Friday, 31 January 2014

In Love

Two peaks, like opposite poles of a magnet,
One which draws in hidden torments, and
The other takes away tears before it evaporates!

The guitar strings which reverberates, with it
claiming to soothe my realms with musical dreams,
Waits for an instant, I pause to hear echoes of wind!

Beyond me is a drop into oblivious densities,
Densities lined by clouds and scarcely visible trees,
My mind made the leap, before my ears are blocked by wind.

I stare in awe, I feel the drift of the stars,
The motion of the Earth, creation and deletion of galaxies,
And my body shooting forth into void space!

For once, I feel the universe holding her hands inside mine!
I grip tighter, a faint smile rises in the sky,
'For you I shall die', my whisper breaks the silence.

Friday, 24 January 2014


Duels, treacherous yet fought forever inside,
Malignant and fetid with dead thoughts,
Unburnt, reproduced at ceremonious will,
With the strange retribution of a wish which is ill,
Or a plain surge of lost words inside the mind.

The disarray of unclosed eyes and restless mind,
Often violently inflamed by countless chants,
Chants that the mind plays, over and over to chain
the untamed beast that roams in commanding liberty,
Who shreds the nerves that pursue smiles and magnify arts,
Which until now kept the beast carefully inside.

Perhaps the events began with a fusion,
A fusion of a fearsome dogma with a created cult,
Destruction of all goodness stands at paramount priority,
Put to blame are the mistake that produced guilt,
Or unaccounted traces of self doubt, both of which
Strangle the senses. They are wasted between
the sites of production and the targets of action.

Eyes turn crimson, blood clots in the brain,
The fear spreads through, colonizing whole.

Monday, 20 January 2014

Misplaced Tones

'Find what you love and let it kill you' - Charles Bukowski

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau
Courtesy : The Mag

Part I

For a second the world ceased to be restless,
Between the agonies of pasts and present
an unlikely image passed by. It was not
his music, but the silver in his strings, 
The ascent of a desirous melody, overflown,
Trapped all hopes, gave them wings, made them flow.

The master weaved his splendor upon the unlikely audience, 
The rains continued to totter, upon the stage built by
heavens and heard by Earth, the music was spread,
Between the moments, both the worlds
united in a rendezvous that lasted
merely a moment, but forever in the art
painted and glorified by the gifts of memory.

Part II

The rains never stopped, but the drops failed to carry
The glory of the master, and the art in his strings,
They fell blankly upon his face, he cherished
the memories, while his strings were going blunt.

The poignant love have crippled, the tones dismembered,
But fate shall forgive, because it were through the strings
his totems tasted cupid, his ideas met reality,
His prowess embarked its spiritual journey,
And for once his ears were filled with applause.

Shades of Velvet

Playing the game of dice is not God's hobby,
Maybe that is why whilst the shadows slither by
faith hides among the silhouette of a horrid tide.

Maybe Gods are Gods alone, not saviors,
Neither eclectic geniuses who could dismember society,
Nor revolutionaries to transform hate into fragrance of love.

There are reasons to suspect Gods have rented rooms
not between the hymns that our mouths utter,
But between the bright gold and hanging velvets.

For this, I presume the ship that slaved Africans
and the ideas that caged humanity are the same,
Myths are myths alone, always a misused term.

And by this I do not uphold the claim of a God in coffin,
But I pry on the delight that I find myself free,
Both from religion and a disorienting lifestyle.

Friday, 10 January 2014

An Ode to a lost limb

Yes, the hollowness shall spread soon,
The feats conquered will fade into myths,
In its place a thankless stick shall stand,
Never the ideal match for the sentiments
but certainly the painful choice.

The horizon remains bleak, like a sky
before the rise of an assuring Sun,
My walks shall cease, but my struggles
Shall continue till the day my eyes taste,
The dark and orange spectral awe.

Monday, 6 January 2014

The Bridge

A bridge waits for the assembly of her workers,
She hangs in the mind of the designer, who evoked
the mighty image of her, unperturbed, he sketch
the foundations with which she shall stand.

The designer waits for the nerves to transfer
his fleeting impulses onto his tensed mind,
Worried, he sips his morning coffee, confused
over the remarkable gift that he was granted with.

The words of the needy summons up into a plea,
From where they transfer it onto the designer's ears,
Their troubles shall pass, the bridge shall connect
their fears to beliefs and sorrows to smiles.

The doubts are born inside the mind, classified as
people that lives inside, the mind prohibits any
action taken against the unbridged eras, there
amidst the misery a spark ignites, a revolt begins.