Moving on

All the verbs have gone away
Cook, love, like, forget, forgive-
The million contradictions
To believe or not to believe
To love or not to love
To hate or not to hate
To smile or not to smile
To talk or not to talk

To move on out of this rut
We need a brand new day
Without barriers imposed:
To give birth to fantasies
That relieve even pain
All the million contradictions
Answered by wisdom
And not by rules of others

May be it would have been
Made so simple if instead
Of silence I had asked,
What you wanted from me?
The days have fled fast
Without my verbs to do
And another contradiction
That needs moving on

A Lady of Humour

She is a presence, this lady of honour and humour.

She winks at me and tells me of a prize she offered

To you, who loved me more than anything else.

But you despaired and refused in your naivete,

And tormented yourself with many imaginings

While what we needed was a sacred space.

The world has put wagers on you and me;

But she tells me of a clue in her future tense

And I cackle with laughter over what is lost. 

An era of silence

The candle had burnt for two long years

The prayers countless that passed these lips;

So many scoldings that the ears pained to,

So many thrashings that this body bore.

All without a word of encouragement

A word of love or a word of consolation,

In those days when I was playing with fire

Much against my reason or my own will.

Afterwards the days turned into darkness

The lips stopped moving for miracles

For no molehills forget a mountain,

God was buried in those four walls.

You took away with you God and song

But now it’s all water under the bridge. 

Free Bird

A free bird flies in our blue grey skies

Seeking attention from the denizens;

All ears for tales of laughter and tears

Passing around free observations

He doesn’t sit on any branch too long

For fear that his heart may sing along

The many songs that he listens to

From the maidens whom he does woo

His friend is a bluebird of the skies

Who looks out for his loving jay

Though any day he can fly away

And make his nest in happy boughs.

The blue grey skies are made worth

One of pure devotion; one of mirth. 

Historian

You are a historian because you studied events to make sense of your uneventful life. You lost your father in the travails of war and throughout your life, you searched for the codes and nodes that could offer you a clue as to what you had lost with his death.  You marked the places and went from one end of the earth to the other just to see what your father’s eyes had seen and felt. Now, when you hardly recognise faces or reality, you are a child of three score who searches for meaning out of a lost father’s found letters. 

Broken

You have found each broken piece, 
And fitted them perfectly well, 
But are you sure you've found it all?

The deities of time and space, 
The wise old ones are omniscient
Of dreams that have never breathed.

You are the best dream of all, 
One that makes me smile everyday
In spite of the chains that bind me. 

Jigsaw Puzzle

In a shutter second the world moved;

The skies crashed and you dreamt

While I went on with whatever I was

Imbibed a very precious pinned lesson.

Your dreams taste of a world abandoned

Long ago and far away, a mythical bowl

Of tears and laughter, rain and sunshine

That pulled you back once again.

You and I were part of a whole picture

Two shots taken seconds apart in a crowd

One leaning against another’s shoulder

Home and heart against each other.

There are no trysts or sweet nothings

But two philosophers meet in thoughts.

Home

Once there was a child

Who went home

With a song on his lips

So happy that others

Envied his happiness. 

Once his glance fell on

A girl who dragged her
hated home

Throughout her life

That everyday was a drag

Of feet back home. 

But she made a home

Wherever she was

Full of people to love

Talk and laugh and tease

A real home of love. 

He without knowing all

Went to make a home

In her vacant heart

Has lost his song of joy

And happiness of heart. 

Blue bird

Yesterday, I saw a child

Doing what I want to do

But cannot do and smiled

It caught a bluebird

With its tiny hand

And spoke so easily

The colour code

The colour code scheme of unity
At times the actions and words 
Never match the intentions
And sadly we can agree.

The equal codes of blue we wore
On a day that matched an aim
Always trying to prove better
Than try to work together. 

The colour code of yesterday
The colour code of today
The colour of tomorrow
Will be our shades of nature. 

Sometimes it matches dreams
Sometimes it does not.

  

Pursuit of happiness

The purple riot began
And took root slowly.

Who would've thought
Who would've known

In the rear view mirror
It looks like spring again

It's snowing every morn
And melting by evening.

The beauty that returned
The songs that don't cease

One day sitting nearby
Feeling the full purple riot

The deep desire in your eyes
That sang to me whole night

The hand that almost reached
The purple riot in your heart.

Beauty

Artemis and Athena 
Walked in these corridors; 
Until in your eyes
Aphrodite was wakened.

But all the gods are aware
Of this sea-change
That has brought nothing
But trouble and beauty.

Muse

A muse who made me smile, 
Made me cry, versify
Once again

Darkness

The Sun feels unworthy
To be the source of light; 
What ifs scream in its head.

You could fly and find a star
New, devoid of blemishes
Old scars or its reticence

Yet the Sun falls into darkness
When this daily mirroring
Doesn't happen as imagined.

Move On

You can help me get over you
I can help you get over me
May be that's what is love

Fickle

A wall was built
Between two souls
That loved well.
But if I fly out
Of this maze
Everytime
This happens
What does it
Make me?

Smile

A childhood smile
Mirrored in two faces
In a new season of love

Unreachable

The music of voice 
Once tasted
And made forbidden

Desire of the moth for the star

Night for the morn
Is that what you are?

Apology

Who am I to give you dreams and then spread snow all over them? No one would do that if they are in their right senses. But sometimes, when nothing remains sacred anymore, there is a sense that comes with breaking rules and running away from multitudes.

Now, the words themselves have lost meaning I guess from the time I last uttered them; totally meaningless chatter full of nervous laughter that doesn’t make much sense. May be the Gods are cruel because I am cruel to you; or may be they are not.

Only time is judge as to the torture that I inflict on you by giving dreams one day and spreading it with snow the next day. Words don’t mean much do they, but let me say that I am sorry for all this mess that I make everyday! 

Kingfisher