Poetry

A half eaten apple

A dash of pensive orange

clouds the bright lovelit sky

reflecting a shade of brown

on the half eaten apple abandoned

a tinge of endearing red

that grazes your porcelain cheeks

evokes a rush of white

in my gray conscience untended

the colors we sought to paint

our pristine love, of innocence

love that lacked a mature elegance

are blinding me as I lie

in your dark beguiling embrace

and echoes of our silent dreams

whiffs of the husky whispers

touch of the longing hands

and the taste of the resounding laugh

are all forgotten as you lift the moral veil

dazzling me, my soul, making it frail.

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Poetry

Union of our solitudes

The first time I met her,
I met her eyes instead of her
and the sweating palm
that didn’t go with her charm.
Oh, how she managed to remain calm.

But as I stood among the audience,
each trapped in their worlds
with stories and histories,
and hysterics that filled the air
that they kept breathing,
I listened to the million voices
raging in my ears, each demanding attention
each pushing me a little towards the edge,
and petrified, I had stood in the crowd,
misplaced.

‘…when you think you can’t take it anymore’
she was reciting,
as if saying what I dared not speak.
But beyond the strength and the zing,
I could see in her eyes,
the makings of the same cliff.
This cliff that demands my fall,
enticing me with its heavenly call,
to take me to a place
that will be mine,
without a soul to judge,
also without anything divine.

And I knew I could have held on to her
and stayed,
but to succumb,
to lose myself by clinging to her,
meant both of us
that I would have betrayed.

It has been years and many such recitals
till she gave up and started to fade away.
But I still remember that first afternoon
after the event,
when among the dust motes,
and the sun-kissed air
smelling of spent love,
lying next to her,
I didn’t take the offered hand.

I remember how I had thought then
that it was me
who had to take the leap.
And every time,
it fills me with a pang,
a slap on my soul,
it strikes me with a bang,
if she was instead the one
who was stretching her hand
for me to pull her back.

Yearning for me
in her poetic interludes,
maybe she wanted to hold on
and I let her slip away,
if only to make sure that instead of us
our cliffs stood together,
but defeated, as they faced
the union of our towering solitudes.

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Poetry

Moving on

Blinding and brilliant, love at first sight
takes much longer to lose than you think it might.

It’s not the memories, the agony or the remorse,
what kills you is the resistance,
and the indolence,
of a languid heart that you blame,
but deep down you know it’s the brain,
that is always reluctant to indulge in refrain.

To enjoy the pleasure of hellos,
you know, one must go through parting.

But when subtle differences
take the shape of unassailable chasms,
and you see the futility of explaining,
what you feel is not what they call pain,
but is a gnawing, indifferent aching.

Sarcasm is fluid in this state of mind,
making you wince at the sound of laughter.
They say you have become silent,
while the myriad voices inside you scream –
regret and apology never go hand in hand,
or that you need bravado or courage to take a stand.

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Poetry

Drops of darkness

These drops of darkness
that you mix with your smile,
stirring the bitter coffee in the morning,
when you meet people you don’t like,
people who you keep searching,
as you stare beyond the space that fills me.

Have those drops congealed
over your skin, into black layers,
as on the tree that stands alone,
a spirit untrammeled,
in the desolate moor,
and in the emptiness that fills me.

You may stand tall,
stretching high as if forever,
but I see through the drops of darkness
in your eyes which petrify
anyone who shows interest,
for I don’t seek their love, or approval,
and I know you want me to taste the shade
of the shadow you refuse to cast on me.

But then in the moonlit night,
I see you romance
the rivers of milky white,
shining in cadence without a care,
about the the drops of darkness
that slowly fill your leaping heart,
and I wait, feeling the romance,
when tired and in pain the next morning,
the heart that you will again give to me.

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Poetry

Reminisce those moments

Reminisce
the plucked flowers,
those grains of sand
playfully suspended,
on glassy moments
and stitched together
with fibrous talks,
a patchwork life.

Reminisce
the ebony hair,
flicks of arrogance
creating flimsy meshes
on sassy moments,
and put together
with stillborn arguments,
a convoluted story.

Reminisce
the creeping smile,
a concealed bliss
among the roaring laughs,
and shreds of tears
blended together
into feisty moments,
a melancholic love.

Reminisce
the pain of glory,
a remorse debilitating
among cheers and jubilation,
and soaring ambitions
amalgamated into
an unending journey,
a mirage of age.

Reminisce
the peaceful feeling,
threads pulled
from ragged dreams,
and needles of wisdom
worked together
into the stalled moments,
a final respite.

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