comma fullstop

Yes she spoke,
through the veils of
her wisper
as nothingness prevailed in
abundance


like a gaping ant
twice beaten
at the same joint
in recurrence
of her brave attempts


lament is not her answer
and happiness is anyway
redeemed
such is the mercy of life
where,

sweet beginnings are rewarded
happy 'endings'.

dare be the truth

ballads are often misunderstood as songs,
lake is often confused with a river
heat is dangerously described as warmth
and reality is repetitively lived as dreams

and one fine day myths are broken, only to elevate to you to a greater realm of truth~

Truth embraces you in it's monotone, where misconceptions are befriended only to be stabbed later. At first it grips you in an endermic pain, for the grief of ' living in misconceptions' is hard to part. But once you're through, truth surprises you by its sheer power. It's when ballad, lake, heat make far more sense as dreams seen with open eyes, than a long cherished fantasy.

Truth is all pervasive, for it sets no standards of good or bad. All it demands is willingness to accept and the valour to confront it. No wonder, dreams of gold is weighed down by pocketful of neighbourhood sand.

Truth is a miraculous healer, it leaves no room for a temptatious escapade. It brings in confirming clarity to steer on unsteady paths. Truth is reassuring, it brings no false promises.

Nomatter how hard it might be, truth is the only way to sail through hardships.
Truth won't conquer, it already is a winner.

warm and tender love

i was lost in the deep and darkest night
No direction, not a single hope in sight
When I saw a fire burning brightly through
The storm that raged above
In the shadows of your warm and tender love

Love doesn't need a seed to grow, it's the scent of a rose at a distance or a breeze from the adjacent river. That's precisely what this song coaxes you to believe. your world begins to change when you're in love is because you begin to see it with a new perspective.

Yes it is overrated
and most often misunderstood

A complex emotion
simply overlooked

a reason to exist,
and die at the same time

i don't claim to have understood love but like all emotions i acclaim to live it and flow by its grip.

the incomplete arc

At the horizon,
lies a smile, to shed hundred tears for,
to swizzle like wind,
tickle the golden hair,
oozing into the tiny ear

At the horizon,
lies warmth
sans the ebullient sun.
for the gleaming eyes,
know the trick
to melt an ardent heart.

At the horizon,
promises will be made,lived in every breath,
the fingers may not curl
for lips will be touched
in ballads of nestling love

At the horizon,
the wait for another day,
will be replaced by 'next minute'
spent in fables,
made of tell-tales together

At the horizon,
the sun, the wind, and the day
will see the amount of life
induced in
orange, purple, blue and green.

i see myself,
getting dissolved in time,
being churned in its uncertainity
at the same time,
pretending to revel in its brevity

through a looking glass,
time is all i have
an endowment unearned,
zoomed to the joy
of seeing another day

it's all and nothing
bred in realms of reality
making space for both
hope and lament
as the seconds trickle by

it eludes me,
the more i offer myself to chase
and refutes this,
when i cease to acknowledge
it's silent passing by

is it the cure to the wound?
or the wound itself
as i realise-it's not about the amount time in life
but
the amount of life in the time.

fear is,

waking up at the middle of night, walking past her in a tip-toed manner. Deluding the sounds emanated from the nocturnal crawlies. The fact that the disguise of a musketeer will fade any moment under the discoloured skin of darkness, hearing her groan in the backdrop.

She will be calm as a falling leave, surrendering herself to her bemusing fate and i will be the giant spectator feeling tiny as the house rodent. My world will topple and shatter mercilessly on my toes. 'What could have gone wrong?', 'i took all the measures', 'i love her the most'

i weep,
i weep more,
until i feel my wet face buried under the pillow, as the alarm clatters violently

fine dining

there are no lilacs growing in the paradise,
but the incense of a fresh scar scattered wide
the violet carves no magic in the sky
it barks and hows and sweetly cries

the grass i plod on,
grabs me by its fawn
as i breathe,
in the hollow compartments of night

i wish not to be seen
through crooked glances,
tearing every inch of my muscle
in the name of fine dining

"the stage is set sans the effigy and fire
in course of your earthly delights
oh my mate now, savour the boiling blood
while i cheer myself to grace your supper"

burnt alive

and you lay there still,
somewhere between ashes and flame
lighting the trenches,
just as i begin to love darkness

your ardent heat melts my indifference
shredding me to sweats
filling the pool with guilt
and defiance.

you grow, as i snub
and disappear when i recall
you are traced when i'm lost
and i lose you when i'm found.

you're the lamp
and the djinn
while i play the servant and the master
alternatively.