Being Immortal

For you are glorious, it means,

As the possibility of love,

Has never been of one long kiss,

Of starry nights, long goodbyes,

Of that strand of hair on my sleeve,

For the door has always been left open,

And the wind has never been so colder,

For the possibility of love has been minimal,

And in untimed circumstances, blossomed,

On some days, the sun has been kinder,

Immortality has been a passing thought,

For love has never been by my side,

For it has taken ages to find true love,

And the possibility of love,

To make ends meet, opposites attract,

And all the rubbish people come up with,

It has been a never ending journey,

For you are glorious, it means,

And the idea of immortality,

To blossom love in untimed circumstances,

Need not abide by the time, granted by God,

For even time will have to bow down beneath,

As the possibility of love,

Has never been of one long kiss,

Of starry nights, long goodbyes,

For that ever so lonely heart,

Pounds in between the two spaces,

For you are glorious, it means,

And the idea of immortality,

Has never been a passing phase for me,

For the realization has been there,

Death has never been a friend in need,

And in all your glory, unprecedented,

Unabashed, unashamed, blatant,

The journey was never written,

With an ending or a beginning,

And the idea of immortality,

Has never been of passing phase to me.

BasketBall

In the land of Dwarves and Normal beings,

Stood a man high above the skies,

Where the sun touched the rim,

Of his ever bowed down collar,

And as he stood above the rest,

In search of something,

He could call as his own,

Made for the similar beings,

10 ft above the land,

Embark where none could reach,

Something that could change everything,

And so he called the rest of the beings,

Who ever closer, but not as high as him,

He was proclaimed as the King,

Of the tallest human beings,

Together they removed the dirt,

Blood and bones deep beneath,

Drew parallel lines in between,

The king wanted a rim that could be touched,

Only by the chosen ones themselves,

And so the rim was perched high above the trees,

Far from the reach of fellow human beings,

A golden carved ball, gleaming with prosperity,

Two teams of equal metal, a line in between,

And a heart with hopes and dreams,

And so the dwarves and normal beings,

Stood on the sidelines, rejoicing,

For the ones who had lost their place,

For beings different, for not being normal,

And so the King took the final leap,

To touch the rim with trembling hands,

An Era of sporting rivalry had begun.