Picture of you...

The icicles
Shone across a molten cyan skyline..
Winter trickling down..
The chords of March.

Slivers of muted butterflies
Resembling a mild panacea,
Of an estranged pause..
Yielded;
To a sketched vignette..
Atop the old yellow leaflet;
Clasped within her eyes.

Nostalgia sprung on high notes..
Winding down mosaic warmth;
Rushing along a feverish brook..
And scented dale;
His song strummed the dusky fog..
Smothered in torrid snow flakes.



This one's for Lorenzo... wrote for him after a long time..

Brishti....

I wait for Sleep..
Feeling.. the need to fly..
I wish, I could run..
Run beyond the bayonets and shrines of Gods..
Run beyond the fog of cigarettes;
And rusted romance..

Swish along the path ..
Where I lived...
by the sea..
To that place..
Underneath the orphaned rain...
Swept up by the weeping Moon..
folded safe..
In my torn checkered pocket..

I can hear the Fendo bleed my nails..
And
Rye breaks down..
Breaks; Apart;
In bouts of levied consciousness..
Lifting my eyes to a canvas on the wall..
Of Judas and Agamemnon,
Of Sun;
And Moon;
and this time..
Baby came through...
Delved...out her way..
From the Disappearance..
Forever..

Binary Vision..

I was awake.. Yes, alone ...awake.. maybe woken up..
Too many things to remember.. strings...roses...the taste of rain at the hollow of my neck... the odd smell of carnesians..
But then...do carnesians have any smell at all?
Maybe not.. maybe it's just the way they feel..
The tender curled petals bristling along my hand...soft....like an eitherdown..maybe something you slept on in your childhood when you went back to pluck "aparajita" early morning...
maybe it reminded her of that..odd bud she hid along her pillow...reminiscing a lover...
Maybe the way it would feel to kiss someone over and over while you're splashed by the waves..
Maybe she did exist... in the realms of emptiness... in the corners of faith... in the hope for no more surrenders... in the feeling of living a life...
This time it was only her...
just her..
underneath the bridge of breaths.. sewing up pictures with closed eyes....forming that old blanket we all want... when we snuggle into our beds early winter mornings..

She can see every thing now ...even with that blinded sight.. ;)