It nags you, I can hear it in your voice sweetheart,
There is no love, no friendship left to salvage,
It’s just the routine trail,
Assuage your guilt till you finally turn grey.
Of course you should not feel so dear,
It was not your fault, nor mine,
We mixed vodka and wine,
The violent retching is just surely it’s kind.
How long how long oh desolation,
Will you keep me crucified,
Of course I love your embrace solitude,
I am just not sure if I will ever leave your side.
They say spring is near, winter shall wear off in sometime,
Oh seasons, my seasons, when will the boughs be filled,
Somewhere in my life, I lost change, did I ?
Where did I lose you, my wings, when will you spread out to make me fly.
Someday when you are not so sure,
If anyone in the world loves you or no,
Come back to me, my poetry and prose,
The doubt you keep shall be no more.
No I don’t love you,
I did not dream of you last night yet again,
We were not talking on the bench by the shore,
It’s something I wrote just to make you feel sad.
No I don’t love you, never had,
All those poems hundreds and all,
Were not written for you, just you,
I wrote them to win me fame, never were they in your name.
No I don’t love you, never will,
I can’t think of you, though I will,
I can’t talk to you, of you, for you, I still,
No I don’t love you, always will.
I have received three awards till date and am very thankful to two wonderful bloggers – inkmode and ladameauxfleurs who have nominated me for the same. I am sorry for being lazy enough not to give out answers and thank my patrons, but well here I am at last.
So without wasting much time,
For both the second and third award, I thank the Dostoevskian dream ladameauxfleurs.
I don’t really know a lot of people around to nominate them. So I think all the old bloggers who have not as yet updated their about page should do so.
Xmas yesterday, such a fine decor,
A Santa fable from the missionary madam,
On DD Metro with raindeer sledge,
I wished he could gift a Hindu’s son.
A hot day and long queue,
I was waiting to pay the semester fee then,
An elite college, a fine degree,
I wished there was just something I could learn.
A rainy afternoon at Bangalore’s nerve,
It was already 40 hours on the end,
A deadline met, some accolades won,
I wished if they could tell me a reason.
A wintery night, the sweet February month,
I felt as if I could command the sun,
A poison mixed, a man returned,
I wished to have died but not unloved.
I wished never for a mind razor sharp,
I wished never for a sweetheart fair and smart,
I wished never for the money, a car, cheap fun,
Just little wishes unanswered, undone.
Random evening thoughts.
Such a sweet game to play,
Always near, never reaching,
Failing to clinch a single step,
Destroying all that comes in the way.
Oh destruction you beauty,
What calm amidst the war,
What meditation, what wonder,
The third eye of Shiva my lord.
The third eye, the fire,
The rising smoke, the ash,
The art of burning,
On the pyre.
All the glib words,
All spoken, done or not,
All the world’s a deception,
All the cosmos is a lie.
I was cold the other day,
And a mustard pullover I had hid came out,
And while I shuffled to find the arms,
There lay a long strand of your brunette hair.
I took it up and tried flinging it out of the window,
It would not go,
So I tied it across my fingers in circles,
And smiled at it, it smiled back.
Slowly the warmth of holding you came,
And then your head on my shoulders,
I sat there on the garden benches,
Lost looking ahead, pointless, existant.
The cold morning came back,
The few moments we had snatched,
Away from destiny and time,
To see the beauty of being.
Such thoughts like tides of a loving mind,
Came and went and like a lullaby,
Sang me to sleep with you on my fingers,
Will I wake up to see you by ? or shall we fall off and die ?
Nights as these are difficult you see,
I twist and toss and can sleep not,
Still thinking of you and me,
Or wondering what shall we be ?
I get up from my bed, switch on the lights,
And sit at the blaring screen brazing my eyes,
I write drafts and let them lie by,
For I know nothing of what else of me will get you by ?
Thoughts they come, black nor white,
And some like wine, brilliant to age,
And some like books, yellow and pale,
And some like the autumn, that stands at our doorway.
The child stops and gulps the rolling drops,
No body plays with me, they have their alibi,
Snide remarks of those lonely lunch hours,
Alone out of the window his fixed eyes.
The loner sits wondering at every placid moon,
And they add red ones, to the already cold blue,
And name years when you know you will not be around,
When such stars and moons will be seen again, with other eyes.
Sometimes I see them, in some of these nights,
And poised with ease and unrest,
And wrestling with sleep and distress,
I think of things that have so come, and so gone, and yet stayed.