Sweet Little Death

Let go of the reins,
for this beloved chariot of life
is in a beautiful shamble.

a one-way trip to drink destruction
is sometimes worth it,
if you just learn to close your eyes
at the right time.

all your swirling horrors,
shall fuse and sublimate at midnight.

you would annihilate every night,
what wasn’t yours.

to create what would never be yours,
for it belongs to this world.

you are an artist,
this is how you evolve.

with sweet little deaths,
and a lifelong acrimony
to see what others refuse to.

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.

 

Interconnected Dreams

wallup.net

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

An Artist Escapes

butterfly

He lives through his sketches,
surviving on frugal meals
mostly bread and wine.

Night and Day,
are melancholic mirrors.

he keeps trespassing between them
ignoring the sense of time
creating a vortex of imaginary visions.

Countless Albino Butterflies,
bathe in his color palette.

color-soaked wings
now seek the blank canvas,

the kamikaze of hues is imminent,
for the art to strive
and the artist to escape,
the meddling reality

Mumbai

marinedrive-2

As waves wrestle playfully,
I revel like a nonchalant dreamer near the shores,
watching the sun disappear,
while the sounds of the sea,
calm its disappearance

I waited all night,
to see the golden coronation
of the bluish waters,
as the horizons brightened up
in the morning

a thousand faces,
a million visions,
now stay with me,

meanwhile the city of dreams,
sleeps somewhere.