Your Fragrance

That voice, the silent breath that sounded with the words,

I dare to venture into my cave where the keeper brews emotions, Now sensations rise to a tide of recitations,

The smoke would only leave smudges on the wall, But wrong was I,

The fire still crackled on the pyre of memories as few as they were,

It burnt the dried up leaves of strewn wishful desires, 

I locked the cave and slither away, lest I give into the temptation to lie by its side,

lost in the mist of sounds of heartfelt laughter, the syllables those eyes formed,

Lest I forgo the sense of self, spinning tales to myself on the strangest enticer of my soul,

I rip myself away yet the echoes tingle my senses, 

Oh stranger, come to me in my dreams if not in my day’s path, Lend me your fragrance if not your touch,

I slid open the door, and now among my flustered mumbles, fingers can no more re tie the strings,

I desire not your time, nor your heart, just a stroll on the pavement where I first saw you, and a smile that hums to my eyes.

Arziana

Note:- Well this piece of fiction If I could call it came out of nowhere, I have never really written any fiction. But I was quite apprehensive about posting this since the content was not my usual and well… Do let me know if you have any thoughts on it.

Arziana

She sat at the table by the side of the rise window, eyes penetrating the dusk settling over the sea waves. She and sea had a connection which ran deep.  And almost jealous of it as a sister would be, wanting to meet the horizon like it did.  Pondering over what lay beyond, just the sight of magnanimous ocean awakened in her a feisty vigor, undefined dreams and the sense of a world, a life of umpteen possibilities, lands unknown beyond the reach of the eye, yet to be devoured and conquered in her eyes.  It infested in her an impulsive zeal to rise above herself and connect with the soul of the mysterious delusional and yet unnervingly ravishing universe.

The high tide that rose with the moon arose in her soul a turbulence of reckless unwonted sensations. She drank her wine as the sultry breeze wiped aside the locks of hair that trailed down her nape; fell across her face, a face that was sensually striking, sweet, and intelligent yet gave not a hint of her thoughts to even the keen, engrossed observer.

Another evening, the sun had set and her lonely soul dreamt alone. She dreamt of those moments lost in the sands of time, dreamt of a passion that would take her on a ride galloping to lands of wilderness. A passion that could burn her and make her feel alive, like the waves that danced seeming to entice the loose sand on one end and the high horizon on the other.

The night, held her hand as she lay on the sand lost in the waves,

Held captive by the moon’s seduction of the sea, the tides that rose touching the sultry air,

Drawn to the moon, the darkness in its light and the twinkle in its shine,

Her breath hitched as she felt a yearning wash over her,

Her heart craved for a closeness that had yet evaded her on her wanderlust,

She was well versed in the language of pain; she had crossed paths with sweet beauty of it,

And knew that every living being lusted for pain, lusted to be destroyed by what they called love,

The night and the world held is secrets to its bosom, and she was mesmerized by what lay beneath the veil of mere mundane life, the intricacies of love, hate, desire, secret cravings that electrified the air unknown to world awake in the day.

She lived and traveled alone, disappearing to places where no one knew her. Every few months or a year at most her bags would be packed to embark on another soulful journey to a strange culture and a land of anew people. Assuming a new identity and unshackling self from the previous bonds each time. Her freedom was her most valued and guarded asset, though it came at the cost of unsatiated lone yearnings that usually lay dormant but rose to the surface as it did this evening.

Today evening, she lamented and brooded lost in melancholy thoughts. And her name was Arziana, her true name that is.  A name that drew attention owing to its mix of west and east making it other worldly just as her aura was. Arziana knew not what her soul searched for, but knew that she hadn’t crossed paths with phenomena or the noumenon yet.

Dragons…wings

One my harsher doodles…somehow everything in these resembles dragons.

Talisman

Talisman

Born into the world as much decked with goodliness as fraught with injustice

Born into a world with stringent notions of right and wrong,

A world bent upon spilling contents into two wells and only two wells,

A world conspiring to carve the soul into shape, a desirable known shape,

Ain’t there a shapeless shape?

 Fed rigorously to become human not a click lost in questioning, what is human?

Crawling, walking, racing along, only is the soul dragging you on your journey or is the host the master?

The host nourished, fanned and rubbed upon by the ways, the laws of our land,

 

Born wild into the wild caressed and tamed to be the pets, whose pets? Who is the nemesis?

Born with wings, but never learning to fly, yearning to fly? Possibly,

Leaving behind a trial of feathers,

And then arrives the moment of epiphany,

The moment where the soul finds its talisman, it retraces back to the birth of a naked soul,

Picking all the feathers, excuse me, but I must do the same,

Clutching the Talisman, the knowledge that each was born free,

Freedom and rights were not anyone’s to give but each ones to take,

I am my own nemesis, I am my own talisman, I must find me,

 I must be the soul and not the host.

My Ode To Music

I need my music back, Starved the soul is, Hungry for the bond with life it feasts on,

Adamant, I want it back, Its power pervading through the moments of life,

A silent yearning slithers up the walls of my coveted shell of life,

No love, No being can penetrate the depths as thee, A bridge, down which crawls by the conscious mind to meet my soul,

The dark is lonely now, as it seduces the light from the cave at the end of the tunnel,

It curbs the morsels that float in the rays, willing to raise the light through the dusk, the misty aura of the path untraversed,

The notes rise and fall like the curtains that sway gracefully in the howling winds,

One spins and delicately weaves into another,

With it swings the mind to a high , the heart’s beat reaching the ears conjoining with the melody,

A tabla, It reminds me of,

A blazing sun that taps first at the window and then slides to corners of life, music it is,

A ray of light between the eye’s dense lashes,

Touching my life,and awakening a yearning not dormant but breathing only as a dull spatter on the walls of my being,

A desire to create, to cascade my dreams, paint them and frame them in reality,

I await for the moment my eager fingers strummed the strings of a sitar again,

I crave to blend with it, sing with the simple yet prolifically designed harmonium,

Wishing to be lost, delving into the psyche,Fondling the memories,

Bonding with the life of the ocean of emotions in our universe of life,

The coalesce of sound mesmerizing and soothing the restless mind,

Nourishing the pyre that burns in the hollows,

The little child who taps impatiently and the woman who tosses in her melancholic feverish wistfulness within the soul,

Both listen in silence to the fusion of riveting tales in the words that dance in resonance with the sounds of life,

Even the  devils lift an ear, pausing in their hoodwinking tasks,

Its music, the beats with the finesse of soulful honesty,

Each syllable, each ripple of frequency traps me in the pandora,

Loosing sense of time, floating in the stream unhinged carvings of sound,

In my frail attempt to reach for my beloved music, I dedicate this to thee, music

An ode to music, a timeless expression and witness to life.

The butterfly and The Phoenix

It sat in the closet, Mulling over its worthlessness,

Musing and muttering, tied it thought it was,lost it felt, cursing the drudgery of time,

Gripping on to its loss, Gibbering, moaning of its in pain, Refusing to wake up from its miserable trance,

Raving that it desired freedom,  But foolishly ignorant of the key that hung down its bosom,

Rummaging through the closet, Only picking and clutching on to the dented artifacts from its life,

Keeping the guilt, tasting envy, restlessly glancing hither tither hoping for answers from elsewhere

Shedding tears over nothing, Listening to those haunting voices, melodious in there own way,

A fusion of well chosen words and uncanny music,  burnt its wounds,

Wounds it thought felons of time had razored through, Some marks of thrashes self inflicted,

Who chose to walk down those dark lanes, pulling those visions to the surface? It did,

Pushing itself into a void dug by own self,

The soul engulfed in blanket of self woven fatigue, lay asleep,

Blatantly ignoring the whispers that rose from the smoke of a fiery spirit that once sparked with glorious will ,

 

And then a silent being dropped down at its feet, it was all flutters, noisy as it tried to?

Tried to fly, a butterfly it was, Stirred out of its reverie owing to the commotion,

It stared down at the creature, edging away from its restlessness, confused, its eye found the cause,

Such a beautiful, delicate being, yet a pathetic sight to see, a wing half torn,

“Oh my!” The heart stirred with pity, “Fly now ,it can’t,” the soul thought to itself,

Yet engrossed and transfixed in the moment by the sight of its zealous attempts at taking off,

Watching soulfully as the creature slipped down further, devilish gravity thwarting its efforts,

“No, no, no, it lays still, is it dead?” wondering sensing a hopelessness settled again,

Moments passed, it can’t be dead, the brave knight, it needs to live, it deserves to, pleaded the soul,

Seeing the world  through a fog of hopelessness, thus it searched for hope in the tiniest of beings,

“Aaaah,” and it rose, it rose and flew, it sunk low and rose again, and it kept fluttering,

The creature’s beauty now ravished by its power, its strength and will, What a sight it was!

It flew in rounds and an elated soul watched bewildered,

And with a spring of a new bee it vanished into the gardens of this universe,

A spark crackled in the pyre,

A dim light permeated through the smoke,

Fog would clear in time, Would it?  

A poet desires to be honest,

Hope,a phoenix it is,the soul was now in its ring of fire and phoenix would be born soon, hopes the soul.