Tender Exact Change

I am happy to share the sky over our heads love

For all of you is gone, voice and sight 

I bask in the glow of this noon sun, knowing

The sun shines on you too, hopefully gently

When you look up to see the clouds, fluffy

Like you my love, as they move beautifully

They paint the dull blue skies with whites

Offer shade, make the sunset seem better

The sun sooner or later though exacts a price 

I have paid mine, to be in this limbo half alive

Only to be like sunflowers, I bloom to dry and die

Unlike the sunflowers, I hope to not be buried

To sprout, and run this course all over again

I could've run it through, twice and over, smiling

For you were the light that shone through my soul

Dream night

I always make popcorn at night before I sleep alone

Crucial, I hate being hungry in the middle of the night

You could ask why popcorn, and I would laugh at your ignorance

I wake up mid dream often terrified, eat a bit and go back to sleep

Dreams are like movies, they make me want to see more

Imagine those blood curdling horror stories that run often

There is a ton of comedy too, but those don't warrant breaks

The tragedy and horror genres need some salted butter popcorn

Well!

I hide behind nothing 

for there is nothing without your presence 

All I see is you 

yet all I know isn't

I ask if this is life 

or if this will be what remains of me 

Is there a me 

if I fail to exist with you

When you are not around 

it doesn't matter if it hurts 

or if it feels good 

I question if I can even feel anymore.

I ask if I should 

isn't a void still something 

if so then your absence is not a void 

because it is like the divine curse of nothingness.

I could question a lot 

more of my very existence 

yet if it wasn't 

would I still think?

maybe your thoughts would manifest me 

because your thoughts manifest me into being 

or maybe they did is why I exist.

I do? Do I? remind me, make this existence seem possible.

Sides squared

My dark room has a vivid energy to it

Though subtle but rather unmistakable

I can sit in the center of this place and cry

It hides my life and dampens my sighs

The walls are a mosiac of a mural painted

Often to have been shattered and rearranged

The pieces  are too tiny to hold now

For they are shards that cause bleeding aches

The floor is a lovely bright black granite'esque 

That drinks my tears and never has quaked

I built this dark room to be alive once

I realize that was my first terrible mistake

But I fret not for those who have often sent

Wished me to spend time in here and reflect

For I see life bears no meaning anymore now

So I'll sit till it becomes my tomb somehow

Mornings are lovely sometimes

It's so easy for me to be distracted in conversations

Between a stranger like my tea vendor and me

He a man of various blends of tea leaves 

I , a flavour thirsty, tea loving, logical man of science

We both do meet halfway though, you'd wonder how

But a mind as curious as mine wants to learn

Raghu makes excellent tea and is a good soul

And I try to understand the nuances of spice and colour

He pours me a tall glass every few days when I visit

I most often prefer to brew my own tea at home you see

I have those who love the tea I make, and often visit for such

But my vendor surpasses my most excellent batch far too often

A journey ends

Maybe this time it is complete

 this circle 

 of my own 

 an unexplainable existence

 awarded to me by force

 in forced breaths

 feeding another moment

The pungent scent of an end

 beckons loud

 of my lone

 an unsavoury acceptance

 served to me in tones

 by passing moments

 bleeding my soul

This me has nothing to be than

 an unbearable load

 to have and to hold

 a meaningless shell

 existing in a paradox

 on nothing but hope

 of fading into the unknown

Sending over a meal to my other self

Lifeless windows and wall flowers decorate

Where moss grew, and on the ledge sat a few

Robins, and magpies, rudely waking up one

Sorely sleeping in the anguish of gone bys

I knocked on his door, carrying a full thermos

Coffee? I asked and there was no answer

I could be worried if this was someone else

This is someone I knew to have been strong

As I rummage through my shoulder bag for a key

I hear the latch click and the door opens wide

He stands there frail, his eyes dead like 

The deep oceans in the stormiest tides

No, and don't bother me was his prompt

Yet I walk in, coax him, to share a cup with me

I tell him it's just February and August is far

He looks through me as if his look could scar

I brought you balushahis, from the station

Won't you indulge, maybe to remember of then

He nods in acknowledgment, gulps one down

Only for his face to express discontent

Do you have the mutton roll too? He asks surly  

As I reach into my bag of goodies and fetch

He smiles back at me, I had forgotten he could

He bites through the roll as I hand him a few

Mom was right, this is what I should've done

Eating balushahis, rolls,  maybe a fruity bun

Then sit at my desk, heal the sick and tired

Rather than fall in love and try to be alive

But brother, I ask him in trepidation 

Isn't it being alive, eating these savories too?

He nods; stating it's true, but stops at the third

Says if it was really so then why would I rue

Keep the engine running

Then you were fresh off the umbilical 

Curled up, eyes closed in my arms

You had slept in my arms more than your mother's

My hands would numb and my back would hurt

I had learnt to overcome all I hate

How twenty four years have faded in twenty four hours

I would run to you if you called for your mother

I am your brother, but indistinguishable from either

So now on mother's day, I will wait forever

For a call maybe from the world of nether

No mother should have to bury his son

But here we are with what time has done

I will let you be by yourself little sunshine

And run to you again, at the end of my time

Bantering

Funny moments

Ease the mind

questioning song lyrics, 

as I  transliterate

Like why should I

Stop my whistling

At a window fried

Past some evening

 Humming "Shyam Dhale khidki tale"

Or why is everyone fond

Of dried grass 

in one too many songs

 Singing " Hay Hay, la la la ' lalala"

I must be insane

Or is insane just me

Maybe this boredom

Shall be the end of me

Life better wake up

Find me something 

Or in my next endeavour

I shall run to ruin 

Some old classic songs

Hoppity Hop Hop

What do you dream of my torrid minded little bunny

None of that matters for it will be hunting season soon

Full of buckshots, scoped boom sticks, and snares

Like a wedding Saturday in the month of June

It will soon be over then, fret not much over the relegation

For you have outlived your dreams, and dreams have to end at dawn

You will make a nice head piece, a lovely coat of feels, glue maybe

Like so many others that have traversed this life's lawn

So rabbit, hop over each mound like your instincts compell

Find the green on the other side due your own insecurities

You will cut, you will bleed, at worse get your leg broken

Like a mortal rummaging through life's utter uncertainties 

Good Morning Mr. Sun

O' pointless dawn, what have you brought upon

With this sheet in it's hue of orange, 

Only tardiness, in the folds of unfolding life

To make me ponder if today should have been

I forgot what dusk was, when I drowned 

Over and over, into an icy sea of sunset amber

Only foolhardiness, was what I reflected 

To make me remember I shouldn't be drunk

I remember this gentle whiff of my lover

With her auburn hair, and her almost loving

Only worldliness, is what I have now lost

To make me see the senility of passing time

 

So my brightest star, floating in the blue bazzar

Spare me your attempts, to awaken my will

Only surliness, is what my heart feels like her's

To make my existence a condescending rhyme 

note to frost and emily

we will share a meal, everyday

It had been a while since she last saw him. Since he left for a place hundreds of miles away she has been shattered and growing insane day by day. She sees him return to the village from her window and she runs to him. She has anger in her eyes from.her desperation of his absence, yet she melts at his glance  she stands before him, like a shy village girl draped in her saree, drenched in the first rain. Her eyes rise and flutter down again, unable to look away, but too shy to look at him. Her heart questions:

Do I look good to you my love, even after these many days apart

Or has another found a place in your heart that I am erased

In your presence I become clay, as your glance touches me

Pray tell, why have you not for so long called out for me

He looks at her and smiles gently, his eyes are transfixed on her, captivated by her loving presence. It paints his eyes a shade of golden sunsets, his lips move in silent mutterings. He stretches out his hand, yet somehow holds it back right before it touches her shoulders. His eyes reek of a wanting of her amorous embrace. His heart speaks

Priye, my heart wouldn't even know love if it wasn't for you

For only you rekindle the fire of my very existence 

No one compares to the hurt being away from you causes

You are the very light that sets my heart on fire

Launderings of a lover

I will always be the one

 To launder your guilt

I will always make them just

 To bring you a smile

I will always be your light

 To be burnt for your path

I will always be the cloud

 To shade you as you wander

Yet

This is not me, 

 I am not me

Anymore

 And never can I be

So bring me your deepest hurt

 To let me ease you a while

Be my muse a while of pain

 To let me scribe of woe

And when all I am is gone

 To be never seen again

Forget there was a time

 To have ever been of love

Swiping Right

Ambiverts appreciate

 the ambiance of absurdity

Introverts interpret

  Incorrectly for most

Extroverts explore

  often and more

But

The depressed drape

 all these shades too

Pansexuals pander

 to all that is to

Sapiosexuals scam

 for all that you know

Demisexuals demonise

 and that is so true

But

The depressed dorn

 all these traits too

Humorous haven't

 seen humor in abundance

Sadists stay

 in an envelope of redundancy

Pessimists peeve 

 at everything eventually

But

The depressed drag

 all these states too

Gardeners grow

 but distant in hearts

Sculptors scrape

 the bottom of the barrels

Poets pen

 verses in varying emotions

But 

The depressed dissipate

 among these forms too