Minutes I Counted Waiting

It rained almost every night,
the darkness settled in arrays
of brisk coldness,
dissolved in the winds
which howled and shattered
glasses of silence
that followed

for you it just meant a delay,
in carrying those earthen pots
walking with bare feet,
holding the grace and modesty
though puddles of cold water,
the weathers and wonders of god
meant nothing to you,

toiling for days and years
for a future unseen,
visioned through tired puffy eyes
of yours,
the only light you believed in
were in temples that devoured
ghee.

I slept all this time,
but never told you
about the minutes I counted
and waited to hear you mother,
to put the earthen pot
now full of water,
back on its place
and to see you settle down,
next to me again

The Tea Stall Warrior

his armor, is a vest with holes,
shabby shorts with a mosaic formed
by the stains of oil,tea, ashes of cigarette and coal

a foul-smelling cloth graces his shoulders
that sweeps the dust from the tables,
coincidentally it comes from the very stars
to which he prays sometimes in night

independence day for him,
is about selling his freedom
and a dozen flags,
a free plate of jalebi,
from the nearby school,
is the only reminiscence of the place
he was once born in,

he lives inside creaking doors,
surrounded by walls
capable of collapsing
by tremors of continuous coughing,

paints his dreams
from the acrylic color box found in a dustbin,
with bare hands on newspapers,
and scrapped sheets

he has no regrets
he might never have,
for he has never seen
the sun of expectations
rise in the morning.

the moon of contentment,
is what he only cares for.

Kaleidoscope

as the dawn
proceeds to the dusk,

a thousand images
of this beautiful world,
rotate and change,
sublime visions,
evaporate,

my capillaries,
and adrenaline
burst straight up
like a heroin abuser
drowning in a pool of dreams.

for I have been summoned
to peek in this kaleidoscope,
we sometimes call life,
and I just stare.

the mirrors would shatter soon,
the music will slither in,
it would be dark and damp.

Just as I dreamt once.
that night.

Deja Vu

a multiverse existence,
where realities slip through
the hourglasses of time,

memory is a sweet drizzle,
originating from the clouds of conscience,

an atmosphere made of nostalgia,
and we are the floating planet.

the galaxies are unknown and untouched,
we bloom and wither in this cataclysm of life

but I recollect all this,
from a beautiful dream with eyes open,

so was it a deja vu?
or my hands just slipped of this typewriter.

Write Something Beautiful

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Caress the playful waves,
breathe the snowflakes of this breeze,
stroll the unseen paths carelessly,
in the dreams within your dream,

Kiss the dying horizon,
feel the sand below your feet,
embrace the horses that once rode
the beaches,
just like your old memories

Besmirch the nightmares slowly,
wake up alone in these hallowed nights,
comfort all what is left within yourself,
feel this earth again without the lights

When it all comes back to you,
and I know it will,
write something beautiful about it,
let those waiting pages finally fill.

Eclipse

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Time lapse of
sublimation of melodies,
blurred caffeinated visions,
the smell of breeze,
with a tinge of petrichor,
cold wet grass,
the bare feet,
an impulse strikes the heart,
asynchronously,
capillaries dosed
with sugary love,
eyelids popping,
drooling,
turning like red sprinkles
of kesar,
in a cold icy lake,

this never-ending dream,
defeats an unpredictable life,
or maybe we are dreaming only,
unable to see the tombstone
of reality,

waiting to wake up,
away from the monotony,
from barren heartless lands,
to ourselves,
to create,
a life destined to
eclipse these dreams.

A Fisherman’s Dream

beach

a deep abyss awaits,
with hues of blue and red above,
as the horizon devours the sun,
amidst the salt and sand,

a fisherman
melts into the stupor,
of this serenity toxified,
by smell of the exuberant waves

while the red sun,
slits the blue skies throat,
the fisherman dreams of drowning,
of kissing the waiting abyss,

of floating lifelessly,
in the ocean full of life,
he dreams to return to his friend,
to his father, to his deities,

just to be reborn again,
as a wave,
as a kraken,
as a breeze,
that never dies.