Immolate

I hold myself
Where it hurts me more;
I prefer the pain of now
To the pain before... 

Shards of Symphony

There has been a song in my head,
Long since we met,
And it had no lyrics of love,
Just a music underway,
I hum it when sad,
When happy I whistled it twice,
Only to find it everywhere, other day,
With people like me; without a choice

Ivory atoned in milk,
Alabaster laid in salt,
Your clothes, moonlight threaded,
Upon skin without a fault.

(I ramble of your beauty,
When nothing is to be thought about)

Remember the vase I gifted you once,
Wrinkled porcelain,
Thunder in glass,
And you kept it hidden, under your warm clothes,
Deep in the closet,
Lest no mourner of life, of eternal charm,
Plucks a fountain of flower,
To abide, this graceful tomb;
We adore and abide and anoint,
With feelings, like watered paint, like warm breathe,
Or something more forgettable.

I found pieces of it the other day,
Shards of symphony,
Scattered voices,
Gleaming, under the stairway,
Spiting neon light;
Forked tongue, poison.

You had after all,
Plucked one, a deep dark red,
It’s fragrance; my fear of all things left unsaid.

There is a reason roses have thorns,
Everything comes at a price,
Love is not a line in stone,
Sometimes its roll of a dice.

Now you tail windmills,
And I can see your feet, nestled in grass,
And your hand in your hair,
Untying my knots,
So the new wind, the new time,
Can hold you aloft
And make you feel at home
As if that can suffice your bohemian soul
That jukebox of rhythms
You shuffle to make whole.

Love to you was just a word to behold
Words to you were feelings to be sold
Feelings to you only a reason to be kind
Reasons to you were reasons to nevermind.

I shall remember, yes,
When waiting for the flowers to bloom
For a ship to set sail
From the corner of my room
That you, love,
Never cared after all
This was no poem or play
You were writing on the wall
But my life, this meagre, stuff made of snow
A candle you alighted
But forgot to blow
And now the wishes they linger
Like rats in the rain
For leftover love
Not poisoned with pain…

Intentions

Will my silence be enough
To let you know I am no more
Will you shake your head and smile
And be as you were before
Will it be my laughter that you remember
Decades later on a summer noon
Will you ask why I never came back
Or lament why I returned so soon
Will my face be what you seek
When thinking of things past
Will you forget the first day we met
Was the day that we met last
Will these hands that once were mine
Remain forever alone in memory
Will you extend yours just to share
Their shadow so I could be We
Will my words ever be able to describe
This ache that now I feel
Will you break my heart each time
You want your own to heal…

Maiden

Camouflaged in the night
Like outline of shredded trees
I walked beyond the cliff with caterpillar footsteps
Where Four Horses of Wind
Stood grazing in the grove
While the maiden with reins
Having fallen in love
With my absence, now looking up
Laughed; the sound like hooves running in her throat,
So I sat there in the center of the dying daffodils,
On the eve; as rootless and trodden as any
And listened to what the world has to say
But sadly there were far too many;
People talking about themselves, like children running circles around pillars asking: Why do silent halls echo? And closed eyes cannot see?
As if I am a mirror to be mastered by their practiced soliloquy:
No more, no more, my hollow mind; no more,
For I weep for the thistle town burning by the shore
Black windows watching the white horizon
Coming closer for an embrace
When the sun is cold in the night
While the sea shapes the souls of sand
The maiden sits beside me
And whisper
That the stars are dust from her hand
O I see now, I see
Myself on a mountain lying
Alone upon the apogee
To fall asleep with the sky
As a pillow beneath my neck
And the ocean extending her arms
For me to quietly take
Before I go, before I am gone
With the maiden of the night
Before I know that the colours of rainbow
Are seven sins of white…

Rowing Till The Riverbed

Let me fall now, no
Let me fade away instead
I am tired of being ever alone
Of being always afraid

I was a fool to grapple with the dark, you know,
A fool to light my heart on fire
A fool to eat the wounded ashes
To taste the honey of that sweet desire

I was blind with my eyes open
Blind to the water rising around my waist
Blind to see that I with my words
Was no different than the rest

So here I am now, here,
A face amongst other faces:
All fools condemned henceforth
To die; by hanging on her tresses

I should have known it, I should have
For it was no secret after all
That there was magic in her voice
And that it was a siren’s call

It was this damned dream, you see,
To be together in the end
So surreal that I forgot
It was all make-believe, a pretend

I am going now, I am gone
There are other lovers in the line
They ask me if she is a goddess
And I answer: Yes, if the Devil’s Divine…

Pigments of Pain

I listen to the clatter
Rolling coins
Gasping through cracks
Of fractured philosophy
In this modern world writ with
Make believe merchandise
Life lived through litmus paper
Chemical imbalance
Anarchy in equation
Feather dust in vacuum weighing same as the sun
Candles upon cake, wax trees,
Forest of flames, ages incinerate:
Gullible times, marzipan issues souring into
Phrases describing sunlight through trees unlike sunlight through trees
Anything but the obvious, the immutable
Sieved eyes and beetle brain
Taking over photosynthesis
Bottled chimera, disco dreams
Autumn in lungs
Coughing art; blood on canvas, dotted design
Cerise constellation simplified by
Binary prophets
Dripping tap, blocked sink, dim streetlight, ivy on the roof, dust on the doormat, average grades, loose socks, society on chemo, Syrian seizures, Africa and Ebola, avalanche on Everest,
Anthill, beehive, New York, Mumbai
Sunrise at six, Sunset at seven
Coconuts, candles and carpets for heaven
Rubber tires on tarmac
Plastic skin
LED hearts
Tears on screen
Protein pronouns, varicose verbs
Multinational menagerie of Lego world
Digitally distilled with castrated cause
Packeted products: for all flaws
Barcoded breaths
Beginners beware
This land of the dead is alive on prayer.

Synthetic Symphonies

I closed my eyes and waited
For my heart to retain its beat
And all I heard were it’s broken pieces
Saying: This. Is. It.

Anatomy of an Answer

The sound of your senses
Breaks over me
And I drink your waterfall words
With it’s torrent of charcoal images
To the last drop
So others may never know
How you, of cinnamon soul, sell poisoned dreams
Manicured with epidermal perfection
The rag doll fantasy
Of jazz love
To strangers in quiet bars;
Those people unaware of the everyday almanac
The self-help lies written on bruised pages
By every Adonis who felt
Being closer to you
Would suffice

But I watch as you walk on water
Just so to show you can
And laugh
At all those speechless spectators
Now followers of your riptide wisdom
Pledged to play their heartstrings
So you may dance upon their demise
Dressed in funeral face
And be beautiful
Like a child on Christmas
Suffocating
With joy

The wind it whistles
Swallows and sells
Your perfume; twigs of spring broken underfoot
Ashes in the air; this midnight snow,
And still figures, lifeless statues, staring in envy at
The echo of our footsteps
We walk, in discord, my toe timed to your heel
Crude judgement
Capricious
To mock the pedestal born
So frozen in time that a grey hair
Succumbs only once in a millennia

You see, I see
The lights red and yellow
Bleeding fireflies
Resting upon rooftops
In mechanical merriment
Happy at the thought of being happy
And you now know you cannot see more than you know
And thus you cry
At the anomaly of your eye
And I do not have a handkerchief
To spare
For I care no more of your other face
Or the one within
That exists only to dream
The desires
So I leave you at the crossroads
Knowing sooner or later
An Adonis shall pass
Dressed in angel dust
God forbidden

A Lifetime

If all the nights
And all the days
Of my life
Condense
In one epiphany without end
Then friend hear well
That the clock, when it strikes midnight,
Will not be pointing at twelve

The Silence Along My Spine

It is a dream I do not remember 
But remember all the same
Like those faces I desire 
Without knowing their name
As if in the grand scheme of things
Wherein a million stories unfold 
I am just a chapter 
Of a young man who grew old

These oceans which are open
These skies which are blind
These forests which aren’t silent 
These mountains sans a mind
Are mine to behold and break
To bind and to find
For the similes to be kept never similar 
And metaphors ever one of a kind

You can call my claims childish 
Or let my words make you weep
When you see the vacuum in my voice
Hover upon my lower lip
Where the broken wind balances 
Those desires and despair 
And life in its likeliest form 
Is heartbeat at the end of a hair

If only I could myself see and show 
What I have lost in my pursuit to know 
The allegories of living 
Without wanting to grow
Alas, I have my own 
Reason to bear the blame:
For to the man who shall leave no footprints 
The dust is all the same