Queen

Flower, perfume, stars, breeze
These are her names, no matter how I shape her
She is the Queen reigning over me

Let Me..

Let me come and put on your shoes
Let me come and took you on a journey
Let me come when you are sleeping
and make my bed by your side

Let me infuse you with my spirit
Let me dye you with fresh colors

Let me give you a new name
Let me bring you freedom

Let me make the clouds bless your home
and call your name

Let me ask the Stars to burn oudh in your room

Let me make your mood,
your breath,
your heart
take flight like a bird

Let me make the wind sweep through your bedroom
Let me dress you with the morning breeze

Now you and I are one
I have given you a new name

You are Mine

Isn't this Magical?

When you rest your head on my shoulder
I am at peace with the world
The radio plays our favourite songs
the weather is perfect
and time just seems to stop
Isn't this magical?

Why do you?

Why do you spend a lifetime staring at the mirrors of your past
busy absorbing your reflection
Listen -
Within you flow unending rivers of wisdom
You have grasped the meaning of nothingness
Even though the lucky ones in your life
lack stars in the heavens, lack shadows on the earth
they welcome any stars
that grace their devastated sky.
O, my friend, my dear friend,
turn your anguish into constellations

Fragrance of You

I kinda tripped over some of my old work and thought i did give it a home :

The soft fragrance of you
floats with the breeze,
Is tickled by the fingers of breeze.
It has set out to find my body
The soft fragrance of you
Has put chains on my feets;
It encircles my neck and wrist.
The soft fragrance of you
Lies hidden in this moment we share
It slithers through the breeze;
It has set out to find my body.

Still breathing..

When I look back at this long deserted blog, I wonder what i felt when i made those posts...

So much has happened in my life during these last years. 

I am still alive... 

the eye of my past, future

and this, my evidence:

roving through unborn Time

I shall slumber in its history

if I was, then I shall be

Meet Me..

Here, meet Me,
Artless Me

Me
Not of the book
nor of wine

Me
Not of letters
nor of numbers

Me
Not of books
nor of machines
Not of space
nor of the world

Me of doubt

I am just a negative
greater negatives, lesser men
upon me look with favor!

Farewell.. Ali.. Farewell My Bro

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

If she were far..

If she were far,
she would be a fragrance.

If she were far,
there would be long-distance call, or a letter,
or sometimes the excuse of holiday greetings,
to know how she is doing.

If she were far, she would be a dream,
   or walking thought,
   or an image which dances before the eyes
   and glitters like words through the night,
   as one turns  the pages of books.

An image for whose sake
   a life-long search through caves and rocks,
   a life-long swirl on waters and sands,
   living with a flute and acacia brambles,
   keeping guard on ramparts all night--
all would be desirable.

If she were far,  for her sake
   a voyage that lasted ten years,
   every murder committed
would be just.

Sometimes a fragrance, sometimes a dream,
or a couplet, a book of lyrics or a fable.
But she is not far,
is neither a dream nor a fragrance.
Just a little warmth  of the body,
in bed, at night.

Two

In the silence of the night

Two hands
Clutched together...
Saunter: gently caressing the wintry sand beneath their feet

Two hearts
Spoke together...
Words: softly echoing the dreams within their shrouds

Two Souls
Merged together...
Warmth: peacefully pausing the moments of their embrace

Oh Night, Joyous Night
Do not descend upon a broken note

Those days..

Vacuous days
burrow themselves a place in my heart
as if it was some empty stretch-
denying me my time
in the cavern of blissful calm
my dreams too.

Me

like a lone tree
for the sake of
embracing yellow autumn to my bosom
one after another
in passion
throw onto the earth
all the garments of my body

Yet

Forever annul is this respite of mine
this charity of dreams.

But

A day will come
that I'll forget all this
the severity of the time even
when my heart was rife with pain.
I'll be the white bench
that remains empty
so I may sit on it
and stare into the expanse
where drops of water
like some formless substance wait
to become the apparel of the wind

I owe you...

In the stillness of the dark night,
she lay alone,
sobbing on her bed,
contemplating,
how much she owed him..

This mournfulness, this restlessness
the inner convulsions, an endless island,
solitude within, body dying —
all this I owe to you.
And they were vast,these plans — ships
great walls of ivory, fine words,promises, promises.
And it would be December,
a jade horse above the water,
doubly transparent, a line in mid-air —
all this undone by the trapdoor of time
in perfect silence.
Some glass mornings
wind, the hollowed soul, a sun I can’t see —
this too I owe to you.

My Lonely Heart...

I have been guilty of clutching endlessly to memories which meekly detonate constant emotional outbursts. I tend to hold back on the enthralling emotions while I pen anything; I failed miserable while writing this:

I’m all alone;
befriend me,
says my lonely heart
and extends its hands
toward you.

You see its hands
and start to fear.
They are burned
to the elbows.

In such condition
who could possibly take
someone’s hand?
How could anyone
become friends?

You turn away
and begin to walk somewhere
far from my heart's abode.

Watching you withdraw
perhaps my heart itself begins to fear.
In haste it starts to follow
and calls out,
Take me with you.

Hiding its hands inside a white cloth
it calls out again.
You see it coming along
and You stop.
So does my heart.

You look at its feet
and close
your eyes.
Its toes
are covered with blisters;
the soles of its feet, its heels
bleed.

You say to my lonely heart,
You can’t come with me
without proper footwear—
canvas shoes, woolen socks.
And
You set out
on your way.

Hearing your words
My lonely heart’s eyes well up with tears.
You don’t see them.
What happens to my lonely heart
when You leave?
You don’t worry about it.
My lonely heart’s grief, how lonely it must be
without you—
leaving it behind, on our way
You have no idea at all.

You are unaware:
whenever ill befalls you
my lonely heart, like true friends,
is troubled.
Wherever You may be
it runs after you
upon its wounded feet
to save you.

Finding you nowhere
it raises
its
hands in supplication
burned to the elbows
and says a prayer
for your well-being.

Let me think..

Let me think a while...

In my life's garden, today more bleak than a wasteland,
Which branch sprang first into blossom?
Which one died first in the withering of passion?
When, in what agony, in what season,
Was it drained of its vital blood?
Who went for the jugular in the throat of the flower?

Let me think.
Give me time to think...

A Little Black Bird..

To a Dear Friend,

Thank you for the courage you give me to speak..

On the grey skies
A fluttering black sparrow
silently descended
and through some back door
came to my bed
and settled on my chest
But hearing the pounding of my broken heart,
returned to the skies!

My New Job...

I watched faces; slowly the buzz about the place became accustomed to my being. There exists a stark difference to what I have left behind; a feeling of purpose exists but an unexplained loneliness cohabits. I miss my Cubicle, I yearn for my afternoon tea, I covet the melancholy, the camaraderie, or maybe I miss being ME.

But isn’t this life...

There persists a constant struggle to move on and readjust.

We carry within us a blinding gap that aches the soul within, we try desperately to adapt to the changes.

How long? A brief time or a long tenure... I don’t know.

Its different, it’s scary...

I just watch faces.

Me...Part Deux

The one never to tread the beaten track is me
The one to take new, outlandish turns is me
Never will you understand these odd, offbeat things?
Wherever be the fire, the one to get burned is me

Enough is the little dew to make me wet;
Enough is the little flame; the one to melt is me
Enough is the little blow to make me stagger;
Enough is the little wave; the one to splash up is me
Enough is the little journey to lead me astray;
Enough is the little help; the one to recover is me
Enough is the little morning to mortify me;
Enough is the little moon; the one to pine is me
Enough is the little space for me to pass through;
Enough is the little hope; the one easy to please is me

Your little grief and the one to sob is me;
The one who cannot bear with your gloom is me

What is it like spark in your body?
The one to glitter at the tiny reflection is me
What is it like wakefulness in your blood?
A mere touch and the one to be perfumed is me
What is it like grandeur in your grace?
The one to hesitate at a trifle is me
Your lovely face is a garden of colors
What sights I capture though a winker is me

I am not a stone, immune to the season’s mood
The one to be stirred by a gentle breeze is me
If alone, it’s difficult to move a step;
With you around, the one never to be tired is me

Afraid of the thick dark night is me
The one to spread like desolation is me
Who is it that calls me from across the river?
The one to dive into the swollen river is me
If infamy is my fate, let it be so
The one never to take timorous steps is me
What do I crave more than your company?
The one to live and to die with you is me
Having told everything, have you severed the ties?
What should I say, for devoid of the gift of gab is me

The one to design varieties of pages is you;
The one to paint your choicest shades is me
The eternal, infinite Time that passes is you;
The one to halt at every sight and shade is me

Happier Thoughts..

Nostalgia has always been my source of happier thoughts & sweet memories...

The scent wafting from your body
now holds my senses captive,
warming the silent ambiance of the room.

Your cheek, moist with sweat,
brings to my mind the first showers of the
nighttime rains.

The half-burnt cigarette between your
fingers—
showing traces of your lipstick,
makes reality a twirl of smoke.

You’re silent, I’m quiet too,
while in our hearts we both debate—
if only words were not the sole recourse.

Unworthy Gift...

If I offered you my heart,
It would be dishonest of me.
It has stayed with others.
It has marks of many fingers,
Drops of happiness that flowed from lips
of others
Have left dried stains under its rim.
Still, I would give you this unworthy gift
If only I were not sure that you too,
Satiated, will return it.

Me..

I am not the light of any eyes, nor of any heart the peace or truce.
A friable object of no use, I am but a dry handful of dust.

Not at all a lyric's life-giving sense: having heard me who should act on this?
I'm a wail of ruin in the wilderness, and the voice of a blazing heart's distress.

Color from my face has long been gone, since my one true love was snatched from me.
I'm an autumn-slaughtered garden trapped in my own spring crop's stillborn loneliness.

Nor am I any soul's beloved soul, nor am I indeed any rival's rival:
I'm a fate in flight to its flailing fall; one tall flatland turned to a vale of tears.

Why would anyone chant a requiem, placing some stray florets upon this tomb?
Why would anyone shed a tear over me, a crypt of helplessness?