Black Hole

 

Everytime when you fail
to see what you must see
And start to write a mail,
in a delusion to set yourself free

 

Everytime when you fail
to act the way you must act
And smother yourself into the ringed smoke trail,
relinquishing every self-established fact

 

Everytime when you fail
to stop the pain that clings your chest
And the winter dew that pale
the lips, stitching the unspoken words into unrest

 

By this time,
you must know-

 

an invincible black hole
slyly breeds your heart,
puncturing your breath
and venomously engulfing your soul

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The Art of Departing

The Art of Departing

 

Perhaps departing is an art-
sheepishly incorrigible and confrontational
for there will always be
a relationship becoming inexplicably sour
a project becoming toilsomely barren
a job becoming unapologetically gruelling
a house becoming undesirably small
a city becoming obliviously repulsive
a body becoming inevitably unresponsive

 

So much so,
that there won’t be any plausible escape,
but a departure-inopportune and abrupt
mindless and brutal-amidst
floating disappointments and uncertainties
quashing all hopes and desires
associations and promises
causing the mind to languish
in inane decisions and fiery epilogues

 

But the art of departing isn’t just an art,
rather an intimate conversation with the self-
necessitating a hiatus from the context
The palette is a discernible combination of
an astute reflection and tender words,
followed by a thoughtful action with a
tinge of patience and empathy

 

As much as it is unnatural and
de rigueur for absolution, the whole of
art of departing however lies in closing-
scars and wounds, doors and conversations
files and work, chapters and phases-
and sometimes weaving brokenness
of promises and possibilities

 

And no matter how persistent the pursuit is,
yet, there is sometimes no
consolation in the art of departing,
even in the time

And there is something I don’t know!

And there is something I don’t know!

 

And there is something that I don’t know,
Something that makes me go blue
If only I could comprehend these enigmas,
Then the wait would have never been so true

 

And there is something that I don’t know,
Why the cold outside suddenly feels so cold inside
A subtle silence pricks my heart,
Asks me to become a spectator of my own ride

 

And there is something that I don’t know,
For this is a bigger blessing to tell you
For knowing all is shutting down possibilities,
Not knowing is a token to that little hope too

My lover’s girlfriend

 

I wished long enough
to see it only as a
fallacy or a half-truth
or may be a half-lie
But it wasn’t as simple
as a usual perception and
as complex as most truths;
Just a miscalibrated
phenomenon of unsolicited
feelings and desires-
or rather everything
that sent me off
to obscure places

 

Encounters were swamped
in conversations interrupted
by surreptitious observations-
long tresses, atleast longer
than mine that fell on her
one shoulder, her wide
eyes heedfully rolling
in consonance with my
scruple syllables and
ingenuous grins springing
from her piquant phrases
followed by a flummoxing
mental shift- an elevation
past her womanly abode-
something that had
amusingly gripped me
in anxiety of everything
that a love is supposed
to be or not be;
for the mind didn’t know
well enough of what
dwelled in the heart

 

And as much as I wished
for her non-existence in
the life that I shared with
my lover, I discreetly
wished nurturing the
affinity of our unsought
encounters- probably
an offering only in
some alternate universe

Lamp post

Lamp post

 

A dark sky, a barren road
Amidst all, stands a lamp post-
quietly romancing with the sidewalk
and the tree-blossoms around,
illuminating the possibilities
of a wanderer whose closest
consorts are the moon, the trees
and the ceaseless lone walk

 

The night sky comes to a standstill,
with stars nestling in the clouds
As the wind rushes pasts my hair,
my eyes rolls back to him-
to his glittering eyes and face,
lit up with yellow light
beaming from the lamp post

 

A smile breaks up the silence,
to emanate another silence,
enamoured in timeless-ness
The lamp post stands upright,
forging timeless stories

First downpour of the season

First downpour of the season,
A lush green landscape
A biscuit half dipped in harm warm chai
Dogs seeking shelter, squirrels chasing their playmates
A road adorned with potholes
People losing patience in gridlocks
A day engulfed in picturesque motion, with
first downpour of the season

First downpour of the season,
Bracing rainy breeze ruffling with the summer heat
Children skipping schools, merrymaking
in rain drenched uniforms
People late to work, and
soaring disappointments
Home dwellers savouring pakodas, relishing
first downpour of the season

First downpour of the season,
Across the window- eyes brimming
with longing and heart with desolation
A room celebrating love
Clouds hovering the sky, banishing all the
twinkling light and
sprouting ambivalent sentiments,
Here is the
first downpour of the season

The Night without Redemption

This night comes to me again
and keeps me awake to its silence,
seizes my breath in its darkness
and unravels me to its deceit
The sky sails under false colours-
sometimes crooked starless black
clouding all the light and triggering
hollow-hearted conspiracies,
sometimes shimmering with
moon and mourning star-studded
memories shrieking in moonlight
The night is erratic, and the silence
is devious; for it buries down all
the morality and humanity,
letting it take its own course
And while some people sleep over
it; the rest become a prey to
its darkness gasping for an escape
in sleepless tears, words
or the same shattering moon
The music cannot placate this silence,
neither the sound of T.V
The silence only produces a silent
outcry pleading the early rising birds
for their chirping aubade-a hope
for light and redemption
Yet, there is something
Inescapable about this night,
about nights like these