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And then here we are,

At 2 in the morning,

Legs crossed over each other,

Lost in cigarette smoke and blurry lines,

The room reeks of sadness and wine,

And we’re feeding each other stories,

Of how we’d weave our next heartbreak,

This is love.

…

Another time,

We’re daisies, dancing in the sun,

With dandelion hearts on our sleeves,

Fluttering like bumblebees,

Without a care in the world,

Dancing in the rain, like no one’s watching,

They’d almost call us lovers if they see,

We’re young and reckless and free.

This too, is love.

…

Maybe we’re tourists, exploring new cities,

Walking drunk and wasted on unknown streets,

Maybe we’re rock stars,

Making music out of raindrops hitting tin roofs,

Maybe we’re poets,

Sold to the idea that our poems would change the world,

Maybe we’re friends, soulmates, partners,

Maybe we’re lovers, almost.

Loving on borrowed time!

And here I am again,

Sitting in wonder, thinking,

Of all the exuberant dreams I’ve had,

As I look at you,

Your irises, golden orbs defying the sun,

Radiating a warmth that reminds me of spring,

Which reminds me that seasons,

Are short lived..

Then again.. everything is..

So is our time..

And I need to tell you, and soon,

How my heart throbs to the beat of your name,

Like that’s the only thing that keeps it alive,

And all my poems are an ode,

That would immortalise you, my love,

And with each passing breath,

I’m praying for just enough time,

So I could write my love for you,

On the air that wraps you

And lingers around you like tulip fragrance,

Long after I’m gone,

Season after season after season.

The fallen soldier!

He rests under the lush cedar tree,

Wearing the armour of bravery,

From the cage of time, he’s finally free,

Under the canopy of stars, tonight he sleeps.

…

For long, he fought through blood and gore,

Against the times, he waged a war,

His sword has defeated many a foes,

Before his body fell to the floor.

…

And now they’ve come to say goodbye,

Friends and family and allies,

An ocean of memories comes flooding by,

Spilling and cascading from every eye.

…

The mahogany flute plays a lullaby,

As he’s laid to rest tonight,

His stories will echo through the windows of time,

His name will forever soar and shine.

A careless match

I was his home, his refuge,

Or so I believed,

Blinded to a moment, when I became,

A dig for his cavalcading vices,

A nest, harbouring his ego,

A harrowing realm, for his anger,

A distressed abode for his unabashed lust,

And when, out of arrogance and pride,

He deemed me his irrefuted property.

…

And I burnt, silent and cold,

Like a wee little matchstick,

In an odd corner, of my existence,

Igniting, if only momentarily.

The vices are now frailing,

And my light is still strong,

What are the odds?

An old wooden house,

And a careless, flaring match..

The poet in me

I took a stroll down memory lane,

Looking back upon some unamended bonds,

And a few smiling memories,

And the poet in me got to work,

To form an eidetic imagery

For the stories that lay prest,

Between the sealed lips that were once verbose.

…

The wandering poetic mind,

Finds respite for my weary skin and bones,

Beyond secluded hills,

Where the blue skies merge into orange sunsets.

…

I walk hand in hand with my inner poet,

Along the seaside, leaving footprints in the sand,

Counting and recounting the memories etched,

Like lines engraved on a conch shell.

…

And in the bonfire below a star-studded night,

I open the folded pages in my journal,

That are drenched with impending downpours,

Of the love stories that did not transpire.

…

Each story embossed in a myriad of hues,

From the subliminal autumn sunsets,

To the lush spring pastures of forget-me-not blues.

Music- language of soul

They say music transcends words,

Wouldn’t you agree?

For it leaves an everlasting mark

On eternity.

…

Bridging gaps, erasing boundaries,

Of language and society,

All you need is a beat,

And a passion for variety.

…

Music brings creation,

A surge of passion,

It lets you be the wizard,

Who pours life into emotion.

…

And music is your guide,

That’s how your stories are told,

Herein your feelings reside,

It’s the language of your soul.

Unheard story of a refugee

I come from a distant land,

Laden under the weight of sorrows,

Unbridled and threadbare,

Holding on to unknown tomorrows.

…

My land was fruitful and merry,

Ringing with joy and laughter,

Until the day it became a horrendous scene,

Of death, threats and manslaughter

….

People running amok,

Under the deluge of gunfire and blasts,

Trying not to be consumed by fear,

Until their panicky breath lasts.

…

I’ve left behind my blood and kin,

Bare-handed before I stand,

Could you overlook the colour of my skin,

Or the name of my now barren land??

…

Do not look at me with pity,

Charity or animosity,

I’m but a part of human fraternity,

And only ask for a chance to live with dignity.

Sunshine in a dark place

I find myself trapped,

As I slowly regain my sense,

And breathe in the murky stench,

Of a deserted, dingy place.

…

I lull in and out of oblivion,

As a rancour builds up within,

And try to move my limbs barely,

As I feel the blood flow ebbing.

…

I try to steady my rampant thoughts,

As I try to wriggle free of these chains,

And look past the darkness and rust,

To where the sunshine seeps in.

…

But once again, the pallor sets in,

The manacles tighten slow,

As you pull the veil,

And take away my liberating glow!

Gifting a basket of happiness

Today I’m finally free

From the agony of

My self inflicted reveries,

And the looming miseries.

…

I bundle up the love,

That till now I gave to others,

And wrap it in silver paper,

Tying a satin along the corners.

…

The endless nights I spent awake,

Orbiting with the moon,

I douse them with the fragrance of moon flowers,

That grew from my tears to full bloom.

…

Those wishing pennies that I collected,

When I fulfilled everyone’s wishes,

I save them in the rose gold silk pouch,

As they are rightfully mine to keep.

…

And my dreams, I finally wrap delicately,

With the prettiest wrapping paper,

And pile them on the top of all,

Giving them first priority.

…

I place all these pretty gifts,

Sprinkling them with pixie dust,

And gift myself a very deserving

Basket full of happiness.

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