Longest Night

It rained that night,
for the air was a sinful blend
of your pleasant smell
and the fresh petrichor.

In the sheets, we drowned for eternity,
like bare mermaids and mermen, making love
in the darkest hours to rage the calmed sea.

We forget our meaningless existences,
the two vagrant souls found a home within each other.

as I traced your curves;
your hair leaned to hide
your shyness from being naked,
as the incessant clouds
hides the modesty of the sky.

For your adorable smile,
I waited until the dawn.
the sunshine crowned your beauty
while gracing your modesty in the morning.

but you disrobed the curtains
and yourself slowly to threw away the crown
of beauty
and at that moment I knew,
It was going to be the longest night of ours.

 

Beauty

The Mirrors and the Reflections,
this fresh breeze and the sunlight,
these inanimate realities
and their oxymoronic existence
amazes the child within me.

I am not a painter,
I am just a man
with a taste for colors.

I delve into them,
till the hues whisper words
that fly like butterflies.

I am not a lepidopterist(butterfly scientist)
I am just a man
with a thirst for writing.

I collect and nurture them,
till they look like a beautiful painting
made out of unseen words.

I am not a poet,
I am just a man,
with a love for beauty.

I just let the beauty flow,
like the never-ending seas
for purposes unknown.

Poetic Illusion

Lightness descends
in my head

as a brief vision of yours
reincarnate within me

you were not just a beauty
last night,
you were a poetic illusion

an art made of small verses,
brewing sinful temptations

and I read you very slowly
like one of my own written creations.

for I have been a starving reader
all my life

and you were finally
an end to my starvation.

Interconnected Dreams

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Sometimes while sleeping
I greet the twin sisters.

Subtle faceless apparitions,
that love to giggle
while skipping the ropes to reality.

coalesced dreams, some call them,
living without an end or beginning.

in a state of drunken stupor,
set by feasting on the flesh of stars
they drive me back to the black lake
where we once buried the moon.

Effigies of time, burn on the shores,
the lake soaking its ashes.

Does the Time ever weep?
for what it has lost,
even in these interconnected dreams

an undecipherable hymn now,
colludes with my stupor
as the faceless Twin Sisters smile.

I shall remember nothing
except for their holy unison
and the figments of thread
sewing their thumbs together

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.