried rivers…
The voice of melting icebergs…
The voice of the depleting ozone layer…

The voice of a relationship…
The voice of the people…
The voice of an orphan…
The voice of love…

The voice of the unseen…
The voice of the unheard…
The voice of the untouched…
The voice of the unexplored…
The voice of infinity…
The voice of mystery….
The voice of beauty…
The voice of appreciation…
The voice of art…
The voice of lust…
The voice of crime…
The voice of revenge…
The voice of novels…
The voice of music…
The voice of photography…
The voice of cinema…

The voice of a failed artist…
The voice of a struggling performer…
The voice of the common man…
The voice of the universe…
The voice of hope…
The voice of freedom…
The voice of passion…
The voice of expression…
The voice of anything that the heart can relate to…

Yes, I’m the voice…
And my voice invokes life…
And my voice is born to express…

Yes, I’m a Writer….

 

— Anoop © People and Hearts