Picture-Perfect

5th May, '09

Limbs ache with no change,
the mind is frozen with expectation,
days roll into one another,
a warm blanket of submission.
Jagged scars find a way to heal,
Far-fetched dreams crawl out of the door,
the paintbrush slips, our fates are sealed,
this painting will never be perfect again.

Crossing Over

30th April, '09

I lie at the bottom,
of a sparkling stream,
the sunlight streaking upto me.
Pebbles lay smooth,
like mounds of butter,
layered with golden honey.
Hyacinths floating above my face,
stop to touch and tickle my nose,
the water gurgling at the surface,
peeps at me while it flows.
Driftwood pillows my heavy head,
its branches gently rocking me,
I lay there calm and peaceful now,
a picture of serenity.
Fishes swim into my palms,
between my fingers, through my hair,
nibbling at my throat and arms,
welcoming me into their lair.
I lie under the gurgling stream,
looking up at the trees and the skies,
the clouds are lolling,
the rain comes falling,
but I just lie on by.

This's where I'll lie,
until they come,
the ones from yonder above,
I hear they're crying,
pained and glum,
morose at their lost love.
But I'm in no hurry,
to leave so soon,
this watery new home of mine,
I feel no ties, no bonds, no pain,
or even the passage of time.
A lifetime spent in an absurd search,
lying at the bottom,
of a gurgling stream,
Sometimes, death is sweeter,
than is thought,
and life more futile than it may seem.

Homecoming

28th April, '09

Familiar streets, warm with knowing,
my memories infinite, secret;
my womb of struggling years,
my confidante ethereal.
Buried with stories at each curve,
buried with the knowledge of my being,
fragrant, elusive, yesterdays,
the delusive and the real.
I wait to be one with you again,
I wait for the reunion of our spirits once more,
I wait to be under your watch again,
My chaperon of unseen dreams.

Reminiscing

27th April, '09

Sunlight caught in the cobwebs of time,
shimmering, dazzling,
catches my eye,
forming infinite untraceable patterns,
lost in the infiniteness of eternity.
But somewhere suddenly,
a chord is struck,
a memory awakened,
a sliver of silver salvaged,
and history,
clear as a pool,
heavy as dew,
floats into my palms again.

Forgiveness

25th April, '09

A searing hole burning through crystal pools,
the heat of it traversing each droplet within,
deeper and deeper till it finds home,
till eventually one turns to stone,
the mind is filled with cackling din,
and insanity is all that rules.

Reason is not in sight anymore,
wrapped up in the hatred of prejudice,
coils and coils of sticky thought,
large swirling pools with presumption fraught,
I blink to see the ghastly edifice,
towering at my mind's door.

There's a snap and a clink, a tear and a blink,
and clouds start clearing one at a time,
the edifice is disappearing each minute,
crumbling into nothing bit by bit,
trickles of water clearing up the slime,
the mind stretches and begins to think.

Slowly creeps in a ray of light,
the load is less heavy, the shackles break free,
the passages are cleared to move ahead again,
there's space for two once more in this den,
a song breaks through all the cacophony,
and two minds move to a new height.

Flying in a Gas Balloon

Flying in a gas balloon-

At first, there was freshness,
of the whistling spring gale,
with it came beauty,
in the miniscule details.
The fluttering in the stomach,
of a million butterflies,
the cosiness of a shell,
the vastness of the skies,
The hope of things to come,
the confidence in the flight,
Dreams and togetherness,
the only things in sight.

Then the blurring of senses,
the timelessness of time,
the weight of extra baggage,
interfering with the climb.
Shoulders brush in discomfort,
space not enough any more,
what used to keep me cosy,
is now leaving me sore.
We threw the dreams over,
to make space for life,
Where passion overflowed once,
reason is now rife.

The gas balloon takes me higher each day,
for I know what to keep and what to throw.

Images of Fate

21st April, '09

The words have been squeezed out of my tiny, little fate,
expression has left me in the lurch again,
It's only pain, pain and more pain,
that are colouring the walls of time once more.

An ice dome with icicles, shooting upwards like trees,
sticky, slippery cauldrons of gurgling time,
a body almost formed, floating face downwards,
hands stretched out towards the greenish slime.

A war field, with scorched, black trees,
plastered with the skin of a countless men,
roots uprooted, heads in the ground,
fingers scattered, a million times ten.

Purplish grey skies, with muddy contours,
dripping down to earth with the sarcasm of the Gods,
poetry sits waiting in a runny, black hole,
around it sits pain in self-righteous clods.