Dried , my ink with the dryness of my heart
bloodless have been my veins
thus the pen moves empty
scribbling lifeless words
swiping away desires ,
the heart stranded bruised and over bruised
with thousand wounds..
No, blood can’t be infused back
I run incessantly with blemishes
Tis the invisible dagger that slits and pierces an indifferent song again dances on the thumping beats of my heart yet again, the wound stings letting the searing tears reign the start blisters, how many, how doth they vanish … by any magic balm? I swallow the flood of extremeness in a moment I hide behind my stretched smile how far, how long the deep bruise prolongs let me know O! my lord …under this dark with thy drops of twinkle I hope and hope till the last of an infinitesimal moment whence the flower will be caressed and not slit with the invisible dagger of a morning , of a dawn of an era, while I live on.
Monologues of life
a scream of silence echoes in infinite corners
what if, what if not?
burglar questions rob my heart
whilst the world moves constantly
me and my monologues sit in peace and converse quietly…
A rage inside, sometimes a storm behind,
a heartfelt emotion or endless passionate musings
how would I, how should I not?
random talks in between
me and my monologues sit hand in hand under the dark
A word of respite or phrases of delight,
a sulking feeling or share the ecstatic night
like the flowers dangling on a full moon night
me and my monologues sit and listen to each other
as companions of life
She lives nowhere neither in her own cage nor in open air homeless, shelterless she moves… seeking solace would the tranquil blue provide her some rest will the traveling clouds quench her thirst ageless, in the crowd, she gets lost her voice diminishing to nothingness where ‘s she now where is her abode in the limitless sky she searches for her unique dwell.
It was a rendezvous
a tryst with lost hidden moments
fancied through dreams and imaginations
as fingers on an vintage collection turn the pages
Few drops shed, innumerable smiles captured
the nostalgia of dusty coherence
reminded of old wiped tragedies
a cluster of flowers once bloomed
It’s autumn time now ,
The florets sing the
Can I ever express?
Can I ever say?
murmurs the inner voice
The random ruminations
words falling way apart
when the ink of life flows like the Ganges….
the arteries suffocate
what hath the social environ done
strangling wishes in the cage
flutters the bird a last time
before she forgets her own desire
how then would the heart speak
after being buried in soil nine feet deep
why then the soul screams
in silence when neither the world hears nor
Is it the solitude that echoes
and relishes the scathing pain
the lump in choked throat
or the blood of a slit vein…
the smile of the sad heart
or a laugh lame
how would the heart start
singing its own tale?
nay, it doesn’t glorify
nor intend to sermon
Tis the lonesome want of a
Ya! listen comrade
lend a moment ,close your eyes
hear my soul’s tale
as drenches the parched heart
in desirous rain!