Of What Shall I Write

Of what shall I write?
The cold, the shivering,
the blank maze of fog?
The pains and misunderstandings,
the subdues of relationships?
The tales of friendship?
The memoirs of happiness?
The bulk of lessons,
the raining bullets of thought?
Peddling legs, weaving dreams?
Unspoken words, silent gestures?
Hopeful assumptions? Discredited ideals?
Of what shall I write when the words
dissolve into the depths of blank diaries?
Of wasted time? Of vain reveries?
Of underrated feelings?
Of mainstream discussions?
Of ignorance, of vanity,
of distinguished personalities?
Of what shall I write
To you-
Of love? Of separation?
Of disparities of sitting miles apart?
Of what, my love? Of what?

Spotless

Some things are a feast to our complex thoughts
We know we are tangled
We know we are stuck in a confined room of our mind
But we project it out on the wall in front of us
And its projection is blank
As white and colourless as the colour of the wall
Until someone comes and asks what we are thinking
And we know, "it's just nothing".

Dormancy

That spark is still beheld in its dormancy
Away from any means of communication
Or the willingness of it driven by irreplenishable desires
That once screamed out during the course of night
In the entire span of a day, any day.
Is it fading, much to my fear?
Yet am hopeful, figuring out what went where and why
And how is the sleeping state achieved without the notice of night...?


(To someone who probably will not come across this post. If they do, I hope they'll recognize the charm they have on me intricately woven in the subtle parts of this post.)

A Drop Of Jealousy

Maybe tonight a drop of jealousy slide down my spine
With a freaky emotion born out of nostalgia
And a desire to fulfil what had already been sought for;
I see the other feasting in it
And I could sense the most rarest expression possible to me-
A vital need for it!

Art Of Experiences

New wounds are created
While the old scars cluster up
And form a memory.
We call them experience.
And while this happens, we make
Ourselves, fit to accept or deject,
Resigning to our own fate
Or fighting alone.
What is right?
Can we fight the fate?
Or shall we be submissive to
The ticking of a clock
And turning of calenders?
Every wound teach us
To be an artist
And we wonder why all the greatest artists
Have faced greatest sorrows,
When recalling the history.
When you are unique
No one can help you
You are helplessly unique
And the only best luck you have
Are your bad times
For they make you experienced
And turn your experiences into your art
And you end up exposing
The worst truths of life
To your audience
As you descend down the path of evolution
With immortality of your work.

Sinners

World screams out loud the silence of destruction.

And the thunder of time ripples the monotony of evolution,

Witnessing, storms of fire approaching

To engulf the already sleepless nights;

Clouds, all devoid of sea water but the sweat

Of corpses cremated from sun’s heat;

Mountains wither out; stars disappear,

Range of sight achieves the dim light of moon.

The sky laughs, drumming loudly on the eardrums.

Dreaming in their innocent prayers, the children

Think green in the meadows of love.

Windows and doors lead us to fire of hell

And the walls around smothers the bitter hope of life.

Dreaming is a sin in this world, they said.

And we are all sinners

For the sinners can only dare

…To dream. 

The Moment Of Revelation

A moment will come

When it will be this way or that

For what is done couldn't be undone

And nothing could go back to same.

A moment will come

When it will hurt less

For it will matter less or lesser

Than nothing.

A moment will come

When we will get used to it

When we will walk step by step

Towards the unfavorable.

A moment will come

When this unfavorable would hold no value,

And all would be neutral

But bitter and blunt.

A moment will come

When we will realize we have grown

For then, we would have walked through and from

Our own wounds.

A moment will come

When we would stop considering these wounds

As our destruction

And we will realize

That it is no more than a piece of time,

The work of our fate,

Or the sheer mystery of life.

A moment will come

When we would get exposed to the realizations

And we would realize that everything is nothing

And nothing will matter in the end

For in that moment

The moment would have come,

The moment which we will cover with

A peaceful blanket of our memories

And we will accept it as it is,

As we are…

Helpless.

Lines

The lines extend across a sheet of paper

Diverging through the corners they encompass the margins-

Margins of life

Where one feels its holiness

And destruction.

The lines form images, easy images; routes, easy routes

These routes carry us along and all we would need to pay is our trust

And compromises.

And so, we go about it for it feels easier, untangled, smooth

And hence, dies the sketch of our mind

That would have found its own path, tracing its own images

Outside the backdoor of our life.

Ignored lay these sketches

That instead of following might have laid a new path,

The new possibilities, the new history.

And soon these are cremated

In none other than the fire of

Our own resignation. 

Finding

Looking in the mirror and finding the world that

Obstructs the view of me to me myself.

I am that drop in the middle of an ocean

That reaches the land over the course of years,

I am those colors of the sky

That paint themselves around the setting sun,

I am that spark of sunlight

That dances in water besides the reflecting glass of vacant ships

Standing alone over the music of the unsaid world,

I am those feelings that need no description and are understood only by the worthy hearts;

I am the heart that sings,

The eyes that sigh,

The legs that never stop,

The fingertips that dance to every rhythm of each tune,

And the mind that bleeds

Being wounded by the ancient world,

By experiences all good, bad and neutral

I am that faith that creates god and miracles and cure and love…

This me I try to find

Among the phony people in the breath of nature

Releasing sighs over the exposed wounds

And under the magnificence of mighty sky. 

The Roads of Memories

Scuttling along the roads of memories,

The particulates of time get into the eyes-

Burning

Pricking;

Smoking,

The fumes of cries escapes out

Through the ventilators of face.

Tears moist the eyes reflecting the barren heart.

Soul…on hibernation.

Around,

The sights of algae

Suffocating the blue water-

As is the calm of mind agitated,

And liveliness of life buried under

The burden of societal expectations.

The mark of axe

Piercing through the heart of tree.

Fire all around.

And this walk over the ruins!

Haunts around the ghosts of dead insects

Stinging you with some unknown pain,

Reminding, recalling.

Bewitched mind

Pukes out the hopes of upcoming days

And covers it after, with the mud of past.

Birds, howling

In their nests.

Look over and find them with injured wings

Staring down at your injuries

And cuts

And bruises

And you realize you are naked

Under the gaze bestowed upon you

With the blessings of the monsters

Of these ruined lands.

You faint, lose yourself,

Falls down over the ashes,

Crumpled sounds,

Rustles,

The sky screams out.

You look over

Staring above, staring ahead above,

And knows then and there…

Some things will never change.

Shed From The Spring

What would earth do

When all its spring would have shed away

Into the past of calendars?

The beavers and raccoon

Would steal a part of it with them

That no one could measure

For its meagerness;

And the frogs and the snakes

Would be hidden in its lower space.

For the snow would settle on the bare branches

And warm them for other lives

Which arises from the furnace of hope and faith,

And will spread through the sands

To show its calm at the hour of sleep.

This would be called the beginning of a life

And another spring,

If you ask the earth

Which is shed from its spring.

Wedding Bells

Here comes the wedding scene

In the colds of May

Hanging about the silvering eyes

With the briskness of candle flame.

Going over the previous ages

All the time counts

Blues in the shades of grey

Speaks out.

Speaking of the troubling query

The old man thinks

What would have been otherwise if

Had it not been like this.

And again the heart sinks deeper

To where this interrogatory led

And here comes the wedding scene

Rousing the dead.

With all the years that is left of him

In a smile these aged lips fell;

Dances the weakened heart of this old man

To the sound of wedding bells.

Getting Old

On one of the branches hangs a lonely leaf

In the period of senescence.

Wrinkled, retarded, tired of its time

Covered with dust from its golden days.

Only noticed by the rays of sun

That sieve out through the dead branches

Looks down at an unawaken dog

That still might love its shade.

What would be this poor leaf thinking

Of life, of death, or of strong blows?

Or would it just being seeking blessings

Under the sun's and moon's gaze?

The Cloth

Show the mirror to your moral words

Tell, can you find but a damp’d cloth

Of shame and guilt,

That which sees an eye and touches a skin

Of the hands that know nothing

But conspires within their ‘moral heads’?

The cloth,

That hides not just what nature holds

As its beauty, but more

The doors of hearts and souls
And the truth of your moral words.

High On Ice On Darker Nights

High on ice on darker nights

A heart that flied to scary heights

A mind that filled the eyes with thoughts

The lips with words that wisdom holds

At the stake of earthly norms

And laws and threads that bind from storms

Tore this all with fierce in slice

A heart that flied to scary heights

To challenge storm with one much stronger

And facts of wonder that life ponder

Aware of fear of world behind

Hate was flowing from whose eyes

But beyond the stretch of emotional string

Or things that so much agony bring

More than what a life could hear

Or than that a death bear

But this heart sees the untold

Thinks what more a mind could hold.

High on ice on darker nights

This heart that flied to scary heights.

Eternal Light

I am walking on no road beneath but the sky above

And in front.

Far away lies the gaze of my eyes

Searching myself in eternity.

The feet searching the trace of my destiny

Over the thorns of my existence.

Water is what my heart is made of

And in my soul jewels an eternal fire.

I walk from nowhere to everywhere.

Trace me in wind

Breathe me in silence

Forget me in the darkness that will eat up

All the sunshine.

The darkness will rise to heaven someday

Where I will reach and find my eternal light.

Sky Is Moving Away

Trees, all shed from their summers

Stand nude

Biting the flesh of the sky

With their pricking nakedness

As like the bodies of millions of rootless people

Which prays through the crumbled bones

Tears the heart of the sky out.

Sky move out through sky

Damaging the dreams of millions of children

Proving the futility of the wings of thousands of birds

Taking with it the sun and moon and stars

Leaving behind a misty blanket of clouds.

While the sky darts without a word of farewell

People down rejoice at the sight of clouds

That brightens their only hope of survival

Only till the storm of realization.