Poetry: Tranquility

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Away from the huff puff of everyday struggle
Everyday struggle to make ends meet
Ends meet truly only when we are not alive
Alive, not to the very many the noises
The noises that steals our inner peace
Inner peace that we can get from tranquility
Tranquillity inspires self love
Self love transcends to group love
Group love will make the world better
And we can become the pacesetter

There are lives in the names of newborns
Newborns calm the fight in inner peace.
Inner peace is the grave in our hearts.
Hearts are perfect prisons to hide.
To hide is to die in the wedding with silence.
With silence we live longer,
Longer than the length of the Nile.
The Nile is our daylight,
Our daylight comes to end our night.
Tranquil can be the darkness in our light.

To be free is to swim with the wind.
The wind that sweeps rage and wipes my tears,
My tears had watered mere insanity,
Insanity that took kane to the grave.
The grave is just a place.
A place to be at peace with no anxiety
Anxiety it is , that got me writing this
Writing this for weak minds to eat ,
To eat this ,means you will find repose
And at the end of it all a suicide note, compose.

Be still and learn to keep calm
Keep calm-for that in itself is true strength
True strength Is a function of self worth
Worth that which your words weigh
Words weigh more than we know
We know because history tells it so
So and so are the proper things to do;
To do is to act, do as you would have others do too
Do too, that which you know brings peace.
Tranquility is a beauty that will never cease

Upon the face of sea the wind blows
Wind blows the sea’s calm into hiding
Into hiding the disciples’ faith also ran,
Ran from where it stood to where it’ll sink.
It’ll sink in tears that flow from their fears
Their fears, another raging storm –
Storm of peace that grew in its wits
Its wits that perfectly fit for a sleep.
A sleep so soothing and deep
In that uproar Christ found peace like he was asleep.

Dear Tranquility, I hear you came here,
Came here to eat off my stress.
My stress of not being myself at home.
Home became a dry grass in a field,
A field full of hazy thoughts by dusk
By dusk, darkness settled with my troubles
Troubles began when I found the pen.
The pen writes both right and wrong too few.
Too few were the ripples upon my heart
Until you decorated yourself here as an art.


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