“Change is like the water slipping in through the tunnels to the fields, without change there ain’t going to be any harvest!”
Dreams fade away..
Repressed beneath the cocaine like pain..
Pain from the trysts with betrayal..
Lines of fate branched into multiple stinging paths..
Which one would you choose?
When Dreams have faded.. path has been fenced with loneliness..
Friends you once thought forever…
Are waiting to loose you..
Ohh..The ways love’s betrayal swaddles thee…
Words once muttered in earnest…
Were only junctions in the web of distrust..
Camouflage muttered, instincts altered…
Only to save their day trampling on thy sorrows..
Foreboding thee to feel..
Negligence of thy states of being..
As though thee was a bothersome morsel loitering in the corners of their presence..
They make you scream inwards… these friends..
I hope thy path never crosses with one of them..
Each one has a story to tell… Aaah, such an unremarkable and a predictable beginning to a write up, ain’t it? But you see, its true even the simplest lives have innumerable of ways of depicting themselves. The simplest lives, the most monotonous one..the most monochromatic one could have elements that in conjuncture develop into a phenomena that can be more a complicated one . Or, maybe its perception is so ordinary that we beings who are awake only in a way would hardly notice.
Every story has an ache attached to it. Each story- a contracting and expanding plane, plane of time and memory.
Such pictures painted in red and maroon, highlights of paleness, violence lingering, dominating, a net of undesirable desires, a multitude of rare fortitude and neglected battles, ignored bruises. Hardly an ache without beauty of such sullen pain, beauty of hopeful eyes, nurtured heart, innocence braving, a survival of beauty through it all…
Some find a good ear, an attentive mind to listen, some crawl neglected in the caves of their own loneliness. Story teller, writers, weavers who knit stories for the keen eyed, mild-hearted, Imaginative minded beings. Aren’t they all, aren’t all the beings a little desperate to tell their story? Some tell yours, some tell their own.. yet a part of them explained through it, strewn across the pages, wandering with palms outstretched…leaning to draw you in..embezzling you in to feel them, feel their life…fight the wars they do -with them… see them in those words, in those colors..
The people in their stories.. have a epilogue and preface of their own.. might you heed their emoting eyes, actions and words.. might another story be told about them… For none deserves to disappear without a mark..
Each one hopes for thy own story to be heard… even the observer, the detached objective being, wants to reach you… if only you as a human could promise to hear him… accept him… fear not what you know not… simply feel as you must..
Hope the stories are heard.. hope the aches subside.. hope thy own.. as my own words, thy friends as my friend’s stories reaches thee.. and you listen.. listen with eyes,mind and heart.
Who dwells in their own head?
I do.. I do..
I live there with a man of dispiriting affections..
Broth of hatred.. froth of nonchalant love..
Rebelling against my rationale.. Again which is mine and which is his?
Life seems spent at war with love…
Which emotion is not to be felt?
I ain’t following a parchment of archaic laws…
Written and misspelled by all engrossed in a deep desperation of a kind..
Desire to be remembered… desire to be embraced.. Desire to be discovered..
Desire to be designed upon.. embarked into.. a journey from soul into a another..
Desire to appraised with condiments… tokens from one soul to another..
Who… which monk.. which teacher.. which bud..which man or women…
Can surpass the need to live.. need to be, to find which has not been found within..
And the need to feign control..
To him who I love.. who I have loved.. I can love..
I have found not the meaning of it..
I will always bless thee… find thee in my memories… search for thy love..
I hope.. this day.. the gulf of resentment has cleansed as much as it has left my heart..
Apologies I render.. and hope I shall find thee again.. in life.. in love.. in my heart..
And the man who fights with rationale.. in my head..shall always loose..
For rationale.. feigns control..
An incomplete drama of scribbled words.. this shall be..
For none can unfold the unrest of love and desires..
The conundrum of what to be.. who to be.. to succumb..
Or to succumb again.. just, to which…. ?
Touch and walk away..
The sound of thy heart beating so close..
The memory of your touch so fresh..
And yet you walk away.. one step at a time..
The sound of your breath dimmer..
Oh dear friend.. are you in pain?
So am I..
I pondered if you knew how I glowed when you brushed past me..
And yet you left me bereft at the cross roads..
Wanting.. failing.. simmering with pain..
Touch is powerful..
It ignites pain as much as it heals..
you healed and now gone is your desire..is your love..
A mere shadow lingering.. at the corners of our companionship.
I am not much.. only human..
Are you in pain?
So am I..
Pain I can spell with tears after dark..
The moon takes me to you..
And so do the cold winds..
As the hands clasped.. flesh smelted in together..
You touch and walk away..
Are you in pain…her’s?
So am I…. in yours..
To stare into the day and wonder what one is going to get..
“Am I giving enough love to get back a little more?”
Nature by itself serves.. mingles within itself to prosper..
The particles.. the morsels.. the humming bird and the still leaves..
one for the other.. without question…
Maybe man’s nature is a complex addendum of each of nature’s phenomena..
The heat of the infinite light sucking away the droplets..
The shades solace.. the trees..what do they take away?
Born from death.. born from pain and sweat..?
Man’s love is a ray of light distracting through the planes of a prism..
The multifarious light darkening and lightning the life.. the soul..
The draining pain peeling away the layers of self preservation..
Breathing hazy turning blue..
The red of blush when rarely glistens the pale skin..does it now?
Its only a fantasy….an illusion that dawned in another love year ago..
She craves for the blossom of soft nourish.. a fond touch..
A clambering passion.. hinging on to time.. ravishing each moment..
Each passing instant reminding the two of dusk that could stray the two apart..
Blooming of want in his eyes..a hunger for solace in her arms..
“Its been a life..it seems a life.. since I have felt love that could borrow me from time..”
Steal her life.. rob her soul of any doubt.. any treason that life could commit..
Its been life my friend since love sought her.. a love that warrants the name of love..
The friction and wave and sway of it. the darkening and breathless sorrow of it..
Its been mind numbing pain.. its been life sans innocence.. sans rest..
Just treason.. so was that love? And is this love? Again which pain is love and which isn’t?
Which shade of love do I believe.. which shade of love must I forgo?
Pic credits: Google
In moments when the haunting murmurs in you heart spurn…
Tunnel through the dark passages..
Blood runs cold.. And the heat swirls in your head..
In moments when love feels like pain..
And pain like love..
Who has your breath in a hitch..
Who is thy master? Thy self? Thy trampled heart, trembling nerves…
Which side of the sun are you on?
The cold night or the scorching blow of highland heat waves?
Where do you look to? In whose words do you find solace..
Which side of that man must you dwell with?
Which face of the man must you love.. And must you decipher.. Must you lie to yourself of?
There is the growling animal and there is the swooning dove.. Both within one..
Both tied into one… Which do you see? Which do you love?
The questions, the whys and the why nots..
Should be.. Could be.. Wouldn’t be…
The becoming we are all taught..
The love we are taught to see..
Aren’t we tangled and knotted in love with idea of it..
I detest love.. As much as I crave it..
I disbelieve thee.. As much as I see it..
And yet the nuisance of pain.. It speaks only of love..
As though it croons for thirst.. The elusive love..
It’s pain in love.. And it’s pain “in love”
A child sits amidst the dust, asbestos, rubble
Eyes sunk into self.. yet wide and devoid of the tremors of death brewing within..
To be born into a life wielding no power,
But the love rendered by the womb and palm of the protector..
And at a sudden instant swept into smoke and fire,blood splattered of the power he knew..
Can one feel what that child does? A wait for god he once knew and had..
A shell of dark fear, dread, turmoil, torn life asphyxiates the beating heart…
And child chokes within.. clinging to nothing..
Suffering from plague inflicted by the cacodemons, men on his land..
Their horrendous misogynistic hunger for blithe innocence..
Draining the pulp of life and reveling in the numb pain diffused in the air..
The helios of hope brutally shred.. flesh from bones..And yet not a tear shed..
For none are left to touch.. none can touch his moment…
From my window I see the rays flit through the blinds..
Their intensity simmered by the glass shield..
I see a sight peaceful.. sodden warmth,
The light breeze like music.. as the leaves flutter to its tune..
Sparrows titter.. shuffle between the green symphony..
I hear not… but eyes watch the music..as though notes scripted in the moments..
As though soft silence speaks.. spelling solace and hope..
Almost unreal.. The winds carry not a smear of pain..
The pain for the flow of the nature’s elements is null..
Or maybe it feels pain.. in the bloodied water and coagulate breath.
But not here.. its uncannily calm for a world trifled and drowning in pain..
Its a surreal, eerie balance that soothes not the heart..
Burden of pain outweighs the mass of solace..
There is no one to beat you..no one to defeat you ,except the thoughts of your self feeling bad.. Words of song by bob Dylan.
I have tried to imbibe these but have failed quite a few times…passed, but failed too.. I try to express that somehow.. how much ever I strive to be a lone wolf .. man needs man.. and feelings can not be fought.. only felt and past.. and in the end we do feel the same.. and that itself binds us together however alone we might feel..
Like in the jungle book:The strength of the pack is the wolf…and the strength of the wolf is the pack.
Bad for self.. about self.. feeling guilt.. remorse..
The red and black bitter serum..
how much can one fill in a jar..
the brim would be nudged..and then taken over..
mind control is a daring game..
ain’t for all..
but a subtle and slow manipulation of self…
Like gripping the wheel and steering the ship…
as gusts of wind blow and waves topple over one another.
but how do u know which mind to save yourself from and which mind to embrace..
Yet a master captain.. fosters a crew.. a family..
Bound by trust…
None can steer alone..
When living the days on thy own deck…
wading through waters that surround every eye raving the sea..
And resting at foreign ports..
One stands hand in hand.. shoulder to shoulder with a comrades by side..
I try to slash away the doubts.. I try to right my wrongs..
Yet I falter always..
But I shall hope that my comrades are by my side..
Desert a myriad of breathing sand..
Morsels sinking into one another..
Minuscule particles in friction.. yet in synchronized turbulence…
What I feel,you feel… as I am, you are..at different turn we take with winds…
Sand in solidarity would be of what essence? If not a bound to the desert?
Was the desert born as a whole? Does sand give meaning to the desert or desert to the sand?
sand derives its purpose from the desert.. from the dunes.. from the clusters..
So does man.. friend I say not in desperation but in my wishful way..
That man needs man.. And I need your shoulder and your warm friction and vibrant turbulence my friend..
A grey sheath of stagnant silence…
Dissolution into the surreal flow of night..
Punctured..embellished by the notion of time..
Rioting mind muses on..
Only the tick-tock of a mundane clock..
Piercing, distracting.. the still flow..
Ripples of time.. penetrating the mum..
The curve of a ripple postulates a moment..
The tick enunciating the bend..a crisp of time..
As life strolls in the direction unknown..
And shreds life into the passage past..
Like the leaves of deciduous tree..
Speaks through the crumpling murmurs of it..with it..it the mind..
The mind.. voices pivoting into their own helix..
It wonders..saunters into realms unbound..
“How can time be still, flow and yet wither away?”
A dimensionless entity.. like the surreal night..
Only absorbed and imprinted on the mind..
The burden we call love could easily be hate..
The need to be needed.. the want to be wanted..
The fetal position of the grieving soul..
The penchant for ownership of the soul..
Too weary to follow.. too old to know where it is to be.. where it is to summon itself, to its home?
The haughty madam beneath the simpleton..Prays to avenge her pride..
Ain’t she a felon herself?
The girl who pounced in her father’s arms..prays to be set free..
The laughter that kindled her eyes.. the soft lines of nifty smile..
Muffled and ironed beneath the pains of frightful wars fought in her heart…
In the end when bones brittle crumple.. and flesh melts..
The hearts surge with combative pain..
Left are two souls lost.. facing walls grounded on either sides..
The mirror reflecting the ugliness of it all..
In thy own eyes.. the glass shows black..
Pride is harrowing in the pits its own dungeons..
Ohh.. the depths of ditches we dive into..
The sins we commit in the name of love..
Sinful of hateful acts towards self.. and then towards the other..
What is love but a roped..tangled path..
Curious pull.. one strolls and then the moments dribble away..
One is siphoned..tipsy into another Moonlit forest.. another home…
Aren’t you lost yet?
Where do you turn when the bridges you built are trampled upon..
Fallen beneath the sea of distance…
When human made altercations.. distractions.. steal the good.. gnarl it from your grasp..
Turn away from home.. to find that you have none..
And only the dungeons and pits.. fraught with felons of your heart..
Where shall you find your freedom now?
Who shall row you back to the haven you once knew?
How shall thee save thyself from distraught nature of thy heart?
Where shall thee find thy home.. thy solace and salvation?