Devil

A devil stares me at night,
Standing infront of me,
Whenever I dream of darkness,
I know it will someday grab me,
Take over my mind and body,
As I try to stay numb to sensations outside,
For they push me closer to it,
Everytime my heart bleeds,
And I become pieces of chalk,
That absorb slowly its footprints,
In dark soot and viscous slime,
I try to sleep with eyes that close sometimes,
It comes closer everyday,
Near to my feet,
More than ever,
I can feel its hands reaching up my bed,
Or is sanity slowly diminishing from my head,
Past is future,
Or is future past……

The Fisherman

There once was a fisherman that lived beyond a river that had been long dried up. The once lustrous flow of clear water that bore fishes large enough to feed families now only had stones carved by its water-round, dilapidated, slowly degenerating. The fisherman out of habit visited the river each day in a hope that water will someday start flowing through it again and feed him. He would everyday open his net, spread it neatly over the river bed and wait for the water. At the end of the day, he would again collect his massive net and with a heavy heart head back to his home. He would spend sleepless nights on his bed thinking about the next day and how lavish his breakfast, lunch and dinner would be had the river started flowing. Days passed and turned into months, months to years and years to decades when one day the fisherman didn’t have the strength to move. He became a captive of his situation, unable to even move. He could now only think about the river and all the fishes in the river and how they would be calling his name. The fisherman thinking the same closed his eyes one day to let sleep intoxicate him. He woke up the next day to find he was his younger self with muscles of that a teenager. He quickly grabbed his net and rushed towards the river. The river was flowing with water that gushed so fast even the stones were carried in the flow. The fisherman jumped with joy and hurriedly started to unfurl his net when he heard a sweet voice call his name.  Filled with awe he turned around to find a beautiful girl standing, a face he recognized from somewhere. Hello Miss, I think I have seen you somewhere, he remarked as he started to walk towards the girl leaving his net on the ground. How can you forget me, the girl said, I was your fish, the girl had remarked. The fisherman was found dead the day before. 

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

Each day

I see faces down with the work of yesterday,
The faces tired and anguished,
Dirt lay still and has made mounds on them,
Living but dealing with canyons that haven’t touched in eternities,
For One sees reflections of oneself,
Their inner beings around them as they traverse,
Tread over boulders big and small,
Life as we see and life as we believe,
Changes meaning every other second,
And every other passing of day,
For life is simple,
Simple as water dropping down a stalactite,
For years and years until it forms another similar being like themselves,
Life has meanings in times like these,
Times of everyday,
Each day…..

Crescendo…..

I see stars embedded in my palm,
For they shimmer in the night,
When the Moon is far,
And the wolves howl through the dark,
They bring me peace sometimes,
Calm down my palpitating heart,
Or burn through my skin,
Scars that stay forever,
Under the epidermis like a brand of destitution,
A tattoo of obligation, nothing to be proud of,
I try to stay true to my roots,
For they bring me cold water,
Quench my thirst and bury my lavishness,
By the fertile mud of my ancestors land,
That grows a tree inside my mind,
A tree that extends over centuries,
And bears fruits for generations,
Sometimes golden and burnt,
And yellow and red,
For I see stars and how they burn,
And I tell my self to shine like the Omega and the Alpha,
But wait and rest and sleep and recharge,
Whenever they burn through my skin,
And visit my roots more than often,
The stars of my distant crescendo…..

Silver lining

My voice echoes in darkness,
For the plethora of my nuisances play folly,
As my head and my mind stop being in sync,
To follow the unruly practice of harming itself,
I breathe and breathe through crevices made of burnt rubber,
And I indulge in sin of desires,
It’s reverberation of my methodic insignia,
The need of gasping for air,
That I see through tinted windows,
And make myself believe,
There’s a silver lining to every cloud……..

Drink

Love seems like a rainbow,
Filled with colors of the Sun,
It drips over me like it does over the others,
Slips down my shoulders when I am not looking,
Sometimes falls down my eyes over a memory that was pure,
An emotion true, an incident tragic,
It reflects the piercing, sharp parleys,
Off of my chest and into the open air,
For Love brings me life,
Reminds me that my heart is not made of stone,
And my skin that breathes slow symphonies,
Onto this canvas that I create,
Piece by piece and that changed colors with each gray of my hair,
If Love was perfect, it would be like light,
Simple, colorful, white,
But Love is not perfect,
It is the same as a falling down a waterfall,
Only to be caught by a branch thin,
That breaks off too soon,
Until someone holds on to you,
And keeps on choosing you,
As you fall together,
Infinitely, together,
Love is organic, slow, smooth like a fine whiskey,
You gotta keep on drinking…….

Real

I slowly walk towards you,
Following your footsteps,
Etched on pathways golden,
Petite, almost unnoticeable,
And follow your scent among all the unknowns,
For it takes a century of being,
To see what it is like to be a speck,
Amidst the dust that gathers on a runaway cloth,
I see you while darkness turns me upside down,
And inside out,
My fall and my rise,
My imagination almost running thin,
My ink that doesn’t spill,
They all ask one thing,
When would you be real?

Struggle

My day starts as the colossal struggle between my mind and my heart ends,
As I struggle, exerting every vein in my body,
A pain arises somewhere beneath my skin,
Gravitating through my toes and my fingertips and the little wrinkles that rest on my body,
For the day is new and the night shall be here soon,
I gather them all, my angels and my demons,
And I open my eyes,
For the day is new and the night shall be here soon……

Arms

I sleep with arms wide open,
For the air feels thin at nights,
When I am all alone on my bed,
That knows when I sleep,
When I wake up from nightmares that crawl over me,
As a realisation dawns upon me,
The bed is magnanimous for someone as timid as me,
I yearn for warmth that my sheets shall never provide,
The sound of rhythmic waves,
I turn on my speakers in nights like these,
For silence keeps me up,
And my bed pulls me down,
A crisis of the century,
An affair that must end,
Before I perish,
Or these arms through which blood still flows……

O mine….

O mine, O mine,
I wonder what it’s like to see,
To stumble down a stairway,
Of dreams, desires and all things sweet,
I cannot see the blurry eyes O mine,
Filled with clots if not ancient,
My insecurities, my helplessness and the shards of my ego O mine,
I sleep desperately over pavements,
To hear steps of strangers to sync with my heart,
But O mine, O dear mine, O sweetest mine,
They aren’t you,
For Dolus plays with my heart, my mind and my soul,
He finds happiness in sticking me with glasses sharp,
I bleed in snow,
I bleed in autumn,
And over days when the sun wakes up the little hummingbirds,
But my skin scaled, porous, heals my scars,
For new ones to grow,
I fall down the stairs, consciously,
O mine, O mine,
Can you catch me,
For just this once………….

I write….

A pain radiates from my ribs,
Slow to move, hard to touch,
The one my ghosts speak in days of my penury,
The cracks in my skin,
Ripples in my heart,
The pain usually subsides,
As Sunrises and Sunsets paint my room,
Over mountains ancient and over the clouds new,
Inches away from my bed I herewith reach for my pen,
Tuck neatly within pages of the old annals,
I sometimes write with my hands folded,
And sometimes with eyes that see beyond the stars,
For a pain that radiates sometimes through my umbra,
And onto the ink that fills my pen,
My words the lover, an affair of the century,
I write, I write, I write…..

New beginnings……

I rummage through the graveyard of dreams,
The lost desires and the will to see,
For sometimes I walk over puddles deep,
That source through my devils oh so grim,
The substances that had once belonged mine,
Determination, perseverance and that stubborn grit,
Sitting there idle gambling over the coffin of my skies,
I squat with them, shake hands and bulge them to take up their arms,
As I pick up mine,
For the world is mine and it is mine to see,
The roads traveled and the paths untrodden still,
My voices dumb and mute and unsound,
The frequencies lost in the shriek of the crowds,
For I shall shout and talk aloud,
The bastille of my insecurities shall break,
And bring back the silver in the skies,
And I shall see and see afar,
Farther than the fog and farther than the Equinox,
Till I can see thy self and say it aloud,
It was all worth it, the scars on my arms………

With this post I would like to inform you, my fellow writers of something that is really important to me. Another step towards my career. I have been selected as an inspector in the Customs and Excise Department, Government of India and will be serving the nation towards achieving a better taxation compliance and inclusion of better taxation literacy.

All of you have been really supportive to me and like an extended family that I’ve grown to know for the past 7 years since I had started blogging.

I thank you all for showing me the continued support and guiding me whenever I was lost.

This post is dedicated to all of you 😇😇😇

Thank you

First time

I see dreams wrapped in layers chocolaty,
That ooze of desires sky high,
Slowly that drops over shades of ivory,
Turns them to gold,
And brings them sunshine,
For dreams I see with eyes both open and closed,
As they bring me warmth and a little glee,
That runs across my face,
Everytime I bring them back to life,
Just like the happiness of a boy,
Riding a cycle for the first time……

Sleep

Bereft from the identity accorded to myself,
I slowly dissolve in the middle of the night,
As waves of malign sincerity infest me,
I keep my eyes shut,
And clench my wrists over the sheets drenched with my sweat,
Rarely and remotely my body derives a mind of its own,
For it behaves in manners strange to me,
I see clouds in my room,
And valleys over my head,
I slowly dissolve into an oblivion,
As something vicious pulls me down,
That doesn’t come to me in the day,
But as the day sets and moon knocks on my door,
It becomes a part of me,
Something necessary, like the saint who needs his daily whiskey,
I close my eyes and shut them with my bare hands,
Maybe sleep will make it better…………….?

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Balloon…

I see dreams wrapped in satin wraps,
Those speak of places filled with gold,
The roads where are always straight,
And speak of plenty and plenty more,
Once a while I too see,
Little packets wrapped shabbily,
Sometimes an old newspaper,
Or a filthy old bag,
They speak of insecurities and helplessness,
That birth fighters among those that have cracked heels,
Might be them that still maintain the balance,
For dreams aren’t saved for those wooden floors,
A balloon might pop once a while……

Ballad…..

I bleed of the color pink,
The rose withered and mixed with dirt,
Of sometimes that brew a sharp cacophony,
That meddles with my mind,
My body already numb,
My eyes often plays games,
My fingertips as they lose their prints,
Sensations of crisp mahogany,
The freshly cut lavender,
That blooms over the crescent of the moon,
I sometimes hear your name,
And see a mirage over the oasis you left for me,
Water made of gold,
I am always thirsty,
As I bleed of the color pink,
My clothes drenched with my nerves,
I slowly bury myself,
With sand over my nostrils,
And ask my eyes to take some rest,
I dream of you,
And your dancing ballad……

Cold Brew

My words brew a cold stillness,
In the mornings when I am sore,
As insomnia scares away my sleep,
And insecurities cripple my legs,
I drip onto parchments made of skin,
My blood, my sweat and the ink in the color of my eyes,
I find you in my kingdoms of prosperity,
As reality burns me down…….

Peace

The wind that carries in it,
The cold of the distant glacier,
That melts everytime it hears your name,
A ballad of sweet symphony,
And the Oh so petite heart of mine,
Why do you beat so more,
The wind that carries in it,
Your perfume made of gold,
It breaks the chains ancient,
Rusted and crippled with dust,
The wind brings me peace,
Just like that kiss of yours……