She accepted his refusal
It squeezed out all the passion from her heart
Sucked in all the life from her soul,
Now she roams zombie-like, undead
And the cold words of people don’t instil shiver in her form
The heat of jealousy doesn’t burn her gut,
Phrases of praise have lost their meaning to her
And now, she is as good as The Thinker
Who sits sculpted, contemplating a single moment
Of ache, loss, and grief
Unaware, of people, admirers and haters
She sits accepting his refusal
Like a statue of stone, in disbelief.
Find me a shade darker than the shadows
of all men, and beasts
Let me wallow in it, let all my agitated senses rest
Lend me a silence that surpasses that of the dead, and decayed
Let no voice be heard, no song be played,
Gift me the isolation that reigns over the stretches of the Thar
And let me the repose of soldiers dead in the war,
Let a bleak ambience take over my shape, and my soul
Make me a shade darker and stranger than the ghosts
Let me be forgotten as those trifle twigs that make up a sparrow’s nest
Find me a cocoon in which like an oblivious worm, I can lay myself to rest.
Lately, I have been missing you
Feeling the absence of your warmth
in this cold winter breeze,
I am apologetic
For when you were here
In the hot afternoons of the summer
I missed you out,
And I feel bad for another
Who had missed me so
long back in my youth.
Now I know your sorrow
I know that I have hurt you
But I hope you also know
That I love you like I loved the another
And still do,
And I miss both of you,
I miss my old age and my youth.
I don’t know what to tell you
If you were really listening,
What do I write if I have to, need to
Would you really read, and more than would you understand
That nothing is right in my life
All is just wrong
I feel lowest than I have ever felt
I feel more than depressed
I am lost more than I have even been
I am so detached that I can hear my heart’s din
I just want to away
I don’t want to live anymore
Wish I had the courage to die.
From the cusp of ever-growing memory,
Some words spoken and unheard
but lose their natural glare in the shade of lamps,
Words that are born yet buried, under the invisible thickness of dust,
Words that make a difference to the indifferent heart,
They are lost in the burnt smell of smoke,
Subdued by other humanly voices and artificial noises,
Words that are born ghosts,
disappear into the cosmos, and stay, Forever.
At the terrace he stood,
I saw from mine,
Amidst the wind's constant slaps
and the silence of the moon-less night,
He set up a strange contraption,
which lured towards the sight.
And by the time, by him I stood
He had set the device on a stand
with its end pointed at the sky,
Restless, and curious, I asked ' What is this that you have here? If you could tell me kind sir'
He said 'It is an invention called telescope'
Its purpose: to bring that is far right up to your nose.'
'Awww!' was all that it inspired
That wondrous invention of man,
But then again curiosity-struck
I inquired of his plan,
He said that he was there at the terrace
to have a closer glimpse of skies and its endless dark span.
Amazed again by his reply
and his urge to gauge the dark,
'Why do you do so?', I asked
with a new and restless mind
He said 'For in the darkness only can we hope to find light'
'And in the darkness only, can we all be un-blind.'
He is so within
That he is without,
His world a floating mirage.
a salty pond of doubts.
His days, coloured by dreams,
His nights, conquered by screams,
He is isolated in the crowd.
Dead, he walks amidst living,
His skin: his soul’s shroud.
He is high,
And is travelling higher on the highway,
To a place that knows no pain,
And the souls residing there,
Are all ancient, and insane.
He has been on many trips,
This one, the final voyage,
That promises to set him free,
And gift him his salvation.