Almost Funny

Almost Funny

On a frayed carpet that dresses the gallery of a hotel

In the backseat of a stolen car parked in the parking lot;

In the river over which the sunshine floats away

Or in the corner of a tiny room, that is silenced by humane scream;

And at the bottom of an empty bottle of whiskey

Or driving at a pace that is way too risky,

In the first sniff of a chemical that promises fleeting highs

And between the vacant space of a women’s spread thighs,

It is almost slightly funny, where one can find their dream.

 

Through the broken glass of an ancient window

Or beneath the crust of a lemon pie,

In a new city under an old bus stand

In the flickering glimmer of a firefly’s flight,

Or perhaps in the dizziness at the Himalayan heights;

Amidst the pucker and wrinkles of a barren field

In the last bite of a friend’s chocolate ice cream,

In the emotion of a lost one’s freckled picture,

It is almost slightly funny, where one can find their dream.

 

Sometimes in a drawers of an old cupboard

And in the glimpse of a pearl in depths of a vast sea;

In the silence of a calm and dark dawn

On the bridge to a long forgotten island

Or in the direction where the autumnal breeze fleas;

Maybe in the vortex of a western squall

Perhaps in the shape of the dancing leaves,

Or in the last page of a hidden file,

It is almost strange, where one can find their dream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Me

It feels great to be myself now,

not a son or someone’s in law,

neither a friend, nor a foe,

Nowhere to come from,

not a place to go.

My myriad faces and their scars,

the body, mind, and my soul,

It’s great to be left only with them now,

Nobody to ask a question,

and none waiting for an answer.

There is nothing to lose,

No fortune, no fame

And there is no one to blame.

Now, it’s just me

And it feels great,

It feels like god being just me.

Child & the Ghost

Child:

Who are those people dressed in black?

I have seen some of them in my neighbour’s shack.

 

Ghost:

Wake up! You child. Snap out of your dream

Un-shut your eyes and pay attention

Can you not hear the requiem?

 

Child:

The Requiem?

What on this globe is that?

 

Ghost:

Its a tune of sorrow

A song to send off the dead

The bodies with no tomorrow.

 

Child:

And what is that box of wood that I see?

Why is the earth there dug?

 

Ghost:

Coffin; it is called, carrier for those who die,

And the dug earth is where they shall lie.

 

Child:

Why do those people cry?

Where do we go, when we die?

 

Ghost:

Not far my dear!

Just somewhere between the sea and the sky

See for yourself, you are already here.

 

 

Forgotten

I look at the faces

of men and women, I once knew

 

And I see

that they have changed so much,

They seem almost new;

 

Or have I been, so long gone

that I have almost forgotten

They way they looked at me

and I at them.

 

Have I been so long attached to

myself

That I do not remember

All that I am detached to.

 

The Return

You lived your life

fought all, and everyone you could

Did everything you should;

 

Now rest your tired bones

empty your heavy soul,

And lay down your weapons

It is time to march home.

 

I know you have come a long way

miles and years from home,

And a million montages of past

with people, and alone.

 

But now you have tread enough

And there is no road, for you to follow any more,

Set the oars down

you have reached the final shore.

 

Disregard all the reveries

don’t conjure the ghosts,

Let your demons rest in peace

let your exhausted self, return back home.

 

Don’t let affection for life

precipitate in your eyes,

A gift it was you cherished

and now death complies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Man with the Telescope

Man with the Telescope
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 4ceabbd82a44dae58c912afb349470b5
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.'

 

Being Young

Being Young

She thought we were flying,

But we were drowning, my love

She didn’t know until she was out of breath,

Then she told me in my ears

She could suck my lips,

All her life and until death,

And the next night

I found her naked,

but in the bed that belonged to Seth.

Next time I knew, and she knew

We both knew that we had come,

to the place we had left behind

After all the cries, and the grind

Oh she thought we were in paradise,

And she said if possible

she could be here forever

That she would get over me, never

And then I caught her lies,

which led us to a compromise.

Next time, I decided not to go to her

Unaware, that so did she think

 We paased years exchanging blinks

And she never came to me,

And the smoke was seen, ashes not

The lips were charred,

and her eyes blinked in my thoughts

Like they used to at me,

But it does not stand a chance anymore

We are to each other, nothing but wired robots.

Now you don’t ask me

Why we did

 What we had done,

 You drink in the blue moon,

 burn in the yellow sun

 Not a mess, was in my intent

 But guess that’s what it means

 When they say ‘Being Young’

 The days of cigarettes, coffee,

 and a pack of chewing gum,

 Evenings on the streets

 and nights drowned in rum,

 I wasn’t probing to hurt anyone,

 Tell her, I was just ‘being young’.