Abysmal..

Along came a needless meaning of simplicity.. a well-thought spindle of ideas...which came undone...and I wrote in syllables, in which I sang once, remembering the odd, accidental fragments of rain and streams.... and Mahananda beckoned me this time, along with the emptiness of it's drenched bossom...where I lay, where I played, where I swam...As the July sun shivered, it's fervor bequeathed... I grasped the the jazz of the gleaming rays...hiding it in my eyes..

Hajar bolaka jeno pakha nare..
Duronto jhornar nrityo bahare..
Sagorer dheu aachhriye more..
Pathore Pathore..

Keu bole bhalobashe..
Aalingone..chumbone..
Podoseba shikto shinchone..

Ami boli..
Pathorer'o aachhe mon..
Aaghate na jani kokhon..
Premer porosh bojhe..
Shobujer aalogochhe..
Tobu rikto ekhon..

Soulstice..

There are times when the emptiness of stones comes as an irony... You suddenly begin to identify with it.
You start to perceive things closing in on the walls of your eyes....eyes which seek just one person... It's not always the need for a finger to hold and kiss..more so a faraway longing on the insides...within the soul...of a "soul"... Suddenly, things start to form a maze where you're lost yet found when the fingers curl in around you....when the soul sets inside you....and you regret no more.. Coz you don't have the fear if having let someone down...of having pained someone... No one needs someone...It's their affection that makes one long, perhaps...As I settle down into a dusty corner near an old table... My pen drips of blame... the detest one feels for one's self when they hurt their own soul...bruise it, maybe... I can't undo things... and my fingers come reeling back inside my heart..clenching...a palm faraway..

Midnight hues..

Every tender prism ..
Held in a droplet..
Swept in the fallen days...
Of fleeting sunflowers..
While there seemed diamonds everywhere...
Some strewn..
Some adorned...
Tumbling the torn corners...
Lighting up carmine percussion...
Streaming a maiden cruise..
Sliding into an Iris,
In a season of dreams...

This one's for Lorenzo..

Evanescence..

The pallid streets wet my burnt feet with fury.. Its yet another scarred morning... sun beams galloping to the far west...

There are sometimes when one feels like writing..words appear..disappear at the same time...Today...is one of those days..filled with blatant truths and naked lies...and magenta breeze wrenches her lips...sealing them...fastening their words..

and Suddenly..
She realises she sees herself in a soul.. Never felt that before...never felt so endearing...
She smiles..in a cell...solitary imaginations vanish...drizzling down in blankness.

The breeze blows still...
Flying towards the squalid nothingness...erupting on the sweat-ridden pedestrians..
This has been a second time since morn...
The first in a lifetime.

Me..

Showers seem easy sometimes..
Lachrymal less wasted..
less consumed maybe.. Is it the idea of numbness or is it just me...? Plain me? Facing myself after the longest time...and then there arrives the deepest fear..regardless of any syllables...punctuations and prolly silences too...


The fear of loss...

This time, I've lost..not the will to regain but the will to stare at anyone..a pedestrian...some odd cab or well...ummm even you...
I can't look anymore... The gaze cozily settles on the earthy delights...watching a bug creep into its burrow..
and I stay.....maybe out of disbelief.. maybe out of remembrance of destruction...Maybe...out of my love for him... Maybe its just me.. unable to speak..

Its true.. Its true indeed.
Words don't come easy...

Breeze..

This time;
The Waltz of rose-coloured winds...
Snuffed out,
Old rusted rays..
While;
Tufts of catkin bowed,
Murmuring to the willows..
Of the lost songs..
He smudged on her hips..
Searching;
For syllables..
..In the scent of her hair..
Lingering on his skin..
Gentle;
Like the first leaf..
Of Spring..

Horizons..

Reveries;
Of a snuggle into a palm,
Sweeping into the rivulets of fate,
A gaze..
At a tryst of sublime rainbows,
In a daze;
Of bubbles;
And swashes of amphetamine.

A Lily of the swindled waters..
Conquered;
By flames and trance..
With the softest bristle..
Of hymns of love..
Sung by a cradling tongue..
Nestled;
Against the rain-washed meadow..
Where the fragrance faded..
With the trembling petals..
Of naked silence..