Engraving our stories

Time passes, turning everything to memories and dust

The flesh and blood stories of all known are oft forgotten, 

Lost to the unforgiving eroding winds and water, scattered

Burying the remnants into soil forming rock and peat

Some stories are carried across

In words and songs, some in artifacts left behind

I have no fear in the treading of time erasing our stories

To you they would be mediocrity a fleeting past, like most

I will have carved our's on my femurs, come end

Vivid descriptions of you, how my soul has loved

To be discovered by an ardent avid archaeologist

To be read like folklore, of ancient tribes faded long ago

Perchance

Often our words are walled

Beyond the walls of a constant absence

That breaches at a sudden presence

Washing away sense in its deluge

Like that other day, when you called

Abrupt, out of turn

I being my absolute epitome of control 

My walls still crumbled, painting me foolish

If then you should judge me

For one interaction post peolonged absence

I have nothing to show, other than loss

And to question my own fortitude 

I wish to curse you

Kanha, I wish to curse you, for the absence you paint

I wish you would hurt, for the hurt you cause

What do I curse you with, what curse can I cast?

For even the darkest of my curses shall be in irony

    I wish you walk on a dusty road, 

    have a thorn poke your foot

    may it hurt you enough to limp

may you call out in pain to Maiyya

Yet Kanha! The thorn would melt at your lotus feet

I wish a burn as you were lighting a lamp

   In a sudden lapse of judgement, 

   may you burn your fingertip

   may you call out in pain to Maiyya

Yet Kanha! The flame shall glow brighter in your glow

What do I curse you with, what curse can I cast?

For even the darkest of my curses shall be in irony

I wish you were pounding spice

   a gust of wind blows mace into you eye

   make your eye feel the burn like mine

   may you call out in pain to Maiyya

Yet Kanha! The mace shall find coolness in your eye

I wish you were sewing your robes

  a slip of the pin pierces you index finger

  make you feel a searing pricking like my heart feels

  may you call out in pain to Maiyya

Yet Kanha! The pin cannot move for your index finger is control itself

What do I curse you with, what curse can I cast?

For even the darkest of my curses shall be in irony

For all I know, you could mock my curse, even see it through

Yet you could call Maiyya, who shall run to you

I have called you for years, yet you keep me calling

So, Kanha! I shall live this curse of living in your absence

bartender! one Dark elixir please

Who knows if I had to be honest

For if I had, would it have been well received

If not for the facades of people pleasing

The world would be awash with sounds of nay

With no regrets or remorse

When I pass by those I once knew

I can feel a sense of betrayal

Reeking from them, in silent glances

I rather call Hemlock a gift

For in its darkness are shades of truth

Unlike people's words, in toxic residues

The cup of poison at least takes me away

in her Hearth

There is nothing more beautiful

Than to find myself in a descent 

Into a lake of magma you hold

That warms every inch of me

For in that forge, I find passion

Flowing into, countless times

Floated, forged, hardened

To be moulded back again

In the absence of such fierceness 

Every ounce of me longs you

To be doused in the oil and heat

To be melted,  enamoured, recast

Into the absence of sanity

Isn't it fun, to revel in shades of disarray

Where no coherence of thoughts rise

No sentences form, no speech rises

The lips stay sealed, yet the mind screams 

Isn't that our chance meetings?

Where neither complements each

No words are exchanged, not even under breath

Our lips stay sealed, yet our hearts scream

Isn't this the rest of our lives?

Where nothing seems worth living to

No urges rave, not even the fire of raw passion

Our lips stay sealed, yet our soul erodes.

The Asylum Of Loons by the lake

It is another windy misty evening, by the lake

An asylum of Common Loons mark the coming dusk

Amidst the moon and sun's fight to stay

I ignore either, waiting for the stars to rise

The hooting Loons embalm me in their  lunacy

As if to haunt and taunt, tugging at my semblance of peace

Amidst my fight of loneliness and lone

I try to ignore them, for I await the stars

I have traced constellations in my diary for years

They seem to hold a permanence seldom seen in life

Amidst the fight of the axial tilt of earth's spin

I have always ignored them, for I camp out in Summers.

These Loons must know me by now I am sure

They seem to often walk by me, past wading the lake

Amidst their fight of curiosity and the fright of humans

They seem to ignore my belonging to the human race

Maybe that is what acceptance is, I am loon

Unlike these Loons, I cannot swim nor fly

Amidst the fight of admiration and wishing a rebirth as one

I have learnt to ignore my egoistical  existence. 

Inspiration fades to macabre

Breathing is but a curse

I for one know better than most

The others like me who struggle

Gasp and wish to pull through

Each bout of breathlessness and each choking

I wish for it to be the end 

Yet that bloody antihistamine, feeds life

As I am forced to consume it, for work calls

There could be a day, should be , maybe one

When I would let the breath pass

Wish it ceases to tease my alveoli

Bring my annoying life back

This could be seem like a lament, yet isn't

For there is nothing that I fight or live for

I am just a bored bard, out of ink and paper

Worse, out of inspiring thoughts too

Exit, Stage Left

This poet wishes to silently die, 

 abrupt, unknown, unclaimed

And to such he has put together a plan,

 sinister like

Events he has set in motion

  crafted carefully

In absolute secrecy from his own hands

Maybe a summit, Kalsubai or Salher

Then leap in a supposed slipping

Or maybe a night in spirited high

Over the limits to poison his blood

These are just a few known modes

Through which the poet seeks an exit

Yet until his vows are untied, 

 come September

He bids his time, waiting for his fix

marital marketing

She is mine, he is mine

That started off interesting

The date was saved and cherished

Then the roads felt mined

There was an 'I' that got lost

And then some eyes went watery

Parts of the joy started to cost

The rest was like broken pottery

One could debate marital demerits

Yet only the victims of it know true

It preys upon innocent minds 

And then those hearts only rue

Rebirth and Death

We die many deaths unbeknownst to us, silently altered

Changing at instances, for good or for worse

Sometimes the cadavers of our dead selves

Are often left in the sun, picked upon by vultures

It is in our nature to curse, at time's dissent 

To fight against the obscurity, swim against the tide

Often yielding woe, sometimes faux gratification

In fool's errands, regretful musings, dead and cold

I have died so many times, been born again

Yet the memories of my deaths ring profound

I can agree to time's over ruling and subterfuge

But I would forever refuse my ability to love die

Find the wind beneath our wings

We had a good run, it was exhilarating in love and living

Now we must fade like the morning mist in the first light

You and I are birds, we have soared the skies, dauntlessly

The dawn has arrived, we have to fly off alone yet strong

We flew under darkened skies, fiery ones too

Watched sunsets, as we flew into them, painted red

We watched each other, breaking each other's falls

We have become everything we both offered to have

In this final flight, as your mind has already flown away

Let me watch you fly away first, fade into a speck

Then perch one last time by myself, soak in our memories

Circle our old nest, let the winds carry me away

I Digress

I forgot to mention, my left reversing light is broken

If I was out at night, on some sleepy dark road

I would need to be extra careful, and keep my blinkers on

You see, if only one prays for me, there isn't much safety

Now we could talk about getting it fixed, Diwan auto is nearby

It wouldn't cost much for the SX4, at most about 300 with labour

I rather not change it, and keep my blinkers on

You see, I have tried prayers and it was left unanswered

I digress, this was to be a poem on how I feel about life

But then we spoke of my car, and here we are lost hoplessly

I could state the car is a metaphor for how my life is

You see, I tend to miss your love and this happens to me.

pondering upon life

Can someone tell me, where do these butterflies hide

From noon to four in the evenings

I haven't followed them enough, I would be delighted to know

Pray tell, if you are privy to such knowledge

I think they vanish, like a lover's love

As unfathomable as it could seem, it is a degree of shallow

For all the foolish attributes one speaks of about longing

Can one answer where it often veers off

I wouldn't, rather shouldn't give in to such negativity

Or hanker on wanting to course correct all things around

But then as a mere mortal who lives, feels, and loves

How can I evade the pangs of uncertainties thereof 

It is another day, the dog's been walked

She can unwind, hasslefree, but those songs

How she wishes to be selectively deaf

To tune out the barrage of insolent lyrics

She inhales deep, for momentary numbness

As if to barricade, albeit partially, and party

She is in parley, between taste and distaste

But the music, oh lord, the choices of folks

How do I know them, she introspects

Then reflects on her unrelenting candor 

Drifitng into sleep, one eye at a time

In a state of semi-trust, amomgst trustworthy

Marred in paradoxes, yet it is an escape

A way to evade and rest, a way of calm 

But truth be told

"You look worried, do you want to talk?" 

Her voice sounded worried, I was dug in deep

My head was hurting, but not my mind 

I needed some peace, so I had to shut her out

"Yes dear, I am worried we would fight"

I smirked at her, out of my need for peace

I was worn out, I had to get some sleep

So I reclined, as she looked at me aghast

She left the room, turned my study dark

I stared out the window, overlooking the park

She called out again, "Come get some sleep"

Being too tired to engage, i gently rest my feet

Some time past the witching hour, I woke 

She stood at the door, watched me light my smoke

I waved disgruntled, sent her back to bed

Dawn arrived, she packed her bags and left

I breathed in relief, for now I was at peace

I'll tell you something worth remembering

And do remember this util your last breath

A spouse may bring little joys, often to your life

But only their absence will let you be in peace

Hey Brother! Could you?

How would you know my brother?

What if those orchids have 

         forever wanted to speak?

and in the absence of a listener earlier

         they wept, in solitude, 

         bloomed and faded

waiting for a chance, to shine in the light

to share their smiles, in turn blooming eyes 

I would not know, I don't grow flowers

so i would want to know, get to know them

does a Dendrobium Sonia sing?

          it surely seems to have that face

Do Phalaenopsis suddenly spring into Jazz? 

          it has the absolute colours to

The Cattleya seem to stand by, observing                      

          as if they are the choir singers

          waiting to break into Georgian chants

Ah! so much to know, So little time too

But brother Unnath, let me know

Should you chance upon these beauties singing

          should you spy on them and find them so

Tell me their songs, maybe translate,

          I cant understand or speak Kannada

          you do, hey they are your flowers 

Maybe translate them for me, 

I would want to write

          flow in their music,

          transform their thoughts

Write a few verses, 

          find a different dimension of life.

Bik raha tha, teri dukaan par

Isme tera kasoor nahi 

Yeh sochkar maaf kar doon

Khudko, tumko, 

hum dono ko

Tere pyar par mujhe yakeen tha, 

Tabhi to bik gaya, teri ek awaz par

Aise to aukaat ka bada guroor tha

Teri wafa ke liye to mai bheeg, bik, gaya

Har us chaurahe par,  jahan magroor tha kabhi

Dho aaya ro kar, toot kar, rengte

Tere pyar par mujhe yakeen tha,

Tabhi to bik gaya, teri ek aawaaz par

Aaj tu jo hai, mai tha kabhi, dilo dimaag se

Shayad tere pyaar mein wo kabiliyat thi

Suna tha pyaar mein rooh badal deta hai jism

Tu jo thi, mai nahi ban saka kabhi

Tere pyar par mujhe yakeen tha, 

Tabhi to bik aaya, bina lafz giraaye

Sugary Dreams

White polka dots on blue, wrapped around her high

And her black curls flutter, gently in the night

She rambles, in volumes of slurry words

Smiling with her lips, behind the teal pillow

It's twenty past two, and the night seems too young

Yet in her her head, the morning bell has rung

As she lights up another blunt, she wishes time would pause

And maybe by a chance, the sun would keep the dark

She knows too well, that in a few hours from now

She would head home with half a mind

And then she would wait for another dawn

To find the other half she assumed was lost

Tomorrow For Sure

I would hate to oil those hinges of my oak wood door
The creaking has become a routine to my chores
When I water my garden hedges, and dandelions
I remember that I must oil the hinges, but forget
Now it has become a routine, the forgetfulness too
Each night before I sleep, I deem to do it tomorrow
Like a host of other lapses, and slip ups that happen
I spend my day, waiting for betterment to arrive
Whereupon I would alter the perception of myself
Only to forget that too in chasing my harrowing past
To rinse and repeat, and promise myself again
Such are the days that I have spent, almost illicit
I know these are my false virtues, malformed habits
Of fraudulent musings, and weak-willed reaching outs
I shall begin another day, pseudo proud
Feel ashamed of failings, feel better next dawn

Generic Days

The mind has been empty, void of reasons 

And then there are thoughts, a wild steed

Traversing fiery bushes, jumping over ravines

Inducing exhilaration, sometimes, not

Like an old box file, of old records, moth eaten

Coffee stained papers, smeared with lipstick

In shades of mauve, scarlet reds, blood like

Stuck playing like a broken record, pin and all

The sun of lament has set, drying my will

Crumbling like sun dried tomatoes, atop pizza

Just before it's thrust into a wood fired oven

These days are simple, there isn't much to think

Except cooking a meal, or of mixing a drink

Unlike those old days, of watching stars fade

Dusk to dawn, distanced, in each other's ears

And chance meetings post, to be in an embrace

Those days were not simple, but beautiful

These days are simple, the sunsets aren't pink

Gently isn't love in wild

Her skin feels like Ivory, ablaze and sintering

In the pursuit of a racing heart, rumbling loud

While her fingers close around mine, we find us

As her knees hold my hips, clasped 

In her heaving breaths amidst moaning

Is a spiral of ecstasy that paints madness

Into my mind's hungry eyes, awakened wide

That wishes to swallow her with my eyelids

Her voice tantalizes my body and soul

In every moment of her calling my name

She is, the goddess of lust personified

Imprisoning me to touch and taste her

In between kisses, where our tongues taste

Exchange words we each convey bewitched

I feel her engulf me, sweat and blood

As we make love like a raging firey storm.

Wanderlust

Working around everyone's schedules

I forgot I had left my own aside, carelessly

If this was selfless, this was self harm too

For my mind has forever been a wanderer

I bow to no man or woman, nothing stills me

My feet are wheels that wish to roam endlessly

For the years that I had imprisoned my heart

My soul woke up, wishing to breathe free

I was born a vagabond, my heart flies high

Into the clouds, over the misty mountains

It wishes to roll upon the sun kissed sands

I seek my release, uncharted, unclaimed

For those who wish to walk along

I have this offer, it is my heartfelt song

"Know yourself, Know it in the sights you see,

Touch the lights, soil, air, breathe the imagery

ramblings

The Women In STEM

Make mine a cauldron, a melting pot of pure madness

Where chaos falls to order, where order is chaos

Make me a recipe of the universe soup, full of wonder

Amid Raman's scatter, Jocelyn's pulsars

Back then when a woman's place was in the kitchen

Catherine cooked up math, she wrote the recipe

Thus Neil, Buzz, and Michael were served the moon

They looked at us, I am sure momma must've felt proud

As the men ponder upon the stars,like moms they pack

Some help us read better, some help us understand

Sabine and Katie help us believe, setting the mind free

They invoke within us,  the fire of vehement curiosity

Those that make me whole

The crabs were excellent, I agree

As I paused mid bite, you both looked messy

And we three pointed fingers at each other

That was a beautiful evening to remember

That dork was as cranky as ever

You crabby, and you know me as a king crab

Yet the three of us are an uncommon fit

Like the elements of some perfect storm

As we sat on the cliffs late that evening

Watching the seagulls, by the lighthouse

When the sunset painted the skies orange

We blended into one continuous silhouette

The post dinner walk was just as mad

We three seemed to be connected at the hip

I wouldn't have been wrong, if I had thought

A soul can exist in three distinct instances

the sun and sand of past

The southwestern sea is a raging beast

Of lovely sands and unruly waves

My memory is of dainty feet, searching shells

And running into me doing just the same

While we both have been generally alike

I hadn't realised, how much, how very

We seemed like two rushing waves

That crash into the beach, foaming mid swell

The dinner that night, the long walk post

The night you and I awoke to us

Much of the rest is a wilful blur, for reasons

I retain your infantile sleep on my chest

Brighter sounds of young hearts

Are often heard in the valleys of love

Many have ventured, few have returned

And a lot has ben said, a lot more penned

Critical is a heart, once bitten

For it reeks of pains from smitten

Steady your heels, if you wish a run

On the road of the treacherous turns

Yet I assure, for to love is to yearn, 

Often though love fades too fast

Return now, all those fragile of heart

The others, run ablaze and fight to last

Styx and the boat

Won't break my soul 

Nor will your despise 

 Or the hurt of absence

neither your finding love 

 My missing of your gentle touch

Neither your abjection

Neither my unending trepidation

It could break though 

 Crumble, if you fall, 

I have broken most 

  that often is in the past

Yet now knowing full well

 I will be denied to

That knowlegde, the stark truth

 Keeps me fragile

Like glass

Awaiting shattering, 

 

Further

 More

Ferry's Wharf

Paper boats in mud puddles, in July

Just after the rains, joyous evenings

The gentle wind blows ripples, moves the boats

Until the paper soaks water, sinks slowly

Paper boats are fun, they last for a while

They never overstay their welcome

For eyes that have cried at their drowning

A hand has promptly floated another one

Those fun moments of rains in our childhood 

Are moments that remain with us on Styx too

I haven't been there, but we will all get there

I just hope to bring paper sheets for our meet

I make excellent paper boats, strong ones too

So when we are rowed, fret not one's drowning

I shall run my hands on your head, pacify you

Set afloat another one, watching it sail through

Evening, with a chance of showers

Evening egrets, bring seething regrets

Into the hearts that ponder in love, drenched

Wanton cravings and petrichor serve only none

A lover's absence is a gust of wind mid rain

That makes the heart and bones shiver

Those in search for these bygones, writhe

Singe their heart in embers long cold

Pity falls, and crouched behind lonely walls

Lies hearts that have been lied to of hope

"Come hither, come forth" is often a calling 

The darkness of all's end sings to such souls

One should know better, to walk along towards

For there is nothing better the future holds

So they ask often

"Tell me darling, 

   tell me soon, 

   tell me true"

Why is it that my smiling heart ,

  is now embroiled in rue?

Their cries are best unheard, for lost loves do

They ask of things that strike one's soul

If I was the one that broke a lover's heart

My soulful conscience would hurt me too

Ramblings

I am busy

  don’t keep asking please.

    Having a mad day 

     Ritesh!

I find poetry

  In every thing you say

    How does it feel

      Muse!

It is a Thursday

  The brain is frozen

    The summer melts us

      Both

The world wants a piece

  Of you, of me

    I want to hear words

      Your's

This coffee was good

   I thought of you

     Missed you, again

      I

       

      

 

Flowers fade, at the end of May

One needs to realize, love doesn't really exist

For only birth, pain, hunger and death does

And we seem to subliminally enslave

People under false pretenses

Those we term as ones we love

Are of no value once they overstep

If love was so real then pray tell

Why does one feel the angst, lf remorse

Writers and poets are vagabonds 

They roam roads and their sense are seldom found

Like a heart seeking to express

Trekking along the Kaas or Pushpavati valleys

Only to know these are momentary musings

Come Monday and reality shall bite

love peddling is a lost endeavour

Hark and barrage, if that is your comfort

Whilst you peddle the failure of humanity

Stating love transcends, or is eternal

Be in the know, it is a fool's errand

It would not be for it's on my deaf ears

It would fall on a deaf and mute soul

One riled and riddled, soiled and muddled

Extracted and doused into perils of futility

Even a spider would know, when to give up

Yet the heart of man has forever forgotten

It has tried to make, and into reason 

Knowing the truth of such obnoxious vile

If you want the answers to such

Then meet me beside the melting stones

The earth regurgitates what it has long melt

To discard again like a broken toy

While you may call this a cycle, and or time

I know of this as an silly engagement

Built to capture the fragile nature of man

I seek not such wanton fragility

ramble

Maybe its starlight, maybe stardust

You are made of dust, I am made of light

For to be eternal, one needs to be dust

I fade out, absorbed by you

I know there is a universe of reasoning

That negates your need or desire to reach out

Casting my calling to dimensions of irrelevant

Yet, I seem to yearn for you in any possible way

I have written words, they have often meant

This one sounds silly, seems almost a lament

My intrusions only seem to invite your ire

To only hasten my perpetual fall from grace

Single Malt is For Singled outs

I set my tumbler, always to the right side 

A splash of lemon, on six cubes of ice

I pour generously, splashing just precise

Molten sunset, in my silent nights

Then I dip a finger, sprinkle one for those

Who have left me half way, without goodbyes

I dip one again, sprinkle one for love

My love's sunset, and I am fresh out of life

The whiskey helps, keeps me all numb and nice

Barricading the hurt and pain, just to suffice

Yet the brain under the drowsy spell sings

For a broken soul like me, is but a surprise

If my drink runs out, should my glass be dried

I will drink my last, hidden behind your frame

For nothing else seems to make the cut 

To drown my lonely soul, and I have tried

Postulates

If I was a firefly

 you would be the luciferin

 My soul, oxygen

 Consumed by you   

 Causing twinkling light

If I was a field

  You would be the sunflower

  My soul would nourish

  Consumed by you

  Following the light

If I was a cask

  You would be whiskey

  My soul would flavour

  Consumed by you

  Emulsifying the light

If I was anything

  You would be the all

  My soul would have yearned

  To be consumed

  Becoming the light

Indebted

Would you know, and it may be pointless too

If I faded away, didn't rise one dawn, sudden

You wait knowing, I would intrude, as always

Then wait to find nothing, for days and days

Would your mind want to know, investigate?

Where someone so much in love had faded?

Would it be good riddance, to my intrusions?

Or would you at the very least say a prayer?

I know it is ungrateful of me, to even think

For just your thoughts should be good enough

Mine, about you maybe even uttering my name

Should make me feel blessed twice as much

blues and whites

Dendrites, 

mine, 

you graze them 

Each and every

In your gentle setting

I feel 

every fragment of me

   exploding, in unison

    Into millions

Of fragments 

 like porcelain

Shattered

And then

 You rise

Make me whole

 Sans cracks

  Renew me

In shades 

  of blue and white

  Entangled 

   In your thoughts

Waiting, 

 In bated breaths

  Falling into a spiral

 Of rebirths

  In madness, 

   of love 

    Of lust

   Often of longing

   

Constancy can dull

I can love

Better at a distance, 

 In moments

 For they remind me of life

I am human,

And I can offer love 

 In all ferocity 

 In Instances sans novelty

You are you

I am me, yet both alike

  I wish to be a refuge

  In times of your cravings

Let me love you

For I know not else

  But let me love you true

  In shades of my best

Forgetfulness

Those tressess, 

  tangled,  

   mild

In my exhales, 

  wishfully think

They seem to bear flight

From between the gentle strands

Your eyes 

   Peer, 

     blink

They are  

   Dawns and sunsets

Between your gentle stares 

Of blank and wilfulness

My mind 

    is lost 

     in your's

In the room lit with your glow

Drenched in molten amber

I yearn 

    to be painted 

       in your skin

Or at least it's light

Blur my vision ever so slight

In your exhales 

    Like mornings

     And it's haze

Let my face be washed in them

In the gentle smells of wild roses

If 

   and your lips 

      greet mine

Pin me down,

Remind me to live

Your sight 

   erases my 

     thoughts

Your touch will 

   make me forget 

      to breathe

Signatures

At the juncture of release

Everything turns to dust

My mind has become numb

To all I should have been

Everything turns to rust

When our souls bleeds

To all we could have been

Everything turns to dark

When our flames die

To all we could have seen

Everything now is lost

For you and I are

 You and I now, 

Not we

Mornings

It is morning, and a beautiful one too

How would I know? I would 

 For

In the light that 

  casts gentle shadows

    On you 

      from the window blinds

        Blinding the chasing dullness

          That has chased me far too long

            Longer than I have known

               So I know

The day is brighter, warmer too

How would I know? I would

  For 

 In the warmth of your presence

   That lights up my soul

      Brightens it

        In your shadow

          Into your shades

            Melting my mind

              Making me feel alive

                So I know

There was only one you

   I have started to become you too

In vehement vexing, 

   of insomnia and drowsiness

Between love and rejection, and pangs of pain

The fire of longing rages, burns my feet

Unlike the phoenix, there is no rise

Only a crumbling, to ashes

 But in a slow rumbling song

   Of taunting my self, 

     In loving beyond

The waters of my past cannot douse

For they are now just tears

That only seem to feed

 This caricature I have painted me into

Notes of you

I have often sat awake at night, watching you

Unknown to you,unsaid too,  I have imagined

Your breathing reminds me of the universe's breath

And you are the flute it bore into existence

The notes it plays through you, are symphonies

Of what I have grown endeared to

They sound like what God' hands would play

I know it would sound exactly like your voice

That being said, the atheist that I am

Have never seen God, but then nor have theists

I find no reason to even for a moment doubt

That your face is anything but godhood

It has been a call, so perennially unanswered

I had run from the feelings of love and vulnerability

Your touch was felt, beneath the skin, in the soul

And now it yearns to be held, closer to you

The song of you

It is an eclipse

 Where you are the sun

  Your love the moon

    My soul the earth

      My colours are what you let shine

        Even when you are not here

 But then, when are you not

   I have forgotten what I am 

      I have forgotten that you are you

        I have become 

          You, in love that has riddled me

            Formed me into living

I cannot now distinguish

    For in wanting your love

      I have melted myself into longings

         Forged my heart in cravings

           Teethed my will in breathless moments

              I don't remember my face now

I made you my mirror

    It showed me my rigid fear safeguards

      It rid me of my self absorbing platitude

        It rekindled my heart so fiercely

          It burns in a wanting to see you

           It hurts often, but It reminds me to love

You

    All of you

      All about you

        All that you do

         All that you have said

           All that I wish to hear again

go forth

You have soaked your shoulders in the tears of this monster

It has marked you, fear nothing and no one

for nothing can wrong you, Not anymore, 

The tears shall serve as a flag of your stength

If you could break my will, the world stands weak

I could be on rampage and the world could burn

Yet for all that ferocity and fortitude, I broke

I wilted into a pool of shameful rejection

Go forth, into the unknowns steady and blindly

The darkness has no fears it could feed you

I have wrestled the dark, it is a coward before me

My tears will be the trophy of my conquerer 

So at the first streak of day , sing my defeat

I shall sing it too, in absolute wilful pain 

For the one who broke my will has set forth

To conquer the world, with her seeming gentle gaze

There moon is nothing less than a fancy Leica

At midnight, come by to the gentle rising sea

We will sit by the bay, watch the heaving glitter

Witness the romance of sand and wave

All underneath the rising moon at the bay

Did you realize? How the moon light

Turns the sea and sand monochromatic

And any camera, that captures these sights

Would only seem to have been led astray

The sea is nothing like it is at day, 

Every inch, every spray white, every wash grey

Pictures from copper plates of a daguerreotype

Sold in expectation of a M Monochrom's pay

Visiting the Kitchen for a midnight snack

You know? These typical Indian refrigerators

Hold things one couldn't possibly imagine

It always is a source of shock and awe, ire too

When one rummages through one at night

There is that mint chutney in tiny bowls

Sitting like a sniper, behind the curd vat

That random lemon, now dehydrated to brown

That fell forgotten into some corner far

A few serve cups, with scant ghee hide

Rattle as you try to find that left over pie

Sandwiched between two random bottles

Shows up a packet of butterscotch

Who put that in there? You could angrily ask

For all your seething, mom would laugh

Parenting is tough, you think

Living with parents is an even tougher task

Great Egrets look bad in Digital Zooms

At about a hundred yards, from my overlook

There were  seventeen I guess! Great Egrets

Between scatter flying, and formations

I counted, I was idle due distress

I wondered which of them would be me

That is what we do, right? In passing regrets

Between scattered existence, and belonging

I recollected, I was in introspect due lone

They suddenly perched, on a lush mango tree

Mid February, is that when mango florets emerge?

Between a so so Thane winter, and warming up

I undid two buttons of my short kurta, it was hot

Then some flew across the narrow, not very narrow gutter

I am supposed to call it a drain! Really why

The only time it flows clean, is in July Rains

I digress, environmentalists have complaints

Like I was saying in the previous verse, a few

I counted! eight, skimmed over refuse water

The other nine, flew away into the distance

I remember, in a typical V shape

The eight had the gutter, to hunt and fly upon

It was now for themselves, What providence!

The nine, they flew to the western creek sands

I like it there, I pulled up pictures of my shoots

This time I did regret, missing my Nikon zoom

For it is, but not terrible! The battery's dead

I clicked in my Realme's zoom, what a folly

I hate digital zooms, They distort images

So at the end, I stood there from Parkwoods-A

At the eighteenth floor refuge flat, my Overlook!

I texted how these Great Egrets look, the eight

I was caved, but these verses took me astray

Evolving

My porcelain plates now retain stains

That once were adept at resisting grime

They turned sentient, watching love's parting

That leaves scars on the strongest of minds

My plates had such intricate gold inlays

Which have now started to rust and grey

If such is the plight by the observer's sight

What could be of mine, a lesser mortal's fate

Between the porcelain and my fragile heart

There is not much one can find of oddity

They both shatter, when they are dropped

When they slip off from a palm's embrace

At very least I wish my heart was mendable 

Made of sawdust even, but not from porcelain 

For my porcelain plates now retain stains

For in sentience it could only cause pain

Pondering on Reasons

In the confines of this empty space

Of french windows, dewed obscure panes

I have paced around much, aching my calves

Only in the wish of my love's embrace

Those long nights of endless whispering

Have brought me to this distressed state

I rebuilt me, I deemed it to be my perfecting

To become your shadow, challenge my fate

Some nights of summer, clears the dew

As I look through, It looks like the floor beneath

My eyes are now oblivious to anything new

The mind grows blind to what it has bequeth 

As I walked today, along the empty hall

My entrails felt caved, violently clawed

My fortitude had crumbled, this was my fall

You left me in spite, for my soul was flawed.

In the arms of darkness

The witching hour arrives, violently nudging my heart awake

The eyelids clasp tight, While the throat runs dry

I feel the cold of the dark, blanketing me in its embrace

I cower in fear as my voice dies, calling out your name

My blood has frozen cold, my chest now frostbitten

My calls would be unheard I know, at calling for a reprieve

I still call out to you, for it brings me a whiff of life

I writhe in pain as the grip of dark, drenches me in fears

The wind howls eerie taunts, biting my face like a hellish hound

My hands are bound in dark bounds, my palms shiver and shake

I plead for mercy to an unkind wraith, hoping to be let by

I quiver as the black mocks, awash gleefully in my tears

This is every night, that I spent in the absence of you

My soul has been flailed, by you absence paramount

I seek not this crown, its of thorns and weighs me down

I breathe deep in the know, this will repeat forever now

 

Begging for a prayer

The universe brings me ghastly gifts

Torrid breaths, anxiety's spells, and caving

Where the void feels like a pool of permanence 

That drowns me in its darkest embrace

I was strong once, to swim its torrid currents

Now it mocks my attempt of floating

The darkness beneath, drags me in its gape

With its fangs, piercing my struggling heels

It would have been easier to enbrace an end

Yet the void is twisted, it bears wicked ways

It breathes life into me at the crux of drowning

Then extorts me again, till my will fades

Why this malevolence, this turgid animosity 

For I have done the void no harm, so I think

It whispers gently, in blood a curdling laugh

Terms my punishment for my fall from grace

Would you dear reader, be kind and pray

Ask for my punishment to end, my soul is frail

Spare a thought, hold my plight in empathy

Wish me a release from this ghastly maze

The flames bear no strength against love

A vermillion dawn, springs life into the soul 

When the withered leaves would return

Turn green through yellow, from the brown

The ash will reformed into trees lush, green

As such is the realization of absolute loving

It would not be a frail, brittle natured emotion

It is an astonishing beast, unleashed unbirdled

To undo the years of undoing, of self harm

It is difficult to love in absolution, surrender

If the flames burn the wings of a moth

Love would resurrect it like a phoenix Outshining the flames, you owe it to yourself

Ja re Waqt, nai aata mai tere saath

Teri impoverished si parvarish

Rehnede, saale waqt

Tere bekaar ke bahaane mat sunaa

Tu pyaar ka bhi choona laga gaya mujhe

Meri sard zindagi mein mera dil hi tha

Chupa, Lipta pada kuch chithdon mein

Tu to meri phati razai kha gaya

Tu yaar banke khaar de gaya mujhe

Jahan mai muda, us taraf se tu guzra

Apne kadmon ko phook phook kar chala

Tu aakar mere talve cheel gaya

Tu haar batake gale ko kass diya mere

Tere se to mai nahi jeet paoonga kabhi

Ye jaankar teri bahav mei guroor bahaya

Tu to kheech kar le gaya mera muskurana

Tu har baar tod kar maar gaya mujhe

Teri impoverished si parvarish

Rehnede, saale waqt

Tere bekaar ke bahaane mat sunaa

Tu pyaar ka bhi choona laga gaya mujhe

What-ever, Should I?

These nights 

    grow 

    warmer, and lone

I sleep 

   shirtless, 

     face to the roof

I remember

   Cuddling

     You in my hold

I felt 

    ticklish 

     As you exhaled

I feel 

    Numb

     Away from you

I doubt

    Love

      And its value

I see

    Futility

     In my breaths

I desire

   Death

     In my futility

I leak

   Life

    My soul bleeds

I lie

  Awake

    Curling in sadness

I wilt

  Wilt

    Wilt, wilt, wilt

I am 

  Absent

    In my name

Hydrophobia can Be Beautiful

Hydrophobia is a beautiful thing

If you look at it in from my view

I get to enjoy the sunny sands

Resting and reclining upon the beach

I could sip on chardonnay, and weave words

Capture the setting sun, the waves in orange

Watch it run over the sands, over and again

Erasing the names, drawn on the beach

I will wait by, as you run into the water

Watch your shoes, hold your towels

Smile watching you dip and bob in the sea

Then wipe you dry, and pass you a drink

Shark in a pond

It really doesn't matter, the water is dangerous

There are sharks in the pond, I won't swim

These creatures are vile, menacingly fierce

I am afraid of them, I rather keep away

There are no sharks in a pond, you would say

It is a marine beast, not a sweet water fish

I will laugh at your silly scientific facts

For the shark is in my mind, when I wade

If It is in my mind, and I am in the deep end

Who knows if it would plan an escape

What if it decides that I must suddenly die

That is the shark of the pond I fear

The universe is a tease

Who are you, pray tell 

Who are you dear? brimming with light

Whose words are like the gentle river flows

Whose eyes are black, like a winter's night

In my livid delusions, mid hallucinations

Has my soul birthed you to soothe my sighs

Post the dawning of soberity, to fade

Leaving my heart lost, and run awry 

If this is real, pardon my pessimistic eyes

For the universe has far often been sly

Should I wake, and find you faded too soon

Fret not, it wouldn't be a first of time's chide

Ohm's Law

Those gentle bands of colours

Wrapped around over a ceramic coated cloak

In a torrid turbulence of charges set forth

A resistor holds the fort bearing it all

We may see its insignificant existence

Ignore its plight, forget its worth

I know a resistor for what it brings my eyes

The right amount of power, to brighten it

A resistor dies, in the overwelming rush

Fighting to hold back a surge that lasts

If that is anything less than a sacrifice

I would not know death from a life

Quoting Rumi Sometimes

I have not read Rumi even once

Bar, for the stimulating relatable quotes

His was of divinity, or self discovery

Mine is of absolving both from my self

I have been a God, or of impregnable fortitude

Been the fulcrum of resolution

Tacit towards the troubles of known fellows

In vehement ignorance of my turning to man

As Gods fade, civilizations fall

Love, regrets, and of love's regret befalls upon

I was churned, swirled into a whirlpool of lost

My mind washed ashore in this human cast

When I quote Rumi's words now, relate to each

I find nothing but a faltering of my heart

Had I been the human, when I fell in love

I would be loved, I would have become my love

Love is a Triton snail

Love is a triton snail

Chasing a sea star

Gentle as the pursuit seems

It is but an eventual end

It isn't swift, the sea star fears

Some can so relate to such

Even with its venomous spines

The star fish lies the night awake

Tritons are but gentle giants

Like the beloveds that pace slow

And then the tritons reap in strike

In all the shades that star fish fear

Such is love, love is a triton

I am but a mere crown of thorns star

Yet my spines fail to deter your stike

While your touch paralyses my all

Inescapable

Just a bunch of teddy bears

Tainted in red, mangled, a few eyes ripped

With their stuffing bursting open at their seams

The ferocity of such ghastly imagery

Embossed into the head of a lover

Stuck in a farcical past

Drunk on scrupulous liquor, inebriated

Speaking in illicit rampaging madness 

To self harming and self abuse

There is no resolve for some delusions

About a distorted idea of being loved

Or wanting to be, then being despised

Yanked out of a sense of superiority

The universe at best being the bitch 

And the air rushing through their lungs

Forcing them to be alive, mocking them

While time sits, fishing, calm, tuned out

Becoming the Beloved

It has been years since I have seen my reflection
I often wonder what I look like now
For every mirror only shows her face
And so does every pond I peer into

Could it be?
Oh! Could it have really happened?
That I have become her,
In loving her unhinged

I see smears of lipstick on my white blouse
I wear shirts, what manner of illusion is this?
Maybe it is a momentary phase
That could fade in a thousand years.

Probabilities

One could find all one seeks,

  In the deepest recesses of the mind

  The very that they have plunged into

  Wilfully, or by a choice misstep

  I by former

It is a silent predator sometimes 

  Waiting in the darkness, silently stalking

  To sink its claws into their heart

  To kill slowly, or swiftly too if lucky

  Me by former

It is a sunflower sometimes

   Waiting in the morning sun, to bloom

   To bewitch them in bold and bright 

   To be followed by the sun, or to follow

   Me the former

Yet in life we live by the roll of a dice

   To yield twice right, and at such to win

   To yield a foul, and face discrete failure

   Sometimes not roll, or bounce and be lost

   Mine the former

  

   

   

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Oh! such remarkable suicides

Anticlimactic, ironic, and unfunny 

With curiosity one approaches learning

Then curiosity dies, in learning's chide

With love, one approaches matrimony

Then love dies, in relationship's tides

With passion, when a worker toils

Passion dies, amongst their confides

It is such a gaff, when one sees

That these are ill winds that blow no good

One must be foolish, or human

To undertake any of these punitive paths 

Identity Crisis

The price you ask is much too greater to pay

How can I even forget about sunflowers?

They bloom behind my eyelids in every blink

They are the essence of reason for my wake

How can I forget how those petals soothe?

My heart, that has been in storms of rage

Each time they fluttered, they swirled my innards

Reducing me to a frenzied teen in love

How can the colour of them be forgotten?

It has lit my room in it's reflected shades

Every time it glowed, it brightened up my soul

Burning me in love's enchanting blaze

How could I relenquish the scent of them?

They have filled up my senses, in gentle waves

Each time I inhaled, my mind felt alive

Bring me back into life's embrace

Did I hear you right? Was it sunflowers you meant?

I am sure it seemed so, I wouldn't know

For I wouldn't know you from a sunflower

And I wouldn't know a sunflower from you

Hippocampus Hippocampus

Hippocampus, Hippocampus, How have you been?

Have you earned your rest, have you had sleep

Or are you plotting to pry my eyelids open

Wanting me to spend another night staring

Why do you seek to traumatise me each night?

When I pull over the blanket, trying to ease off

Why must you suddenly intrude, pray why!

When I sit at my chair, and stare at my beer

What manner of conduct do you seek to proclaim?

Do you seek my acceptance of your superiority

Or is it so that you are but  a rampaging bully

Belittling my moments of fumbled living

Tonight when the moon shall rise, please refrain

Let the rest of me gently drift into sleep

I promise you shall have the rest of my time

To be embarassed, chided, Riled up by my own

To The Writers

There are enough of poems about the destitute

I count myself an accused of such a crime

The ones that should have read these, haven't

The ones who write are yet in wanton hope

These poems are a shoot, malnourished of love

For they cast only unwordly shadows on hearts

The ones who should have loved, have not

The ones who write of them are in mire

There are those who read, render lip service

They infer buried feelings of archaic remorse 

The ones who should have felt deeper, cannot

The ones who wirte of such are sad cohorts

Often after penning verses of those long gone

One finds oneself stuck in those painful pasts

The ones that should have stayed, have not

The ones who wished such are forever lost

So know this, all who write of love forlorn

I wish them a spell of amnesia's dawn

The ones they so long to reach out and touch

Fade into gentle circles of a gentle moonbow

Why write!, Why not.

I decided to try my hand at dry poetry

For such would best reflect my heart now

For in the expressing of myriad thoughts

That well of feeling has run dry of words

But then again what is poetry other than words

Most would not understand, forget feel them

It isn't a language barrier but the shallowness

Of those that speak of love, but only in words

I would feel nothing if these verses didn't ring

Since the bells of emotion for most are cracked

The gong when it hits these cracked domes

Yield nothing but subservient pretentious feels

Why then write, is a question to ponder upon

Who cares what thoughts burn behind my eyes

I write to express my fading, fleeting time here

To be then washed away like writings on sand

Absence Of My Own Self

Absence of my own self

Bound in my own moments of endless lone

Sometimes it encompasses the universe

Empty and void, as the soul grows each day

Nothing seems to belong, nor do I

Curdling is this sense of being

Every day just another means to an end

Oh! but havent you heard of hope? i ask me

Forlorn is the easiest word for such

"Much of this is your own doing!" I say to me

Yet another pointless introspection

Often these exchanges bring forth woe

Who then is to blame? Ah! Going another bout

"None", I yell to pacify my fading sanity

Somedays are wrought in absolute numbness

Even at the off chance of my lover's crossing

Love had brought me hope, yet I fear

For it has drenched me in its apathy and mire

Ramblings

Not much has been said, better to not

I have held my breath, at most of my pain

Could there be another day, I often wonder

Kinder to me once, only if once

Yet as each day dawns, I know so well

Your thoughts shall find me, rip my mind apart

Somedays are passed in mindless self uttering

Holding my head above the flood of my loss

At such, all there is left to do is wade

Remind myself that I have been hopeful, 

Much of me though has been hopelessly lost

And yet I seem to contain the sadness of past

Into the Merge

I have worn her lingerie, in my mind

That was cast off from her inhibitions

There is but no shame for me to admit

For she shed her's, her absence grew mine

The gentle hint of her brazen drifting from me

Has only woven threads that blindfold

The persistent longing of her gentle kiss

Immobilises my hands and feet in agony's bind

Beneath her violet brassiere, are held shards

Of my crumbling heart that seeks no release

While in the knots of her underwear laces

My soul traces our unhinged intimate loving

I have dreamt of her, even while in her arms

Of wanting to become the blood in her veins

To flow beneath her skin, mixed into her own

Wanting to see myself through her eyes

One less breath

I have had my share of angst, birthed by my own self

Like a mother, I have nurtured it, felt it grow

Letting love be it's absent father

Swimming in the perennial flow of Styx and stones

When I sleep, the macabre mind weaves songs

Then comes Charon, nudging me to ride along

I have rowed many a rounds, to and fro

And then my soul seeks you, returning home

Is sleep death, or is that my aphorism ?

It could only be true, for I cannot stomach it

For over the years, that I have been in love

I have only lied to my heart, but mine alone

Another day has now passed, another week too

I have made your violative absence my muse

The words I have scribed have run and faded

The breath I exhaled now seem to have cost a few

Why, to love

Ah! Love , It is but a derived quality 

Exacted from those ready to toe a line

Only to be quoted as a misnomer

Past acceptance, when the selves emerge

Each shall deem uniqueness, to their toil

And the fruit of it shall be called sweet

But in the shadows, the regrets only stir

A pot of foolhardy misplaced sentiments

It is a man's curse to shun intellect for fancy

To be drunk on the fallacy of intrepid dreams

The waking is as rude, stigmatic, and scarring

Such is the effervescent barrage of unloving 

Yet knowing so, I have often loved and I do

For, to love is to feel the human absolution

And nothing can be as ironic and humorous

Than to laugh at one's own silly slippages

Then, and Again

I lie, wrapped in the blanket of this darkness

Under the mid-day sun, in such a paradox

Let my slumber be of a wilful dissent 

Set adrift into a frenzy of shameless denials

I refuse to acknowledge what I feel of me

For I abhor self loathing, or pity thereof

I have long seen me from your perceived value

It unnerves me now to think for myself

In this chaotic spiral, of extended dissidence 

The mind wants to mend my tormented heart

If it did, then all that I could feel would be lost

I have broken myself over and again to be loved

In this happenstance, of an unscheduled meet

I committed the gravest of disservice to me

Yet, should the time turn back, I would repeat

Fall head over heels in love all over again with you

Circling the carcasses

I am a traveller, 

 I have traversed

  Into each dimension 

   of my every thought

In some 

 I found you, 

  in a few I 

  And dumbfounded too

You were a wanderer

 A vagabond of sorts

  So you said

   I always disagreed

You were me, I, we

 Two of me, us, you

  When you left

    Then we left too

Ah! paradoxical love

 This misnomer of me

  You were mostly you

   I was love, I am

Off to the Races

Melanin, how it traverses underneath my skin

Everything in my collective, so treated as sin

Its recession in some, creates them a canvas

On which to to undermine, differentiate as kin

Charcoal and Turmeric, that you crudely cast

For foamy chalk, that you sold so fast

Now my teeth are chalk, your's are pearls

Yet you have the audacity, to tease my past

This soft power you show, what has it brought

A few coins and farce, yet a life as fraught

While I have lived, in absolute, loving along

You struggle to live, depressed in thoughts

I write to not goad, for I need no validation

My words are to equate, not cause humiliation

When the air chokes us all, and waters runs dry

Will we still squabble, over our skin colouration

Breaking down

Under love's tutelage

  the heart becomes arrogant, 

  mine more so

The mind wants to speak

  It is reprimanded

  It is teased to submission

When love steps away

  Sarcasm takes over

  Humor and irony reign

In such prolonged woe

  The soul reeks pain

  The mind no longer cares

At such, I am now

  I am devoid of pain

  I am hopeless of love

But then in life remember

  Chaos reigns supreme

  Chaos is your lover

Endless

Each day I dream of new story, of romance and love

I see me wake up in hay, beside you, in a barn some place

We are chased with pitch forks and torches

And ever so often, we both just run and hide

We sometimes sail the high seas, act like pirates in love

We sometimes fly at dizzy heights, see the world beneath in mist

Somedays we were wading in shallow waters

Kissing each other, hiding in plain sight

These are such beautiful stories to think of, but to speak not

I remember each story ends as I wake, yet am happy too

Why wouldn't I, I have always been afraid of these dreams

For though these stories are of love, yet in the end everyone dies

In some struggling episodes

If you have to ask, those that struggle to breathe, mid episodes

A few of us have the know, but a select few can actually describe

I could call it being breathless, or wanting to not hear

But this is just a run of the mill description, it is nothing like

If you press me to know, know that it feels like dying

It feels like a million storms ride on the waters of the raging sea

To me though, it feels like an elephant, walking ungracefully drunk

Struggling to stand, struggling to not fall, or get up post fall

It feels of a thousand chokeholds, that one may encounter

It feels of a million stars beaming their light, right into my eyes

It overwhelms me, I fail to acknowledge that I could breathe

It is such a folly, of what you deem as normalcy in life

If you want to know life, ask one in the tyranny of rampant allergy

How their insides long to feel the gentle passing of air

We hate the whistles it has, we yet are thankful it does

When it passes, we count our breaths, we live to struggle again

Turbulence

I often find you talk of love, and how it feels to be left cold

Yet often the very ones strand many a souls, with abstract half truths

I know you may have a million reasons to not love, don't

I have sought none, to love or to be loved back

Back then it was maybe a novelty, or maybe a rush

For the heart wants everything, yet it also wants to rest

When we were restless, I felt the need to pause and still

And in your peace, i find you so beautifully absconding

It hasn't been a burden I hope, I haven't been a pushover either

What I sought was a whiff of reach, a word, or at worst a honest rejection

You had neither to say, and your silence is  dauntingly taunting

I feel like a leaf drying arrested mid air, in a cobweb of farce

Some stories are beautiful

We walked up to an old man, sitting by the bridge singing

We were like vagabonds, we travelled like one too

The old man had invited us, to sit and sing along a while

We joined in his symphony, singing along familiar songs

We were sitting beside him, we made him a drink as well

After all it wasn't unlike us, to find joys in such little moments

He sang a song though, that reminded us of home

When our voices trembled in memories, he helped us back in tune

The old man the looked at us, asked us for our names

Ritesh, Feby, Amit, Animesh, were our replies in prompt

We asked him why he wanted our names, for we were just passersby

He scribbled our names on driftwood, dropped it into the river below

We were quite surprised, upon this gesture of an unknown soul

We looked at each other and asked, if any of us knew what it meant

I being the curious asked him for his name and why

He said he had scribbled his earlier, and set it adrift a while back

He then blessed us for the chat, and sang one last song for us

We joined in the song of friendship, and bid our goodbyes

When we turned away to walk he called each of us by our names

We turned around to answer, but there found no one at the bridge

We were told of an old geezer, who blessed the souls that sang

He used to be the village elder, who often sat by the bridge

And in the years of his passing, he had waited for his friend

We became the friends he missed, letting him pass by in peace

Canary Yellows

In pragmatism, a heart sees no colours, let alone its tones

And that living may bring no sorrow, it brings no joys either

When I glanced at you in canary yellow, I admit

I had to ponder upon my frequent obsession to steely logic

It isn't unlike me to run from all that could tantalize me

For it only brings me feelings that set my heart ablaze

Like your appearance, so stark, so much of enchantment

Tantalizing me, Setting the forests of my wild mind ablaze 

I often forget your lips are a shade of dawn, the gentle pinks

They swirl in the grooves and furrows, of your smiling

Scattered amongst them, my eyes often are stilled

My ears wait to be touched by words that brush by your lips

Such are the utterings of a man, in longing of a chance meeting

Waking to wish for you to appear again, and over

You would deem these to be just a weave of words

Yet they traverse the deepest depths of my cravings

Maybe , Someday

These oranges are barely orange, nor these apples as red

Some too bright, others a darker shade

Even the flowers seem to be so indistinguishable from fake

How has this become us, how has this become our normalcy

What nourished once, now renders illnesses

A child that could think bright as the sun, limps at thoughts

Those old bones that could carry the weight of a horse

Are brittle now, what have we done to ourselves

A nip here, a graft there, malice in codons and codons of genes

As humans we have malformed, twisted what our mother provides

Altered it, Poisoned it, into a curse for ages to come

What have we done, all in the name of profiting from science

When the last blade of grass, shall shed its real green

And the last sunflower shall be a shade of pale, seedless

When all we know as life shall be at its dusk

We will seek intervention, asking what have we done to ourselves

Maybe at that nature shall spring anew, germinate love

Make us see the folly of our profiteering, and help heal

We may have walked away far off, from mother nature's calling

Yet she would always try to bring us home.

the Moth and the flame

My heart rummages amongst the red

hidden between stripes, of black and the colour of her skin

Her gentle arches that tower over her pupils

Wanting a taste of her faint cherry red lips parting in moans

It seemed that winter faded, as she sent out her presence

To greet me, warming the coldness wrapping around me

I have been stilled in such allure and wanton lust

But the distance keeps me from burning, into cinders

There may be many a pair of eyes, that would stare, most mesmerized

Mine seems to run into a frenzy of unchained madness, of ecstasy

I know this may be just her way of a tease, fading come Monday

Yet the tease in its eloquence, draws me like a moth to her flames

renew and repeat

Gentle sunflower, how I admire you

Facing the sun, staring into its brightest light

Illuminating my room, in your chrome yellow tunes

I sit and watch you, as you stare and traverse

When post sunset, the night sky looms

Spinning its black fabric, across my view

You like me, miss the sun in its bright hues

Like you wait to stare into the sun, I wait to stare at you

They say flowers should smell in fragrant floral notes

You like me are a vagrant in such shallow assumptions

You remain you, till your yellows wither and dither

When you do, I shall pick up your seeds and start anew.

Calling the ghosts

What I have found uncanny is the ability of sentences to form images

One spin to the right or the left drafts a poem or a story

Many live in these, many die, many ponder, many ignore

Yet the one that scribbled has been in each of those states

Often the days pass, in solitude, alone but not in lone

Where a scribe could question reality, often to be disconnected

Yet in a paradox of being and not, alive and dead, happy and sad

I have been in all of those phases too, with you and without

The past is like a Ouija board, littered with letters of thoughts

Mine is mined, rigged to explode into my face at any instance of reaching

There is no haunt that seems unknown, even the ghosts have become cohorts

They would haunt me then, by now all I have is their company, and empathy

Resting in the absence of sounds

When I write, I stand on the shoulders of tall giants

They tower miles and miles into the universe

I feel insignificant as a speck of dust floating in the void of space

In the absolute vacuum, no one can hear my pain

If a cry or a plea isn't heard, is it a plea after all

Like a tree that falls in the forest, who knows if it made a sound

Or if it was loud, or even if it set forth a wail

Of searing pain

My words are unheard, even by my own sound reasoning

In the spiral of the want of a premature end

I have often wished for it to arrive sooner, and pleaded aloud too

I in my adept silliness have been so ignorant

That I like the giants have been largely ignored, by sheer will, skill, or both

If then should you chance upon my verses, I hope they provide

Happiness, or the ability to empathise, or even make one feel marginally luckier

This life that I have lived so long, and the bridges I have crossed and burnt

Shall serve as a guide, or even a warning to those that wander about

Dear Dear, 'soon should be away'

Hey Darling, I have often asked myself this question.

I know you may have too, it seems human to as well

In this forced binding of us, we see no reason to be

All I see if either of us struggling to be cordial, such pretence

I often think of us as two rivers flowing, surrounding a mountain

Only to meet into an ocean, where neither of us are you and I

While we have mixed and raged, forged banks and valleys

Yet in the end we are just failing, we fail into the lackluster sea

The sea is inconsiderate, like I and you are often, frequently too

It only swells and recedes, rejecting all the dead we bring into

Expelling to deposit it on the beaches, to rot and odourise

Nothing but foulness, reeking of the apathy that we seem to be in

Sometime soon we must dredge these sands, of our bringing

Bury the smelling of death and decay, put in the work

Then watch each other flow again, into the same sea

This time as distinct rivers, separate but as acquaintances 

Oil Fields

What do all these words yeild, except the oil of longing

Buried in the annals of all the times we were in love

A poetry of sadness is akin to an offshore oil rig

Standing tall against the unforgiving storms of peril

Yet each verse I spin is sapping the black gold from the hearth of it all

Only to burn my soul further, kindling its pain and unease

If you knew it, you would feel its heat, empathize and be hurt

So I mask these verses in unintelligible words and metaphors

You could gloss over these, cast it into the sea of your 'un-wanting to knows'

I wouldn't fret, for the poems have no need of acknowledgement, not from you or else

But I would be mindful to thank you, above the others

They couldn't have breached the walls I had  built around myself

There have been a multitude of poems, at best a barrage of them

Most scribed around the feels of your mind numbing parting, or waywardness

Here I go again into the mindless seas of impeccable self harm

Drilling for more, and harming my self

Mounds of Eraser dust

I have tried to draw mountains and clouds, yet they look like your eyes

The valleys look like your lips parting in gentle words, in hues of maroon and reds

The river ends up rendered in raging untamed desires

The birds become your eyebrows, and seem to fly away

As the meandering roads go uphill, they seem like your gentle furrows

Of that smile that has lit up my days like a winter sun

Dawning on me, warming me to melt the coldness of my heart

That has frozen by the absence of your eyelashes on my cheeks

In trying to embrace this void of your absolute missing

I felt the sheets I draw on shall find me solace, I have tried

Yet each time I draw, it all becomes your face

I now sink in the dust of those countless erasers I have used to remediate

Meeting between the heart, the mind,the body, and the soul

"I have an interesting proposition", my heart says

The mind in its logical responses states "Oh Shut up"

The heart pleads further to speak, but the mind belittles it

I intervene as an arbiter, letting it speak 

"What if you remake me in wax?",  Said the heart in jest

The mind usually in quick dismissal is now in intrigue

"What difference would that make, dear dear heart? It asks

I am curious too and ask it to clarify this matter

"Hey, if I broke, you could melt me and recast," it said

"Then, you will feel I am renewed at pathos", it adds

The mind chimes in agreement with "Hey, that makes sense to me"

I ponder on the possibilities, almost daydream

The mind now made up, eggs me

The heart is now in tow to push for this remolding 

At this, I ask my soul 

    "Hey, what if you burn, wouldn't it be a conflagration?

The soul pauses a moment and asks for a few moments

"Well folks God forbid, if I should burn 

    The wax would feed my flames" the soul spoke morosely

The mind wanting to do nothing with this said 'I'm out"

The heart asserts "I am ready to face that for love"

I as the arbiter promptly prompt 

    "well the soot would make for great Kohl in someone's eyes

The mind is at odds and beyond pacification

The heart seems to run in glee over this acceptance

The soul is tangled for it knows this to be a terrible idea

I ease them saying "We could always write poetry after" 

What could I write anymore

Here we are at the same impasse, dear words

You rush in, yet you don't form orderly sentences

The mind doesn't want to order you into a marching

And I as a writer want to try and write on this too

Yet when the three of us are in such a predicament

How will any poetry arise from this at all, right there, that thought

How fanciful it seems, to write about having the inability to

So here is another spin on words, singing some looming meaning

I wanted to write about love, absence, the curdling feeling of pain

But these are written about so often, so much too

At this juncture I have felt it all, felt it over and again , become friends

Become an acquaintance to my own self, where I was once a lover

If you or anyone for that matter should chance upon this

Know full well that this is not a lament, but a woeful sigh

Of wanting to have been something akin to those bright stars

That shine on your heart in the nights, to soothe and ease

Equating to Abstracts

It will be morning soon, in another three odd hours

I shall boil the ground coffee beans, and make coffee, I hate coffee

I love tea, but tea hurts me like your void does

Quite the stress, double the anxiety, quadruple the Sadness

Scaling to heights, like a swift Sherpa hopping on a rocky trail

But it is a Saturday, there would be a lack of peace and quiet

I know so, for I seem to live in a sanitorium 

Institutionalized, amidst those who abhor niceties

One after another the absolute ghastly disarray

Compels me to fly, off the balcony like an escaping bird

I have sent many hollers, none resonated in this void, not her either

We both are teeming with passion, me towards and she away from

Such an anti Confluence, isn't the first 

I know the exactment of this sombre dullard ballad

I don't need a coroner, don't dig up the entrails of this love asphyxiated

Shiny Shiny Coins

Life, scattered in the world

Like a handful of coins dropped on the table

at a gambler's den

Drawing cards, posing as queens and kings

The aces stand distinct, yet only four

The joker still trumps all, how precise

Maybe it is what it has always meant

These rolling coins, they fall into the least accessible corners

Post winning them, one may need to search

That is too much of toil, far too much 

I refuse to slide my hand beneath old immovable shelves

What lies there! Who knows, mostly dirt and grime

Laced with previous winner's curses of the  inaccessible

I like my coins shiny, I hate those worn out ones

They have equal value, but they reek of  gambling habits

I hate gambling, I don't play cards either

Somedays I cry

I seek love, 

Only to find hate

I laugh at this plight

What was anger, 

    Has now become anguish

I live morose

In remorse, of disdain 

I promise to shield

Only to cry again

Somedays, I cry

I rather blame whoever hesitates first

Desolate and dreary, the opulence of misery

Gently loud, are the foot steps of a coming end

How much I seek the absolution of mirth

In shambles of what you laud as longing

Such uncouth is this stifling tomfoolery of love

You attribute so much to this farcical show

Each time I have hid from my could be lovers

I have remained undivided, how unlike now

When I pen words now, post intermittent ponderings

All it reeks is of your prolific abusive absence

Like drops from a sliced lime, leaching my counter top

Leaving it scarred, disfigured, prominently eroded

I fret not for those that find love, stay in so

No one does, for love is just substituted dementia

So I curse Madana,his bow and curse the mango flower too

For there was no need for this subterfuge  

The Client Security Manager's Ballad

Miles and miles of words lay spread out before him

His eyes seek what most seem to have overlooked

His mind is in a trance, of fact finding from  frivolousness

They are just random, yet they say so much

There is one that speaks of a misstep 

There is one that reeks of imminent horror

There is this oddity of what is to be confined

Yet someone has left a door open

He has no peace, till he finds every bolt

He will not cease until each lock is just that

He will dig his heels to bring about serenity

Amongst what should be process, what is insanity

Such is the life of the one who searches vulnerabilities

In systems and people, those that act as guards

Such is the life I love and live each day

From Risk mitigation, to compliance throughout

Star Fruits are Sour, but so gentle

I had been told a star fruit is sour, and when green

I have seen lightly yellowed ones, slightly sour too

Yet the fragrance upon biting into one

If only to be felt, not spoken of

The crunch of its fleshy insides, ah! The sound

Then the gentle whiffs of some flowers, unknown beautiful ones

And as the gentle sourness , seeps down the throat

You feel a union of tastes and feeling

I equate it to a beautiful morning 

Of summer, of hills, misty, and a gurgling spring

The simile of this fruit renders itself all too well

To those who see with their tongue and smell

The star fruit is aptly named, but different for each

To most the shape makes up for it's name

To me, ah the rush of its gentle hints of freshness

Is like a clear sky, in a moonless night

Hey There

I know you are struggling my friend, I think I know you

For it's been ages since we spoke, ages since we exchanged words

It must be difficult, to be amongst those that seek from you

It must be equally difficult for you to find yourself 

You and I have met at the crux of it all, have known us

We have found the peace of knowing, we have touched

We have felt the ramblings, the lull of our absences too

Knowing that, I have missed you, you may have missed me too

Since the past few, yet so many sunsets and rising 

I have wished to be reached out to, I have tried, often, to no end

I seek solace in knowing you are well, knowing you are in flight

I will wait at the sidelines, eager to witness your arrival

Ramble in the bed

What say, my heart? Does the day seem worth the waking?

What if it is another waste of a good nap time?

Such are my Ponderings

Between a frail wake, and my sleep overcasting 

But then the day summons my presence, my deeds are in need

I could lie in bed, lie to my self, think of dreaming

Only to find my sleep fade, recede, with the sun's glaring

Why should I, what is my purpose to? Too?

I could while away my time, think of a poem

Maybe showcase it, act like a show-off

At the end none of those questions matter

I could think they did, but the truth is they don't

The brain wants a coffee, the stomach it's supper

The evening is upon me, brunch time is past

The birds have flown back, the sky is in a red cast

Soon the moon shall rise, bring forth its fakery

Many a hearts have lived under its bright misery

I have denied it the pleasure of my undoing

My errors of judgement, my callousness even

I repent nothing, I am at peace

So maybe tomorrow, I will catch the morning breeze

Snakes in the Backyard

We have snakes in our backyard, hissy ones

Beautiful, stout, really bulky, lazy buggers

Diamond patterned and there is that beautiful golden

Hood, no spectacles, but quite a long one

Often when I lie on my hammock

In the warm nights under the gentle moon

I hear the slither, I hear the leaves rattle, the nights feel alive

I have often been bitten, yet never poisoned, how unlike

Snakes that go by Russell's names have a bad reputation

Why last week when the diamond back bit

I looked back at its eyes, and it seemed so gentle

It withdrew its fangs, and slithered back slightly

As if it's bite borrowed some of my pain

Gentle creatures, so purposefully birthed

Knowing when to kill, when to pacify

Unlike those snakes, they speak of love

Then walk about, spewing venomous words

Pain

When you stub your toe, in the middle of the night

Parched and anxious, in the absolute darkness

You equate the pain to a sudden fall

Like a thud, it hurts like a dropped rock

The tiny pinch, feels like an ant bite

The graze has the texture of a sandy beach

A pinch due to the closing door like a tearing cloth

A prick of a needle is akin to pushing a wall

The heart is better off in pain

Yet the pain I fear most is in my belly

It is an unknown, ambiguous, profound

Nothing to remedy, nothing to soothe

The pain of love is such a belly ache

Everything hurts, you just don't know what

Rabi Sunflowers

Amongst yellow fields, Glancing 

At those brightly bloomed Rabi sunflowers

She knows this winter will pass

When though! she sighs

At best this could, not

Yet she knows,

this time will go, for a better

She will be out by the fields, 

mid-harvest, ponder

Oil or seed, 

Roasted or feed

Then pick and choose, 

Or maybe balance

Recount the winter, harsh and cold

That had tried to curb, 

The promises these flowers hold

Then smile, hold a still yellow flower

Give it a few days, let it live by

Revisit and claim, its purposeful end

When though! she sighs

At best this could worst it won't.

An analysis of the poem

The poem "Rabi Sunflowers" is about a woman who is looking at a field of Rabi sunflowers during the winter. She knows that the winter will pass, but she is unsure when. She wonders about the future of the sunflowers, whether they will be used for oil or seed, roasted or fed to animals. She also wonders about her own future, and whether or not the promises she holds dear will come to fruition.

The poem is full of imagery and symbolism. The Rabi sunflowers represent hope and resilience, while the winter represents the challenges and obstacles that Divya faces. The poem also explores the themes of time, choice, and fate.

Criticism of "Rabi Sunflowers"

The poem is well-written and evokes a strong emotional response in the reader. The imagery is vivid and the symbolism is complex. The poem also explores important themes in a thoughtful and nuanced way.

One possible criticism of the poem is that it is somewhat vague and open to interpretation. The reader is not sure what happens to the Rabi sunflowers in the end, or what Divya's future holds. This could be seen as a weakness, but it could also be seen as a strength, as it allows the reader to reflect on the poem's themes in their own way.

Another possible criticism of the poem is that it is a bit melancholic. Divya is clearly worried about the future, and the poem does not offer a clear resolution to her anxiety. However, it is important to note that the poem is not meant to be a happy ending. It is simply a realistic depiction of life, with its challenges and uncertainties.