In the night bathed in rain
She sat with puckered lips and eyes dry,
Of the tears she shed the previous night
The night that was soaked in pain,
And her eyes had turned coral as she sat to cry
The night when the moon had shone bright;
But for the last time,
The night she had seen his face,
After he had kissed the lips of another,
Her heart stopped and lungs twisted
Seeing him like that in another’s embrace
Her throat burned and her stature trembled,
As she recalled that star-lit summer night,
When he had embraced her in his arms,
And had her heart surrendered;
The night of which she is thinking tonight,
Is no more than a vestige of the past
trapped in her mind,
But it does not matter to her tonight, for tonight she’ll breathe her last.
From this mind of mine
Let some unreality appear
A vision, hallucination, fantasy
Not of this world or some other
let it have nothing involved;
Like a negative
Of the picture of blackness
Let nothing beget
from this tortured mind of mine
Let it think nothing at all.
I could feel alone, once again
but I am not
And this time I am sure
This time I am aware of the knot
that binds us, and reminds me
That I am with you, and you with me
You are in every breath, every sigh,
In my uncontrolled rage and my demeanour polite,
I am sure now, that you are there
Everywhere I am,
You are with me,
In the light of the day
In the dark of the night,
You sit by me, walk by me
In your invisible arms I cry,
Though I know and I am sure
You are always with me
As you have always been,
just out of sight, always by me.
Words of the World
Why do you hide your thoughts
behind the veil of your state-of-the-art vocabulary?
You talk about society and secularism from the knowledge you gained in the library.
Come down here,
Amidst the men of this earth, this country, state, district, village,
Set your feet amongst these men of the world;
See how they see and what they see
The torture, deaths, debts, and rapes,
Feel the burden of falling economy on their tired and old heads,
Walk with them on the drought-stricken lands and
Share with them a-day-old rotten bread.
And when you have known how they live,
When you are aware of the truth, the society, the people
Then talk of them, write, and preach
Your ideas in their language, in their words;
And only then will your words ever have meaning,
Else they will just be passionate masterpieces, meaningless verses
About bells, ghosts, and birds;
Afterall what story is a story, or a prose, or a poem
That is full of words, but empty of yourself,
unclear to the people of the world.
I am looking for people,
To talk to,
I don’t step out every other weekend
But that does not mean I am an introvert,
Don’t assume so that I cannot,
But I fail to find people I would want to go out with.
People whom I could talk to in rhymes,
People who have a stable heart and an open mind,
People who are not chained to the bells
Not scared of their chimes.
I’m searching for people
Who are ambitious but not blind,
Who are brave at heart and though they believe in fear
Are ready to give up everything,
even themselves for their dreams,
I want to meet those dreamers, the mad hatter’s, and the insane jokers.
People who want to grasp every star in the sky,
But don’t mind if they don’t.
I am looking for people
With capability to probe a million bizarre ideas,
Yet free from influence except their own,
People who intend to grow forever
And yet never outgrow
For people who are more than what they show.
Would you come now?
It’s getting late, and the sun is about to set;
I haven’t seen you with my open eyes
I cannot remember since when,
Would you come now?
Find me, follow the light;
Claim the part in my life that you have earned.
And if you intend to
Then look up in the sky and follow the smoke,
My heart is ash now;
Find me before my eyes begin to burn.
People tell me to tell them
About the problems that I face,
The many demons that in my mind race,
But I am unsure if they will understand
If I could feel the pointlessness behind every point they make
From the people born of virgin mothers, to the ones who were burnt at stake.
Would any of them understand?
Those people who tell me to tell them
But about what should I tell them?
Which devious thoughts of mine should
I dare to share?
That I find their so called socialising like a parasite in nature,
A mutualism that sustains by feeding off each other,
Or should I tell them
That I am tired, reaching exhaustion, of the petty sarcasms,
That my ears might begin to bleed in rage,
That their exclaimations and apostrophes of “I know!”
Is infact, probably, the most stupendous act.
People tell me to tell them
But should I tell them?
That I think that what we think of each other is almost always false,
Framing and exhibiting judgements on others is not a job of ours;
It is not because we are incapable
But because we don’t know each other,
A proclamation would be either an ignorant or an innocent lie,
And I don’t see any providence in it
When we all are meant to die.