Shooting away the night-
with fiery tongues, angry words-
bits and bits of truth on a precipice.
Mocking the stars-
Sad with the memories made-
a sigh of longing, louder than a whisper
Flying close to heaven,
with a hunger insatiable by the cherry and merry.
They watch the stars dance in a drunken stupor
Is it that the sun sets late nowadays?
or our sight fails as we squint through
half closed silhouettes, praying for days of lives.
Are we broken things-pieces of porcelain waiting to be broken further?
Awaiting reincarnation in the hands of the potter-
A time will come:
You’ll be scared of your own shadow,
You’ll seek your kin
akin the ruckus
and clashes of your soul:
seeking atonement for your sins,
BUT there will no time to retrieve your words.
A time will come:
When you’ll have to choose your inclinations,
your fights, and feasts.
A time when…
Crowns are meant for royalty-
not for dogs and swines,
Crowns speak the language of loyalty-
not gibberish utterances and obscenity,
Crowns demand contrition-
bowing down to the deity
and drinking from the chalices of mystery
Lay prostrate before crowns,
YE mortal man-
immerse yourself in the memories of pharaohs,
the teachings of the scribes,
and the written scripts.
It is 6.45 PM.
I sit right at the edge of the lake and let myself synch in with the feel of the moment. Something happens to me any time I find my way to a large body mass. More like a sober trance. Its my second day here in…
The sky is drab
A shade of ashes:
dotted with speckles of black-
a weary shade of dark,
inter-twined with dying threads of white
I gaze at the lazy raindrops,
pelting the asphalt:
A symphony of passing time,
A hazy rhythm of life-
ebbing out with every…
A walk on beaten paths, wading through
bushes of uncombed thoughts,
tongue on the cheek,
rolling eyes from the camera flashes
and flashes of stale memories
screaming shades of neon,
glamour of decomposing trash
of the moral fabric;
like they said-lost souls.
But are we really lost?
Talk of toiling fallow lands
Stretches and stretches of meadows
Praying for stoned minds,
Let’s dance with the ghosts of yesterday,
Precipitation of our charred memories
Sired with the milk of the firstborns
And sealed with kisses of angels
Where bellies full of untold misery
Churn deep threads…
We find love in the oddest of places.
At times it is offered in a crucible
or balanced on a precipice-daring for the fall.
Other times love shouts a hello in our…
So many whys than how(s)
They said this paper is my ticket,
My ticket from poverty,
A hallway to victory;
An expressway to Canaan-
the land of manna, flowing with milk and honey
They say this vote:
This vote is my arsenal, shield and sword,
The magic key to the wonderland on my backyard
The wonderland with no…