Dear Me!

I had a big day and you had too
when Dear life smudged me
and pulled back through.

Like the two Niles across my face
and a Sahara on yours,
defintions seeked a word,
and they still do.

Dear skin why do you keep
all brown
when its all blue,
the all night ceiling,
and The Not Talking statue.

Bleed it,
till the pus leaves you,
whichever way it travels
the Cut marks me,
and so do you.

Dear madness may I ask you,
when you gave a birth in twilight’s hue,
did you write a name on a dark so lone,
or could you find a mate
in the morning dew?

Broken Es and Gs and Os,
make a pit hole in every drac’s motto.
So did she, and so did he,
and so do I,
like a big frothing hollow.
So I repeat Dear sucked low,
don’t suck it back
for the love of you.

Dear shadow,
now you may take turn,
as the dawn and the dusk
stop to follow.
Long arms and small feet
Push I to them,
As a cobbler mismatched
In a blacksmith’s crew.

Now Now
I have a nail too,
To draw my curse on every
Small and long shoe,
Try it if you want,
Sulk if you lose,
Dear shadow
But But
follow me through.

Ek Aetaraaf

Wo padhtey rahey khuda ko khudaayi samajh ker
Hum likhtey rahey ghazal ko rubaayi samajh ker
Na band-dagi khoj paayey na hi aashiqi mili
Phir kyu le gaye wo duaa ko duhaayi samajh ker

Hum na madhosh they na hi zeehosh they
Thodey nazron mein they thodey roposh they
Jo aajazi ko tumney yun cheena is tarha
Ab to jee uthey hain pehlay khaamosh they

Jo noor ko jala dey wo hiddat hum mein nahi thi
Jo kaif ko bujha dey wo tadap ghum mein nahi thi
Phir kyu lut gayi duniya or aabdeeda they chashm
Jab wo baat khaaksaar ke kalam mein nahi thi

Qaseeda ban gaye thi kuch inaayat is tarha
Tamashaa-e-zauq se na ho kuch shikaayat jis tarha
Likh diye fasaney yun nighah buland ker ke
“Naz” ban gayi ho khuda ki hadaayat jis tarha

A Tale Of Mundanity

http://kalenisis.deviantart.com/art/Does-it-Really-Matter-Whore-23623498

1) Dribbling through my shadows,
A mundanity flows, sometimes like
A bout of nausea, or a rain soaked
Earth; perhaps a whore sucks lives
In every breath of yours.

2) Sculpted heart, with a smile and a gaze,
Formless mass stacked in a chair,
A stain on the shadow like a poetic mistake;
Which way a corpse would fall
On a multipolar stage?

3) Two wings outgrown, and a womb to dry,
Shred every cell or bubble in joy,
Virgin Mary or Charpillon’s cry;
Would a dream be immortal in a parrot’s voice?

4) Marked by age, and the fate of some caterpillars,
Longing stems wait for springs to hide from lovers;
Poor trees perhaps they didnt know why,
Stripped or clothed, shadows lived for thy vile!

Bikher Gaye..!

Jab bhi hasraton ko thaamey terey koochey se guzrey
Hawaaon ne dareechon key rukh badal diye

Jab khawabon per mohrein si waqt ne laga di
Nazar kya tasweer kya tasawwur badal diye

Sadiaan si beet chali hain yun saayey ki aas mein
Tumney jo badley ghar, humney dil badal diye

Ab kya karein shikwa jab khud hi harjaa’ee they
Kisi aashiq ki tehreer-e-ghum ne muqaddar badal diye

Laut aao ab ke “naz” kuch na baaki hai
Teri chaukhat ki sarhad ne takhallus badal diye

Lost In A Speck

How easy it is to shatter a moment of silence, but we still long for it. Perhaps the momentary wait is too long to see the voids built within. Void!!! Probably I couldn’t come up with a better term to hide that dread nurturing within my bounds.Before it touched my senses, it fed on “love and passion”..huh..thats what I used to say. Its funny how equations within oneself form, change or die. From love to void, it just took three months, or maybe three moments inside me. I always used to say that life is strange, but how strange can a truth be, and how funny it sounds when reality fills within.


Yeah! It’s all happening within the flesh and skin of me, and I am unable to accept or deny it. That’s why it’s easier to shatter those moments and hide behind busy mornings and loaded evenings. The sense of urgency keeps away the sense of guilt or responsibility. The afternoon conversations blur the silences before and after the rings, and so the blind walk continues…


Loving him was irresistible, making love to him perhaps the only dream… but lost is my way in the dots ahead.


There is a very fine line between ecstasy and emptiness…both push you in a daze where you nourish or sulk alone..He left me filled or sucked the Me out of me…maybe you would know… but all I sense and feel is the tremble of the first touch, or the news of my love materialized…and I wondered..as I still do. How probable it is to love someone, and be loved by him, and how likely it is to be in love with your bond materialized within the core of you kicking and reminding a night out of all the nights..I wonder..


Technically and conventionally, love passes on..from a man and woman to their child…So am I not human if I didn’t want this string attached to me? Am I not in love with my man? Or maybe I was too quick to let my emotions get in stream..I wonder!


A speck of dirt am I
Flying high
The whorl won’t open
In a sky so tied
Neither did you bore me
Nor I would die
A moment still waits
To break me from the sky

The Toy Owls

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/46357462/?q=plastic+&qh=boost%3Apopular+age_sigma%3A24h+age_scale%3A5&qo=20

In the mystique of the first sunbeam
And the intruding song of the morning birds,
The frown behind my gaze leaves a note…

Little pebbles that I carry
From the lost journey of an ocean,
Fall onto my slept dream...

And the search continues...

“When did I learn to adorn my lies?
And draw the tear streaked covers of pleading hopes?
Probably a door still exists
Behind the forbidden shimmer of morning hues”

Toy owls chirp and laugh in the nests of robins and crows,
‘Oh I love you sweetheart’ they chant as they brush our plastic cores

Lives and after lives paused,
Wait on the longing trees,
The melting still looks for a sun,
Or perhaps a burning dream…

But one day the desires are sucked away,
As the toyed loonies break,
And the night strangers are left to sulk
In the chlorinated beams through vacant caves!

I Arrive..!

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/39196467/?qo=36&q=fire&qh=boost%3Apopular+age_sigma%3A24h+age_scale%3A5


There you bloom
With the secret of tears
And harmony,
As I seek
The love of light

I have waited since
Words had a meaning
To the vertex where letters
Lost their sight

I lived a virgin dream,
Where strangers stretched my
Desires

Wish
I- the withheld,
And you-the key,
Would unlock
The spark of “reality”

Now you provoke,
And I drink the stream,
Till the fire burns
The dust of me

In the dark you
be the knight,
And I merge into you
For the lust of joy

Tasteless step
Into the ring of sweat,
With the libation of sins
I arrive—I arrive


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Reaching beyond oneself was a right you never dreamed”

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/29413356/

Crawling is an art,
Once legs leave the
Mass to graze the spikes

Then foot steps become
My paintings,
And the trail of ants
Etch my sights

Spiders tell me my name,
Lady birds kiss me good bye,
The sleep is long,
And the gamble
Wouldn’t last all night

Grave
New
Ducklings
Follow my way,
And I let them suckle
The sweetness of lies

Thousand laughs
For a night my love;
As I cater your dreams,
You fill my
Incoherent plight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“When thirst didn’t have a name but a vacant hunger of The Forbidden Eyes”

Kaisay Karun..?

Muqaabil hai tera aks mein yaad kaisey karun
Vasl-e-yaar mumkin na tha mein faryaad kaisay karun

Boond boond ko sahil har shab tadapta raha
Ek muthy aashianey ki iltija kaisay karun

Deewaney ho chaley hain yun mai ki pyaas mein
Raaz-e-aashnayi ko sar-e-bazaar kaisay karun

Har gali har koochey mein ruswa ho gaye
Dil-e-nadaan ki chaukhat ko beniqaab kaisay karun

Na dil aashnayi na berukhi seekh paayi tum “naz”
Yun lutti hai duniya ke phir aabaad kaisay karun

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/58565759/

Aadat si ho gayi hai...

Jab jab moondhi ankhion pe koi hawa ka jhonka chalta hai
Dhadkan ab bhi rukty hai ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab paid ki oot se koi khawab chura ke jata hai
Paayal ab bhi bajty hai ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab nadi ke shor mein koi deed lagayey rehta hai
Paani ab bhi bharty ho ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab lafzon ki aad mein koi chaid chaid ker hasta hai
Nazrein ab bhi jhukty hain ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab ek muskaan pe koi hasna bhool sa jata hai
“Naz” ab bhi kerty ho ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Does a supernatural power exist? A deity which controls several universes from beyond…A God? Many a times man debated on this issue, and still does.

Belief vs Logic? Immortal vs Mortal? Lots to argue about, but once a man decides his path, his faith, What then? Does being a believer of “The Unknown”, makes one responsible for following “The Rules”, and “Acceptable” vs “Unacceptable”?
What after being “The Believer” one experiences a choice? A choice to choose not between what we want to do or not, but between who makes the choice for us…

the choice to pick, to live, and love..even die..

Life is not the game of choices, but the game of one we select for the play.

.......

Gumshuda hai samundar yun seep ki perchayi mein
Talaash ho jaisay be-asar kisi shab ki tanhayi mein

Berang hai manzar yun shama ki khudnumayi mein
Tareek ho jaisay aaina kisi rakht ki bewafayi mein

Saakat hai qayenaat yun jurm ki duhaayi mein
Tairta ho jaisay toofan kisi mauj ki khudayi mein

Tajusus hai qatil yun aansoo ki sunwayi mein
Kehtay ho jaisay ghazal kisi sha-ik ki ruswayi mein

Denied

ever strained
to hear,
when expectations
and fulfilment
take a joy ride?

One ring,
then another...

obscure
blank
silence

the ten dials
propped
in
figures that surround..
my tremble
and my temple

popped eyes refused,
though pen still carries
a desire

cure
nor do I seek
for the aphasic charm
that i hide

The dinner was eaten long ago...
Let me lick the void

The Illusionist

Light condemned
In my hole today.
As a cycle follows
In forty nights.

Inch by inch,
The earth sucks me in,
Like
A Dracula drinking
The orgasmic plight.

I clip my claws
Again and again,
But still they find
The papered walls.

Seven colors in the
Rainbowed eyes..
Sip me once,
Before the twilight.

Packed already?
You wish you’d leave!
Constellations follow
Your hasty strides.

I write my verse
Letter by letter,
So it stays where
The Plath died.

Smoked pieces
Of deserted inn,
Remind me of
My scissor veins...

Once a stranger,
Made love,
To a mourning voice
Of a concubine.

Neither a puzzle,
Nor a story,
A rotten waste that
That you leave behind.

O caricatured smile,
I talk to you today,
Don’t unlock me on
The forty-first night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
When mirrors are the only illusions that die when we close eyes..!

A Substituted Life

Can alternatives substitute notions in our lives? what about colours, people, relationships?

Perhaps they can.

Its a forced action, if taken immediately, and probably just happens by itself if given time.

But the question is, do we want them?

Humans like change, but not all the time. Sometimes, we do want to take a backseat and enjoy the neverending weather. Yes, it depends on what are we having, but i guess we all crave for stability, and having a good weather with a cup of tea in some dazed evenings is all we would care about, so that the rest of the world sleeps at the back of our minds.

A monsoon breeze with some pitter patter once a while, when we sit in our balconies sipping the love of nature, and then the clouds leave their place to give way to the sun. So, do we like it now? ummm..perhaps yeah...till we get sunburnt...then perhaps we take away our teacup and newspaper as we go back to our shaded room to curse a bit on the weather.

Did the change prompt the frowned face, or the sun?
(Probably the sun..it took away the wetness that we were enjoying.)

What about the ones who touched our lives and left us? Do we crave their existence, or enjoy the change! Do we miss the best, or look for the better. No, nothing is being implied.
Perhaps, the issue is whether we had the best, or thought we had, or probably we already were waiting for the change.

The ones who would have touched our hearts must be our choice, then do we substitute them while we nurture a void? Is that lack of presence horrible enough to push us to make another choice, or when we know that we cant have a better option leaves us makes us live with a hollowed existence till the time substitutes the void itself.

We all try substituting being and relationships, concioiusly or unconciously. Having vegetables for food is probably not such a good subtitute when we love chicken, but perhaps its better than staying awake all night due to hunger. Yeah it certainly was a better comparison, but the easiest one.

But a forced substitution? Is it worth the hunger? or would it make us crave even more vigoirously for what we lost? Yeah, it keeps our mind away, or atleast tries to distract us for sometime, but what if it doesnt. What if we crave for The One even more than we ever thought.

Problem arises when we have no alternatives to substitute. What do we do then? Do we sulk in the emptiness or move on? Move on to another part of the being, that silences that craving, or atleasts turn it into whispers. Even the thought of letting go of our "only" options takes away our breaths. How would be life with those special people not around, and no other being take that place? Yeah, now probably we crave for a substitute when there is none in sight.

Some fundamentals question our being, and the only substitute is to "move on".

Paper Cuts

“if I could only listen”…sometimes such thoughts wag in our heads pushing us to feel guilty about what we missed in life…those rare moments where we could have prevented those only “donts”..but we just couldn’t..

Whats and whys follow our reasoning long after the ship is lost..wow..a deadly chaos..
Those moments..which are followed by even more rare moments..where a tear drop, an apology, or a blushed heart are not enough to “undo” thoese single lines..like we do in “word files”..
Ahhh..its easy to achieve perfectness..and harder to keep it..

How long does it take to grow a thread from a cotton seed..and a just a while to break it..
And all that we are left with, are hollow ponderings and a keyboard to type with..!

Scribbling...

Creativity and sensibility don’t go together. At least not in my case. You flaunt one, and the other leaves, making one feel like a painter who has the canvas but not a brush to stroke with, or a paint bucket but a blankness to fill in.
“If only this lampshade could stop moving!”. The intermittent noise of the paper lampshade would always cut my thoughts exactly at the point where I would be on the verge of sorting out myself. But perhaps I had synchronized my brain impulses with the cling and creak of my surroundings, so that every dream would just continue till I can bear it, and then save the rest of it for the next night. Sorting out office files is relatively easier and much less absorbing and the best thing is: I get paid for wasting time.
So tonight I leave my randomness to solve the chaos of world waiting for me in the next room.
Don’t get me wrong. I am neither psychotic nor disoriented. I am both at the same time.
Professionally a therapist, hierarchally a social animal, and emotionally a virtualist. Well yeah! I know you have never heard this term. That’s right. I just coined it. A virtualist is someone who lives at the interface of what is felt or denied, what she materializes or imagines..someone who surrenders to impossible, while living with the possible.
Yeah that’s the shortest story of my life.
“Honey I am home!”, the voice that had been clinging to me since the last half decade resounded once more. “Mom!!! I am hungry, and dad is home too. Come out..I am waiting”. Don’t know why I never liked this voice, at this very hour of my silent evenings.
The spoon was so mechanically automated to go into my mouth, with a peaceful expression on my face, so that no one could hear the paper lamp inside me.
Some live to stand and face those cutting intricacies of self, some live to nurture them.. I hereby wait to see if anyone exists, who can hold onto a single dread all this while. Someone who would stop the clock every hour, and reverse it, so that the time would never reach another while.
It’s a charm to live in the past, and dream about history. Walk today, and nourish your yesterday.Wow!Another creative thought!
Life has never been more smoother…the bright days, the dark nights, the happy family, the grateful smiles..all submerged into one lampshade that tries to hypnotize me whenever it moves. Ah but you are late my friend..too late..I already have been hypnotized by virtuality of my name. For some it was enticing, for some it was boredom intonated, but what still lingers in my goose bumps is the stranger who held my clock all this while.

Indeed…creativity and sensibility do not go together :)

[In A Vacuum]

There is something stony
About the sun kissed sky…
It rains and shines, and
Withers down to bloom again..
I could never ask why?

I am the yellowed remains
Of every wound…
The ones hiding under
Every brown scar..
Fuming to exhume, yet
Scared of a prick.

I have a face,
And a full set of teeth,
Four limbs installed,
And still I crawl.

[knock knock knock!
Good morning Madam,
We have been called
To build you a metal hall].

The Show That Never Happened

[I give you the Phantom of Opera tonight]
-------------------------------------------------
A glass of gin,
And the beaded face
Reminds me of
Pitter patter of falling lies,
Once it was called rain,
Today it sounds like a
Dieing fire.

Sand and water
Share the same path,
Through my fingers they
Head for another drain...

‘Wish I could wet my palms
With mud again...

Shrieks that mocked some laughter,
Sighs that silenced a losing hope,
The show witnessed by a thousand deaf,
Still plays to strangle another hope.

Every flash forms a name,
Every thunder sings a rhyme,
We all pass in the maze of storm,
The fated one is a black wine.
-------------------------------------------------
There is a flower in every hand,
And birds chirp of the dry leaves,
I am flowing since the earth broke,
Every drop has a seeker behind.

Let it be history,
Let it be divine,
When Flora will meet theTethys of time.

May it be shored, or drunk in eyes,
I await the lily beyond tonight.
-------------------------------------------------
[The curtain falls]

My Paper Hut

I am toiling against the wind
Of crooked chins and open arms.
Tell me another way...

Tell me what it takes to be the
Whale in a pond of seasons,
And lust of fruits...

My hiding is wet in the
Monsoon breeze,
But the metal hut shrieks in
The calmness of my threaded dreams...

O Mommy I want to go home,
Where barbies talked of mirrors
And colors,
And words were all the same to me...

I am walking towards...
I am running behind...

One drop...
Just one...
In this desert night.

A Cave With A Sunbeam Hole

I am born with a red eye,
Which sleeps in a purity’s parasol,
I play hide and seek,
When colors toss the pea.

Through the lid of my gaze,
I have sensed it burgeoning,
Seducing it to sleep for the
One it’s not meant to be.

Scarred it maybe,
But of one lone hand...
Who will recite the prayer
Of the unspoken fertility?

Your scribes over the maiden
Have engraved a cave...
Who will peel off a banana
Without a cherry’s vitality?

On A Sabbatical

Silently I waited for you to glow,
For you to let go of the big N show,
Nothing was created but a closed road,
And the world hushed to witness the corrode.

Silently you sung the strings refined,
Restrained in self, the symphony sublimed,T
he blankness of the slept still screams,
O you just cuffed the flowing dreams.

I break the law today you hear,
I cross the boundary you’d fear,
Be the caged, be the choice,
No I quit the rhymed rejoice.

A histogram bellows a moving tale,
It doesn’t stop on the ends so frail,
A legend made, another died,
Why did you let the seasons come by?

The Marijuana

A bridal gown you wear,
And peek through the cage
Of self...claiming to be free,
From the cuffs of passing weeks.

Did you break free, or
Sawed your hands?

"Mommy mommy...I won’t
I won’t, let go of my casket the
Undertaker brought,
Don’t lick my sleeping wounds,
I have wolfed to bleed myself".

O you O you...not-so-pretty face,
’wish you had know your abortive kind,
Feeding on the flesh of a neighbor is easy,
Sucking your own isn’t so divine.

Jump and crave, and hail and fire,
You just changed the name of desire,
Writing pretty words is not your story,
Don’t deny the probing hood of satire.

“Did I say narcissism?
Did you puke the "loving" kind?
Were we born to cannibalize the "self"?
Or I just mimed your gory time?"

The Mind Game

There is a garden of fertile soil,
With butterflies and caterpillars in
The dampness of a spring morning...
Some seeds wait in the pile,
Some buds long the touch
Of an early sunrise..

The fish that once was high
On its drunken air,
Now gasps for the drop,
Water took out of its life..

What is a cruel word?
Absent or in satiated?

Lives crawl season by season,
Leaving specks of dirt and flowers
On stations of a nonstop train.

And it continues...

With a shell of disguise worn
On a scarred face, it walks..

And we follow..

Life sleeps into a dream,
Hibernating into a bitter sweet death.

Don’t forget...we are on a nonstop ride.

Figures melt and form,
Oceans crave and die.
Sculptors drown in their emptiness,
With their master pieces spoiled.

Concluded!

Tell me a secret word,
Which hides the writhing heart,
And captures the timelessness
Of just one moment...

Tell me a golden planet,
Where the ivory moon gives
Way to the stars,
Where orbits break to defy gravity,
And vacuum floats.
There is none.

When mirror disguises our shadows,
And the line between sea and shore
Seems clouded...

I await another daze,
Another shower,
Another dive...

I closed the chapter of questions.
The book of answers doesn’t follow me either.

I want to end the episodic encounters,
So that winters and summers leave way
For the shrinking springs.

And one day maybe,
The throbing veins of my skull will
Show me the stagnant sea leaving a
Dead shore.

Too much of reality in question?
Too many deductions you seek?

Keep reading...
Someone just chained you to the
String of lies.

The Blue Dahlia

I am a book of thousand lies
And one truth…

The truth of a capricious illusion.

Sometimes I pick the colours of my room;
Sometimes the colours pick me.

Once this room was a haunted house
For a little red riding hood;
Now that the werewolf is out,
I keep myself padlocked in the silence
Of my cellar.

I dreamt of dolphins and mermaids,
And wrote about nonexistent words.

But down my story someone has
Found the key to my attic,
And silence has finally started to speak.

Yesterday I had found blood,
Today my skull has a psychedelic painting.

And I wonder,
Why is it hard to read others’ books
When you are writing your own.

I did write once…
With blank magical pages.

Why do I see “just” dwarves in the
Blanket of my snow white story?

I am trying to figure it out,
Tell me if you do…

My address is written on the back
Of your skull.

History May Repeat Itself

I notice a new word everyday;
They keep blocking my senses,
Or will they rescue them?

I am collecting the garden
Petal by petal;
So that my lap will ever smell of
The redness and the greenness,
And some wanderers.

I am knitting the never known;
I am kissing the unknown;
And they are loving the new known.

What will happen to the moths,
How will the fingers running down
The candle breathe,
If I die?

Probably moths and butterflies,
Need none but the one in them;
Wanderers will find a new garden
In the lapse of my funeral…

And my words…
I am waiting for them to form
A letter: of blooming and withering flowers,
Of sun and earth,
Of night and stars,
Of eyes and wine,
With a sprinkle of thorns.

I will keep a shadow for every pulse,
Till my room smells of years,
And my blue roses dry,
And the music gets strung to my background.

Stale is not the story;
Weird may fit my pages;
But the one that writes the
First line is a Transition.

A sculpture once formed
Will not like a twin,
So I pray for the birds to
Forget my fictions,
And dive into my diaries.

They may find a woman perfected,
Closed in her petals again.

Give Me A Night

Give me a night
Of stillness of a cadaver;
As ants gather around my bed
To say one last goodbye,
And the only audible beats
Are the thumps of The Coming,
And The Unseen.

Before my eyes
You take away the colours;
And I am bound to enjoy
The shrieks of distorted triangles
And squares.

I ache to hear my silence,
And the heaving of the breaths...

Why does my phone blink,
When there is no one on the other end?

“Nancy o silly…
Pick up my call.
Your funeral is getting late,
The undertaker has to take home
The living bodies of the left dead”.

Take the clown away
From the screen of this TV,
It’s asking me for a reply,
For the question that was never heard.

A hand tells me to gobble down a pill;
A hidden face looms over with victorious eyes...

No one knows what lies in a skull;
A virgin clasped in the opaqueness of time.

Let me tell you what are you missing honey,
Kill me tomorrow,
Just give me a night.

A Missing Link

Last night I tried hard to put
The two worlds together,
But my dreams left me,
For a change…

So I start hereby again to
Draw couplets into life

Lately someone talked about the earth
And the heavens and the moon

Where did the sun go?

I didn’t hide it;
I just stole a ray and kept it in
My heart

Man and earth ...
Stars and night…
Pearls and shell…
I lost myself to the chunks of desires

Explicit and implicit chords
Kept the chain of life swinging,
And all that’s left now is
Blurred perception.

Still…I await my moira.

Happiness knows no bounds,
Maybe that’s why we live in
A ring…
An empty one…
Full with bounded breaths

Don’t wait till I come,
Don’t live till I die.

Unwanted fruits have a story too,
They over live to sing their songs,
But only whispers are smelt
In their rotten cries.

In Words Of A Shell...

Obsession they call it,
Maddening it seems,
It flares and burns,
And yet I seek that speck of smoke.

“Invisibility asks herself
When her lake seems empty”

Probably water never has a source,
It’s born to flow;
There is no from or to.

It awaits a revival…
Of closed water spaces,
And dreams of the untouched,
And the latent;
Hiding the weeds that long
For bubbles of air.

The moon glamorizes the
Tender touch,
As long and short tides entangle
In their rhythms.

And…
Shakespeare’s sonnets still
Reverberate in the mermaids’ hymns,
As couplets merge into the songs of
Involuntary beats.

Storms rise and fall;
Rains soak and dry;
Oceans merge and break.

But the empty lake that
Started from Nadir still
Flows…

And it will…forever

Emptiness doesn’t need a reason
To commit another crime…

Let gratification be blamed for
The unlived Shakespeare’s life.

Reflecting Upon A Mirage

My mirrors break everyday,
And still they form, from the
Disoriented pieces of glass.

A hand wipes off the dirt
From the entangled roots of
A tree,
To discover more twists in
The circling tornado of soils.

A box of true lies,
A shredded cloth hiding some smiles,
And the left overs of some days…
They all wait to get buried in the
Never daring silence of my
Ward robe.

Time walks by ,as fingers
Run the rally of impossibilities,
They know they would never
Get their pride…

Still they wait and run,
And stop and run,
And weep and run,
And now they are tired.

Eyes seek elixir in the words of Rumi,
Ears yearn for Shakespeare to come alive,
But again….
Some words break my mirrors at night.

Red- A Reminiscence

Red leaves hide the monuments of time
On that very bench;
And that engraved history.

That’s how it started maybe…

The breadths of roads were mere
Counts of leaves they were washed in;
Some strangers would have walked
There in the loneliness of winters,
Craving the warmth of sunshine.

Epitaphs…
Red again…
The leaves merging with
The rotten fluid of silenced
Cries.

And as I opened my eyes,
The vase beside me primed
The clock…anti clockwise.

Why are you still awake?
Hallucinations are a better way
To touch life.

Fiction

Numbness redefines itself…
Ask the snow its legend,
Read the eyes of the bedridden,
And if you still seek a reply,
Come to me

My story may not be any different
From my next door neighbor,
It has a plot,
A beginning,
A climax and an anti climax too,
And then its ends,
Without a full stop

I may try a riddle next life,
They are hard to end,
And don’t need a full stop

Red, yellow, green
Are the same to me sometimes,
Am I colour blind
Or disillusioned from light?

I wear the same face everyday,
But the eyes who once beheld me
Cannot see it at night

They will one day…
When my author will put
A beautiful epilogue before
The final dot

Until then incompleteness
Serves as the antonym
Of perfection

And life reels on...

Reflections...
The journey started with hands in rose water
Dripping life onto the road divine,
And the candle burned smelling of a thousand words
And uttering just one.

Some nascent dreams hiding in the womb of
Never opened eyes and that one smile.

A sunflower took several rounds of clock to bloom
Or was it birth of a thorn in the wake of sun?

Realizations...
Hands that once floated in time
Now knock at the doors of ephemerality.

The rain soaked the ground under those feet
But those eyes still seek the story of falling drops.

And life reels on...

In a graveyard an epitaph screams
The longing of a tomb,
As leaves chart the history in black and white.

A maiden walks the deserted streets of an unknown city
Following the tracks of broken carriages of ancient times.

A splash into realms of time

I will come one day and take

You to my hymn, where songbirds

Talk about the rhapsody of the seven

Oceans that completes the void betwixt

Have you ever walked down the streets

Of your village under a white shadow?

Nay! that’s not me

The moonlight misery calls onto thee

Still watch the hour glass turn around

Your fate

Someone still awaits your laughter at the

Other side of the sun amidst the snowfall

The tip of your soul that smokes away

Breathes life into a chassis every night

Turning the pages of memory I suck ink

Through my fingers so that you can fill

My glass again

But few chalices are meant to be empty

Sometimes

Keep walking to the great divide

The doors that bar your life will open once

Though they may cage you with your first step

And mind you…

The view from outside the bars is very different

From what you will see through them

And here ends the story of a magic of an era untold

Though the mistress of the deep still seeks

to drink her wine

A Silent Wish

Let me walk onto your burned shreds

And suck the slits in your broken ties.

Wait till you die,

Wait till the earth weeps enough

To bring you alive.

I will stay till the ocean returns

The pearls of my womb.

I will crave till you pierce my death

With your gun.

I was born in a daze of euphoric insanity,

They read the history which exudes from

My peacock eyes,

One stroke of brush and portrait will flower again.

When crowds will celebrate the flesh of a grapevine,

The blood will wash the sins the

That I commit with every breath.

Till then O stranger…

Be me and lay in my grave!

A Revelation!

Sometimes sitting by the trees in a January night,

Threads of showering cotton balls talk to me.

They bring the message of the surreal that I ache to touch,

And melt my hopes as I take the flakes home.

The dog holds out its tongue in search of the last drop,

As desires leak away questioning the beast in me:

“What can be more satiating than tasting the McCoy?

Why do you let mermaids swim in the cerebral fluid in thy mind?”

“A block of concrete will fix the tower you breathe in,

The cuts and sides you carve in will form the idol u reside in!”

Step by step earth climbs the shade,

As birds cry for their lost rooms and broken wings.

I stare and ask myself in the war of fighting pigs:

“Why do I always live on little joys of small things?”

The sky jolts as the earth marries the moon,

And I go back in my hide to wait for the next January night.

A Peacock's Symphony

Mapping a constellation over my azure

I seek the eminence promised an era ago

I drink the libation of poisons from your sting

To lose my immortal self in the lore of an eon lost

My day dawns at dusk

As sun vanquishes the moon

The zenith in me cries sometimes

When the night takes away my throne

Hundred eyes shine on my tail

One glance can bore my seed in you

Or doom you for the rest of your life

It started with all gold

And it follows me through and through

I hate the glow in your armlet

As it chases my rainbow firmament

[i]Juno’s bird still waits in the vault of heavens

A corona of amour propre it forms

Dancing to the symphony of the unborn

It flares till the infant sky weeps its ebullience

A myth dies in the sands of time

Footsteps of another reach the shore[i]

A Drop of Memory

A whisper rolls down my cheeks
Reminding me of the lavender nights
And the morning glories.

A faint smile plays in a hidden
Corner of an aficionado’s realm.

Someday maybe...
The yellow leaves in my garden
Would talk to me of the days that
Evaporated in the green sunshine.

Someday maybe...
I would call out a name
When soup would burn my tongue
In a winter night.

And one day when I will walk
Out of the joi de vivre with my little teddy,
The autumn birds will sing us a lullaby.

They call it rhythm divine...
Have you ever heard an orphic jive?
When heart and mind coalesce
Into a lost soul,
I am waiting for such a hymn.

I am living a dream,
Let it be a dream,
Don’t come near if you
Want to bring me alive,
Some deaths are sweeter than
The dewy sunlight.

Are you the bon vivant who would
Tell the world of a poem which died
In your dream last night?

a Mermaid's Lament

Cantilating from the bottom of

An ocean of emptiness

A void above and beyond scintillates

The beauty forlorn

Hiding herself from the pale sky

She sits in the shadow of her dreams

Holding onto every drop of firewater

She dances to the tunes of her inamorata

Winds play wicked games as candles

Quiver to breathe and burn

Some fish chase her path as she sneaks

To flower the nights of strangers sailing

Through the shire

Every moon brings a new story

A ripped wing

A forbidden fruit

And she sails on to another bitter sweet memory

The sun has gone to bed now

Her moon died in sleep tonight

As another sylph emanates from her womb

A forgotten melody plays again

life

It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power!

You bring to me life

Hold my hand let's chase the sun,
We both know something's begun,
Nothin feels that real without you,
Wanna learn so much about you,
Shining star i've seen your face,
Everything falls into place,
Nothing else seems to matter,
You bring me to life,
Feels so lonely,
Won't u show me,
Where I need to be,
You bring me to life.

Feels like the raindrops on my skin,
You reach me somewhere deep within,
You make my body come alive,
You bring me to life,
I whisper things you never knew,
I can't believe that tonight i'm here with you,
You make my body cum alive,
You bring me to life.

See it burning in my eyes,
Don't want words,
Don't want no lies,
They say more than whatt is spoken,
Promises always get broken,
Feels so lonely,
Won't you show me,
Where I need to be,
You bring me to life.

(Feels like the raindrops)

(You bring me to life)

You bring me to life...