Word

The word is shattered
Thoughts, Actions, Aspirations
Creations
Poetry.

The word is bizarre
Opinions, Responses, Reactions
Collections
Poetry.

The word is obfuscated
Foresight, Imagination, Recollection
Reminiscences
Poetry.

And they say,
There is nothing to lose.

Conveyor

Keeping you along all the time
Letting you hear the sighs
In thought. In action
In dreams. In reality
In high. In low.

While you witness each new heave
Still hold the hand all the time;
Recording in your heart
The rise. The fall
The hope. The realisation
The hurt. The lesson.

The conveyor of a new light,
You must know
That you, poetry are first love
I don’t know since when.

Another Cage

Dreamt of a castle,
Didn’t you?

Ambiguous little images
On the withdrawn ceilings
Night after night
Dream after dream..

Your star is but the brightest illusion in the night sky.

Your rage is another fire, meant to die with melting snowflakes.

Your destiny is another city,
Another cage.

Is that you?

Laying in the abyss of solitude and uncertainity
I dreamt of you.

Distant
Different
Defiant
You refused to acknowledge me.
Is that a dream?

Dissolving
Dilapidated
Disfigured
You chose to look away.
Is that a dream?

Desolute
Discloured
Dismerbered
The heart sank in.

And I woke up.
Still no sign of you.
‘Are you fine?’

The Stay

The penultimate moment of indecision
Timeless moorings
Procrastination redefined
Desires recombined

To stay, and then to stay some more
Before the void is left
For always and ever
Stay some more until you stay no more.

Can fulfillment ever be defined?

Just an ant

Adobe Spark (5)Most of the life got spent in maneuvering through cricks
From getting away quickly enlarging shadows
Sometimes a part of a queue
At others, smelling for food
It was always accumulating for a peaceful time

Hurrying sole spikes stabbed me one day
Pressed softly against the ground I resumed
No bones cracked no blood spilled
l just inflated back on
Self esteem multiplied
I could stand such minor lapses

At another, I was collected with infected tissues dustworms and spilled sugar
That wasn’t the place to be
It smelled and hurt
How could you not see,
I lived amongst thee?
What about my dignity,
My entire journey?

I crawled back
My way
Back to the garden
Would rather be lost in mounds of mud
Than pace on smoothened walls
Would go on fragrant adventures on the petalled bush
Than smell for sweetened delicacies
Would slide on misty fruit skins
Than slip on scrubbed wet floors

Lost in thought I saw light
And water
And another like me coming closer
I hurried
Collided with myself in the reflection.

House locked.
Home lost.

Not without you

1I wish to see you there
At that place in that moment
Again.
Just as when I do with my eyes closed
And it is not enough
Nothing would be ever enough.
We would stay there longer this time
Forever this time.

I am here again
Same place. Another time.
Another me? Another you?
It would never be the same again
Not without you.
I miss every bit of you.
Where are you?

That Familiar Anesthetic

Waiting for a moment almost desperately and seeing it finally not achieve any sense of fruition is one of the biggest possible disappointments. It is probably the best place to locate the painful cavity between desire and fulfillment.

Whatever lessons might be learnt in the process are only a salve to the unconscious state of the insomniac being, forcing yet another series of desperate attempts to feel positive and gay.

Sometimes it is good not to feel positive.

Sometimes it is good not to feel.

At all.