मदहोशी

कुछ तो होगा शायद,
की बिखर के भी मैं टूटता नहीं,
है कहीं तो ज़ोर बाक़ी,
कहीं कोई कतरा शायद हार मानने को त्यार नहीं,
तुम ज़ुल्म करते हो,
मैं साँस लेता हूँ,
कमबख़्त ये दिमाग़ ही है जिसने बचा रखा,
वरना मदहोशी में ए दिल तूने तो अब तक मेरा असमान ही जलाना था…..

Consequences

I suffer from consequences of decisions,
Small or big,
Taken earlier or later or today,
For they bring a certain miscalculation,
In my course that I very comfortably set,
A dilemma I clearly face,
To easily let it pass,
Or let it ruin my day,
Months or years,
It’s funny how often I resort to a decision,
The later and usually the hardest,
Like weeping over set Sun,
And the rain that fell yesterday…..

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…..

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…….

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

Imperceptible

I slowly dwell into streets lit with amber,
That hold stories told over and over again,
Some of mine and some of yours,
The streets paved and unpaved,
Rough and smooth,

I see places filled with people,
Of times ancient, modern and new,
Hear them as they laugh and cry,
For them the time is just a day,
Age a unit of years passed,

I am fresh and old,
As I dwell into streets lit with amber,
And streets maligned with dark,
For I see beyond the stars,
The quantum of time,
Imperceptible…….

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……

A regular man

I am a regular man,
Who feels the wind on his face,
The cold soft breeze,
Hot and thorny sometimes,
For I see through small viscera,
The fabric of time,
The minuscule, timid that intimidates me sometimes,
As I lay down to relax,
On my bed, my abode,
But I am a regular man,
That sleeps sometimes through the terrible storms,
And sometimes pick up a hammer to nail the wriggling seasoned doors on my facia,
Nothing much to hide,
Not much to show,
A plaid, straight old rhythm,
Somewhat like the Beethoven’s Für Elise,
Regular, easy….

Happiness

I smile through the days and nights,
When the Sun rises slowly through the dark,
And Winds bellow loudly amongst the trees,
The fruits fall over the heads of passengers,
The water that touches feet of the unknown,

I smile through seasons and rains,
The summer makes me dance and shine,
The songs the little caprices play,
Over mountains laden with snow,
And the skies that paint with clouds,

I smile through mysteries and the uncontrollable,
For man rarely has control over them,
The twinkling of stars,
Life on a distant Moon,
Somewhere its day and the other nights,

I smile for smile is what I have,
The little creeks on my cheeks,
The wrinkles of the ages when the Sun wasn’t up,
And I slept for days weren’t kind,
The nights smelt of disappointment,
And I was never hungry,
For I know now what it means to be happy,
A bag full of sunshine and a grain of night,
A drop in the ocean and a flight amongst the planets,
It is everything and nothing at all,
A perfect oxymoron,
Isn’t happiness just a state of mind……………..

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……