“Change is like the water slipping in through the tunnels to the fields, without change there ain’t going to be any harvest!”
I knew the sound of your laughter.. but not the words that made it so..
I knew the smile that lit those eyes.. but never the harmonic lines that touched thy heart..
I see the agitation in thee soul.. never have I seen the venom in thee eyes..
Never will I know the sins that ignite thy rage..
Never will I know the sound of the baritone in harshness ..
I see the colours that drape around you..
Yet never from your tongue will I hear of how they infatuate you..
I see your eyes light up in beauty.. yet I see not the beauty from your eyes..
I see hints of desolation in thee soul..
Yet I shan’t ever soothe the airs within, touch the scalded flesh..
I wish my words could dance on the curves of your smile and echo in your laughter..
I wish your rage I could swallow in the bosom of my barren soul..
I wish I could whisper to you at night.. sing to your abyss.. so might it echo with soft hopes.. joyous banter..
I wish your words.. your thoughts the world to hear..
I wish thee eyes to sparkle with candid childish elation..
You are a wish.. A star farther than mine to be..
Your presence in my memories brushes the moist corners on my soul..
I give you up…for you are a wish.. unwritten for me..
And I have wished a long foregone wish..
P.S: I was looking through my drafts from the time wasn’t really blogging and came across this.. Thought it was something I could share..:)
Is there a divide between noon and night..
A switch at a blink from illuminated to gulping blackness..
It’s a crest and trough..
One slopes into the other..
And even the light, it frames shadows.. casting into itself..
And darkness is luminous..Stars and moon adoring it..
Aren’t they two brothers, At dusk and dawn one brother embraces the other….
Light fades into its shadows… and the darkness pans into land and breeze..
Even as the moon seeks parting for moments into the clouds
Turning its back on us every fortnight..
Yet the dark in those times is blistered by winking lights..
Which side is wrong and which is right?
Are the two ever apart? Does light ever truly leave the dark and dark, the light?
Can man confirm his bondage to right selfless?..
Ain’t the truth mutable, driven by shades of human desires,
Which right must he choose and which truth must he drape his days with?
Is the light the true right, harmless in intention,
And does it speak all the truth..or only its own ?
And the dark, the brother, shameless, without any truth of its own?
Its called friendship you know..
The light in my eyes.. at a simple smile in yours..
The spark when hopes shines through the tunnel..
The Rebellious laugh when the fortitude gives away..
Our bizarre plans blow against the wind..
And we rise victorious surfacing at the shortest stairwells clambered..
Its the smile and laugh my heart craves..
Its the pain my soul wills to diminish..
Thy tender heart.. understands my pain.. and mine yours..
Its simple touch of human likeness..
Its called friendship you know..
The pain inflicted on you..reflects in my eyes..
As does in yours..
The tremor in your voice.. finds a helpless flutter in my heart..
But when your words sting.. to where shall I turn..
For it is your presence that soothes my pain..
Yet.. I know.. you shall be there when I turn back..
For a sincerest person like you..is hard to find..
Forgive my anomalies dear..
Harbor no ill of me.. You find place in my pain..
But more so in .. more so in carefree laughter..
Pondering.. I find your heart pure..
And mine wishing only the place of a life long friend in pain and gay remembrance..
And your life to ride to your dearest hopes and dreams.
For Its simple friendship.. you know.
Dedicated to a dear friend… its a few simple words.. I couldn’t find ways to disguise my ways.
Why do you write so? What inspires you to do so?
Which portions of your life befriend you to do so?
What makes you pick that pen up and scrawl those words?
Matters that pour nuisances of you heart and more so of your mind on the parchment.. why do you write?
I write out of sheer boredom engulfing my shelf life here.. Or do I?
The agony of a mind fanning its own thoughts..
I write to forge a bond with myself..
I write to loosen the knot in my bare hands..
The knot between bare hands? Yes.. the fidgety fingers fumbling..
Pondering what has become of the self I knew yesterday?
I write wondering shall I ever be that prolific dispeller of words… who writes with ignatious ..an unabashed flair…
From whose beacon of riveting knowledge shall I glean that uninhibited figurative tongue?
Fuse words of boisterous beauty.. Purging impudent purity … honest in in its picturesque candor..
A language of man… nature .. laden with no pompous substance but only the essence of poetry..
Poetry that peels the layers, draws the vulnerability in the eyes of man..
Shall I ever touch the hearts and minds lighter in joy.. foster the soft naive rush of unhinged emotions..
Fill their smiles with a knowing that these clumsy words indeed spell the unknown clusters in there hearts..
Shall I ever revive the light in the eyes of those men.. Lasses and humble beings in pain..
They who know not how to touch their own wounds.. barren for words..
Why does thee perspire to rise with the sun and ride to the time..
What in thy soul has life of its own? And what shines the light in the darkest corners..
Kneads into shape your empire of dust time and again.. kindles the fire wood in cottage..
Like the shepherd thee rises with dawn.. Hoping to find what thee looks for..
Stare at the mountains.. clamber the hills.. search for the lion with the humbling mane.. horrific yet dangerously prideful and beautiful..
Search for the maiden who calls thy name.. search for yourself in the galore of beings one sees..
Oh..Why do you write so? Why do you perspire so?
What it is that leave’s your touch as the sun breaks sleep..
What is it that saunters in your eyes in the day.. haunts your heart by dusk..
Do you search for the man.. as I do..
Weave words like needles were carving scriptures from your mind onto this plain parchment for epiphany..for sake of epiphany
Do you search for those words as I do.. words that bind you to you..
A crass whisper…. An eerie breath smoking fanatic words through the pores..
A juggled mass, nerves, susceptible to its own callings..
It’s a prison in there.. Skeletal fiends are proportions of thy heart
All gambling, forging a hide and seek game in that maze..
Some skeletal fiends call you weak and hateful.. some call you raw and demonic..
Who shall you listen.. Whose voice shall you drown..
Or shall thy crawl beneath darkness absorbing every scream..
Each face speaks in thy voice.. each voice a tone shifted from the other.. Yet they are all you..
Living is a beautiful death they say… if you like that kind of painful beauty..
Curtains of black lining.. shielding the harrowing pain of lone survival..
In a foreign land of pure blue sky and chilling winds….burning sun on the plain roads..
Dulled by straight trees.. no man.. none smiling.. none humming words of compassion..
Friends run aloof.. as thou stares ahead ..
Screeching in a crimson howl.. why thou has seen no friends..
Can a life alone here break thy silver gate…
A gate beyond which thy sanity and sanctimonious love ripples..
The heart speaks what the heart knows not..
And the mind mutters atrocities that heart shan’t bear on its porch..
Mind gargles of the worst of friends.. It groans of the loss that ain’t yours to own…
Mind shoves the misogyny in the people’s eyes deep through thy mellow membrane of hope..
It’s a downright creep.. the mind.. a delusional fiend that ought not to live..
But then.. thee lives only there.. in the mind.. alive only there.. in the mind..
Darn the frivolous, the con, thy own mind solidifying death and pain capsulizing thy life..
As you circumscribe around the time gone by..
Do you feel the emptiness gallop ahead of you..
He was there.. and then he wasn’t.. I wonder who he was..
There was sun shine above my eye.. and the rays flitted rattling the dense lashes..
Almost blinded by the sodden waves of warmth..
I wished to be doused in his inflamed eyes.. supple smile…
Hidden traits of cottoned love.. surpass the walls of angst and unforgiving halls of louder howls..
I wonder if he shall stay till the morning rises and the breeze sets…
The touch of orchids… the lull of free smoldering calls of phantom eyes..
I wonder if he shall listen to the sinking and rumbling hum of his name..
I wonder if can give the free bird a little shelter at his orchard gate..
When the night crawls upon her Irish eyes..
The song bird flies into the brazen night..
Yet stalls she at the abyss in the sky.. for none are around on the damp night..
Damp from silence.. Damp from coagulant mourning of the passing time..
Drawn into a drought.. famine in the nesting night..
She sings the melancholy stirring of huddled hues and crumpling lies..
Love shall be lost.. but shall I pause… love shall live.. shall I thrive..
Who shall I find as the shine ripples through the skies..
Of whom shall I sing.. as the caravan bids me good bye..
Gates shall close.. who might I find in the blurring light…
Would his sapphire eyes still call me in the daylight.. cave me in the night…
P.S:- Hello all, Its been a very very long time since I have ventured into writing on this blog ,almost a year. And I have been missing it a lot..So I thought to myself, maybe I ought to try coming back to it,however rusty I might be. Writing , a writer, can’t let go off.. but I do miss expressing, communicating in my way to people who could read and connect..wherever they might reside.
Songbird: was an old piece of writing.. I hope you enjoy it:)
The word is not be defined, it likes its much coveted delusional existence,
Groaning in a soul, whimpering in silence, exuberant in its momentary success,
A breath blowing into another breath, so close is the flesh, eyes whisper and lips tremble,
Shaking within, expecting a sudden exhilaration that throws you upwards, is it the path to your haven?
Like one suddenly found the point of incidence of existence, the touch of another that binds you to you..
Yet as the affected being sways, floats in a daze of hope, he seeks only..only his hearts contentment,
Much of his nature is now brittle, corroding, and flecks of him…of you dissolve in the definition,
Corrupted do you feel is your stance on the existence of it, fooled are you.. in denial..
The swinging pendulum of your time an axe that swipes through you,
How might you define that shrivelled being in you, thwarted by that noumenon’s definition?
Looking to the heavens, do you wish to escape from yourself?
Do you wish to undo all that you did to yourself, do you understand that we mentor the demons and angels- Love’s offspring
We breed what kills us.. we forget there is more than just another being..
We cripple ourselves, unable to walk around the world to find the enchantments that bind us to this nature..
Blinded.. by need, by taught verses of it..of love..that word..
It’s a need to exist for that which mirrors you.. the reflection in the pond ain’t enough..
There is much of nature in us, in vain we try to find our equilibrium in another unstable host..
Defining existence, defining it is like to trying to strangle infinity..We stretch shredding and peelling ourselves to pieces..
Instead of entwining ourselves around the light of nature..
As you dribble your soul through this plot.. the parables of your life which you wretch and sing..
Living poetry is life…
The coveted delusional has a mind of its own.. we might never see through it..
Let the wretched love flow in your veins till you die.. so might have lived an epic of a life..
At sundown.. drown that gaping hole.. sooth those sculpted scars ..with yellow..orange..red..the colors of bright dimming sun-the son of nature
I loved you.. like I will love no other..
I loved like love was all that existed…
I love you through the fog that drapes around you..
I felt like I knew I would love you like this.. I can only hope it sleeps soundly as I walk away to life..
And I loved you in different ways.. love is pain.. love is death.. love is fortitude.. it’s a whim just as life is..
The twisty taut autumn leaf, curled at the curved edge in perfection, lay solitary on the white marble
Impersonating a mermaid sitting pretty, her beautiful head tipped to the sky in arrogant aristocracy,
A summer afternoon, blinding light, crashed on the stone, reflecting life from above and around,
An optical illusion, peculiar a sight, a moth on cold stone, in the broad day light,
Blunt ended stem- an antenna, Pointy yet blurred in the shadow,
I tiptoed closer, waiting for the creature to flutter away dreading a monster,
But, Alas the leaf was only ever a leaf in singularity,
Yet do you observe the beauty of light, the illusions you see,
Object and shadow meet in the light, merged to portray an allusion to thy eye,
The moth was a work of an artist, depicting the wholesome nature of a leaf, only if it could fly,
Probable patterns below the painted reality, underneath the chosen colors as we see it,
After the tide that swung to the day, maybe as night floated its blanket, the moth would flit away, flap its frail wings into the dark night;
The illusion only a perception if percepts the mind as so, but a reality if darkness crept underneath and flared its wings,
The nature I see in you, the nature you see in your shadow –thy reflection, could they fuse,
Merged shades of the two,
Your colorful physic in my eyes and the psyche reflected in the plane glass in your iris, Could I see both?
The words that depict your soul’s song, a poet- an eagle, you climb onto his scales, sailing on the winds above to watch the world within from within,
A painter freezing the infinite reflected in the shards of his soul into his art,
A voice enchanting your mind as your psyche sinks beneath the waves, you are swept away into the ocean in your soul,
I see the shadow; and I see a static structure designed by illuminating beams, a form containing the formless,
Oh how would I ecstatic a feeling I would feel, love with not a shadow, but wholesome..
To see the moth flutter away, fearless into the shimmer- less night,
One must capture the structured reality- the persona –an illusion and the illusion within it reflected-the shadow,
Then maybe the leaf-static to the eye and the shadow blurred, would metamorphosize into the winged alluring soul-the moth… the wholesome existence of the artist as each is coming to light in the dark.