Euphoria!

The dizzying height, a blur of swarming existence trembling down

Prick of cold marble and moist breath relinquishing in fuming sighs

That strand of wild hair lashing relentlessly on my brow, adamant, Angry.

Angry at the glorious sun and its crimson arms, Jealous

Jealous at the wind fanning the mist away, carving the bleak-bold.

Point of no return, of inching cliff and imminent fall

Pair of brown pools one wants to sink into, gasping for breath

Drowning in helpless desires and dual dreams

Yet, the only tug back, the one resistance to losing oneself

A lose thread, one sharp twinge and gone

Come! Come with me.. They say! Come, do not swim away!

One look and Lo! I dive down. Deep into land of muffled stars

Of subtle light and comfortable warmth, of painted dreams and fresh desires alike

I delve into layers of unknown existence, into infinity, into tangible Euphoria!

The Wind in Words

Words as they flow,

Fingers apart

Time they reek of

Near and Far!

Wind, as it blows,

Memories of a faded past

Promise of hope that lasts

Like words, eternal stars.

Sunset and Sunrise

Mellow and bright lights

Words, they always shine

Like wind on tired eyes.

Touch of fading light

Glinting on tattered spines

Or shining on yellowed pages

Breathing of days, close and past.

Like the tinge of Lemon

Or the soothing Grass

Or good old Jazz

Which I hold dear to Heart.

This post is dedicated to Pravesh Parekh, who wrote this as much as I did, in fact more thanI did and is a major reason of why this blog exists.

He maintains an excellent blog himself named Requiem For a Lost Soul which can be found here: http://requiem-for-a-lost-soul.blogspot.in/

Moonlight..

Commanding silence, and hushing the trembling wind

Oh! Moonlight, stealthily as a camouflaged fiend,

you descend the bars of what shows the other side

With playful grace and almost wounded pride.

You do dare to grace the consuming space

Attempting to enlighten it into some haloing place

Failing tirelessly, tumbling in bounds;

Don't you know? Both of you stand accused on similar grounds!

Drawn curtains, haven't I?

Exhaled blinded hopes and concluding sighs?

Why the tickle of light into darkness then?

Why breathing life in dreams again?

Shedding a different light on things,

Heaped they were, heaped as inanimate beings!

With flaring eyes and luring scent there they stand,

Like a dangerous drug, even sight of which is banned!

A busy road.. or not really?

A busy road.. or not really? The weight of various people that tread on it everyday somehow imbibed along the crevices of the tram lines that traversed it horizontally. A long day it has been, the north eastern corner of the sky almost seemed flush by heat, almost weary of it. Dark crimson giving into more of darkness. A light breeze attempted to soothe the sky, leaves trembled, a witness to its passion. He stood enraptured by the turbulent stillness around him, enjoying the reverberations below his feet in sync with the drained out tram.. yet he registered none of it, a crumpled piece of paper caught at the edge of one of the tracks caught his eye. He lowered himself, picking it up.


He could not help but be at awe of the neat cursive yet pacy handwriting on the paper, despite it being covered by mud and even shoe-prints. Verses. A few verses on this trampled and forlorn piece of thing immediately had his attention. He started reading it, a conscious effort to take in words, register them, to not let his concentration waver.

A chanced morning, in an unknown road

That triggered notes, which tune my soul old..

Is it the warmth of the winter sun,

or the tireless river amalgamating into the mist?

Or is it the forgotten face from childhood,

That had sought refuge in lines and their gist?

It might even be an evening nestled in the hustle of the city,

or the reminder of time, the watch on  his wrist?

A chanced morning, in an unknown road
That triggered notes, which tune my soul old..

He sighed deeply, looking up, his eyes glistened in the moonlight. Too overwhelmed he was, hit was he, by the past. Words capture time, they had they said. Never had they said, that they could keep us under the illusion that we could travel back in time too. A moment in these words, one which the tram-line was a part too, now he was sucked into it too. A moment that was lost, he got to live again. He got to live two moments though, one that someone else painted for him, and the one that his fate did. A shiver ran down his spine, leaving him weak at the edges. He folded the paper neatly and put it in his pocket. His eyes trying to search the dark, a trapdoor to his past. With unsure steps forward he started dwindling from sight, as if lost in the embrace of an old friend, away from harm. The road was empty again.

A busy road.. or not really?

I shall rest?

I shall rest against the dancing brine,
The moonlight and the winds that chime;
I shall rest against the stars old and new,
That reflect tales false and true.

Nestled deep in the crests of turbulent times,
The heaviness in me melts into waves sublime;
My breath lost while crashing against the shore
As of a tired traveller knocking against a jammed door.

Oh! Drops of rain, they consider me their foe,
Lashing out at me, compelling me to let go;
How dare am I one with The One?
Their existence from which did begun!

Amidst the wrath of the greying sky,
the roaring tempest looked me in the eye;
One that can never subside to my delight
Alas because it’s Me! From Me I can never have respite!

Rest I shall against the dancing brine?
But to what avail if my soul in tumult cannot reside?
What good would resting against the stars do?
If they haunt me with memories old and new?

The Bracelet

Beads of her bracelet with 

rifts of a paused heartbeat;

Caress did she their edges,

lost in memories obsolete.

Outside the cold rain did soothe,

the parched left out window sill;

So did the trickling tear drop

scurrying across her cheeks downhill.

Will there be a day

as bright as a stack of flaming hay?

with ardent winds pulling at the clouds

shaking the heavy grey away?

Then will the stream giggle again,

with the rainbow seeping colors form the sun;

Then will the nascent stalks raise their heads

To be called forest, to be among them one.

Till then the fingers will fail to sense

everything else but the cold it feels,

Till then will the eyes strain across

eagerly anticipating a trace of wheels.

Oh! Calcutta!

Heavy with the first ray of the mellow sun,

Mist settles against the walls of a lone glass

Slides along the crevices of a jogger's foot

To melt into the arms of a trampled grass.

Witness to the headlines of the day

As the cup of tea exhales a deep sigh,

The directionless traffic on streets

Promise presence at towers high.

The sultry day beating down,

Against the collar of a white shirt;

As the drudgery continues 

 for the dreams of a solemn heart.

Mauve dusk settles against houses,

The winds soothing the scorched flyover;

As tired steps walk towards homes, envying,

the fresh legs that around a football do hover.

Flickering lights and bleak dreams

Stretched across the other side of the river;

The grey road submitting into the horizon

Its raw pulse throbbing forever.