Why Love?

What is love if it can't strike your heart like a lightening bolt
While you stand drenched under its raining passion?
What use is then of fondness and loving
If there is no depth, there is no falling?
What use is of the warmth in embraces
When there is no melting of heart, no melting in arms?
And what use is of looking in the direction of your beloved
Without any longing, without saying anything?

Seasonal Happenings

Last night I spiraled my way to a long lost summer afternoon
And saw myself walking amid bright reflections
There were silhouettes of every thing and every being
And bright sunshine embarked a new spark in our eyes as I walked towards him.

A silent reel rolled heavily on my mind
All dooms were forgotten, as all the beauty revived
In the silent corners of that heart
Which has now learned the art of desiring.

And as with those thoughts I went back to sleep
The flower of fancies unblossomed
The seeds returned to their dormancy
And a lot got embedded back in the depths, unkeen.

But look what I found on waking up—
Invariably a beautiful winter morning.

Internal Happenings

There are fragmented moments in the distances between us
Where I keep on traveling to and fro, from myself to you,
And then back to myself —
With an unquenchable longing
To be with you again.

There are molecular spaces where I feel your absence
When you are just a step apart
Looking away in your own eternity.

There are warm silences when your breath departs
In all the other directions
Where I long to be.

There are unhappened conversations between us happening
While sipping coffee in my solitude,
Compounded in me.

Me-ing

Do you feel the need to drag yourself ahead
To not stop at any cost
To keep on moving and leave all behind
All that is meant to be left
All that is not yours.
To let the wretchedness be
To let the loneliness disseminate in you
To let your wounds scream
To let yourself heal once again
To let your spirit explode
To trust yourself once more.
Do you feel this isolation inside your head?
Do you hear the time ticking in your heartbeats?
Do you hear the music your soul is singing?
Can you feel these depths you are in?
Can you see the futility floating at the surfaces?
Do you feel numb towards all the alienated things?
Do you talk to yourself, embrace yourself,
Look in your own eyes?
And smile, like really smile?
Maybe we are on the same page then.

Raveling

She sat
Wide awake
Distorted from reality
Her mind traveled a hundred possibilities across
And her heart danced in some other dimension
And yet there stood
A giant wall in front of her mere reality
Beyond which she sought her space.

A Touch

Behold the glance
That is penetrating deep into my eyes
Searching for words
Playing with my emotions
Reaching my heart which is dreaming
Of a hundred projections
Of multiverse
Where we shall meet
And play
And dance
And walk the valleys
Or climb through the varied steps and layers of togetherness.
Behold that glance
That makes me dream
Of different versions of me
In different times and spaces
With all your different forms and beings.
Where I shall see you as you
And you, me as me.

The Need

When I woke up from my sleep
There was blood all over my face (from what I recalled from my dream)
And I was chasing somebody
And then I daubed their face with something
And there was somebody else too, mirroring my actions
And that somebody else had blood on their face too
We were sweating blood
But before the blood would ooze out through tiny pores of our skin
We would reach the threshold of something
And that just-before-the-breaking-point
Was a beauty
Of our selves
When we radiated our intensities
And our face glowed with all the blood running through our veins
And I wondered, on waking up, what it could suggest
I might be pursuing some troubled extent
And I lived the whole day safe and securely
When by the end of the day I pursued night and its sombre glories
I was touched by the threshold of something in me
And wished to unleash myself
From all the cages I might have imprisoned all the anythings in me,
From all of my past that I have ever lived,
And knew, if it was possible,
I would have grown wings
Then and there.
For the need.

Thought and Thoughts

Where do all these thoughts come from?
Torment-styled and concealed
More than half remains unspoken
The other half of spoken aren't well conceived.
A part of them partly bears any truth
A part is always slurred
The next part stumped in ashes
And a whole of next converted to thoughtless words.
The mere minutest percent that remains
Are ones that make the best discourse
Once in a month, a year, in ages
Unrecorded and subverse.

Where Were You Last Night?

Where were you last night
When the stars called out your name?
The vast sky sought your solitude
And the warmth of the night was dismayed.
But you were asleep in your cold sheets
Waiting for a new dawn, a routine
While the wilderness of your soul
Remained agitated, and you ignored.
You were a self you now remember
Over-engaged in your new identity, you drown
In every cup and glass you pour yourself into
And try to take its form.
You say you rediscover yourself everyday
When you, the moon for the world, is indeed down.

To be of that savage sheath of desires
That won't cut off from their wonts
Of turmoiling the peace of a mindful heart
Dismaying the sleep from the night
And activities from the day
Is in my ritual of today.

Clouding

Behind the uncontrollable urge to reside my essence in the form of its true meaning
I walk up and down the street
Ruminating on time buried under the dark warm earth
I put my ears to ground and try to hear
The soft murmuring of the movement of still life
Unaware to our naked eyes
I follow my gaze from the base of a trunk to the highest branch of the tree
Wondering why sunlight loves to sieve through it
The water that grumbles on a disturbed layers of sea
What do they tell or do they even crave to?
Proving their presence. Or is it their essence?
That they have found out after immortal years of their existence
And if they have, how do these things of nature actually feel now
Specifically after becoming tools of mere selfishness in the very intentions of ignorant humanity.
With this unanswered inquisition I return back to my own cloud.

Falling in Love?

If there is one thing I can hold true in my heart
It's the falsity of love
The growing tension between the nerve endings
The wrong impression of reflexes
The process of manipulating reality and all our past impressions already starts
We are making room for something new... from the same old
Over-beautifying every sound,
The involuntary actions become utterly encoded.
This concurrence is a mere chance,
A permutation of time and space
But this is where our fall starts
And we plunge head over heels
For few days,
Weeks, or months,
Untimely coinciding with the projection of each other's feelings
Failing the auto sync, eventually.

Shadows of Absence

I see the shadows around me
Of all the things I lack
Darker than the darkness
Which could no longer be taken as grant
The shadows that are gravely silent
Than any haunting death
Glaring at me defiantly
They mock my very sense
Of being and believing
In what holds me from the truth
And I, with my failed efforts
Walk towards these black holes.

Contemplating the Delusions

How can I change and unfurl
When, wherever I go and whomever I meet, 
Is a projection, a continuity
Of all I have left behind, or had been.

How shall I renew when everything of mine
Resurfaces from time to time
And the shadow of my former self triggers the reactions
Drawing out a confused image of my mind. 

How shall I shed my skin off
Relieving my self from the dead longstanding burden
Which shall stay and define my sub-conscious
In all my future lives. 

When by the end of the day I sit and summon all my differently forgotten selves
For a feast of delight in the dreams that we had sought, in respective phases of time,
And share the differences, wondering how much I have changed—
Have I really...?

Fearing

We always feel ourselves changing
In the dark narrow lanes of intolerable voids
Which erupts and breaks the silence between our ears
Rocketing our hormones
Exploding our loneliness in the charcoal waters of our only vent
That may seem out through eyes, mouth, or limbs;
An utter intolerance,
Where we get stoned and see the moments slipping past—
And our old self, and our old selves disappearing like smothering clouds of smoke—
And our dreams that we shed off to rot in ashes.
We are afraid to float through this change
Wishing to summon all our loved ones
And say them a last goodbye through our another losing self,
Every other moment.

At times sadness is just too crippled and delightful
Like a ray of warmth traversing down your intestines
You bestow yourself with your own empathy, love, and understanding
Letting yourself feel like You again.

Mildness of Truth

Perceptions are like small dot-size holes
On a sky-length wall —
The point of our meditation
The convergence of our concentration
The foci of our actions
The road of our present
And the route to our future
A formlessness, a presence,
Yet we bind it with our reality
Consider it the only truth
Indulge in immature judgments
Heighten our egos just on one basis
And in that small subjectivity
We try to stuff our essence
To jar the wall
And let neither the time flow
Nor we floweth out of it.

Another Minute of Illusion

Emotions are perspiring my thoughts
Invading my exhausted cravings
What was once gone and I soothed my heart into acceptance
Is inflicting irresistible daydreams and desires
What is blind — my in or out?
Or everything I ever wondered and wished to believe?
Better is still the thought of patience —
To postpone the realization, to delay the truth,
And to live an untrue present for one more minute.