Reawaken monologues

I'm neither the son of earth, nor of water
Fire is never my beginning, vastness never my end.
I could be the inertia you felt in city streets
The gravity that hindered your flight
The nightlife you never wished
The daylight you always ran into
In bare trees, raped in mid winter
In demolished mosques, dried debris of Muhammad
I spring, secular and unknown .
I'm the sleep in a wearied traveler's eye
The indecisive fate of Alfred Prufrock
The Irish vessel ,which emptied itself
Once upon a cold January night, seldom tampered.
Somebody would desire me in their lonely caffeine drink
While another in her ambitious swim
Across the sunflaked channel
I play executive with death ,
Instrumenting the impervious elegies
The roaring requiem at the Fall of Berlin,
The torn walls of raw towns
Where dying is a belief of life
And living, an unconstrained persuasion.
I'm the pen scholars never held
The questions they never asked
The veil forbidden from light
The comfort you felt in suicide.

Ode to silent reveries

In reveries I drew an unreal you
Imagination , surreal and misleading
Imbibed in wind, lost in another
The fading night in a faraway abstruse city
Erases ,once in delight, then in joyous leap
Circulating around the touched brightness
Offending its gleam, in a wave of psychopath.
Your imperial excuse can make way
For another democratic mistake
Clung to an average metaphor
Loved alone, and left alone
In an affirming romance, folded in lie
I admire that random disappearance
Than your elongated stay in dust and irony
You could exist alone, untouched in my dream
Amongst the conservative epithets
Where the noise of tomorrow
Meets the happening mouth of yesterday.
Only today, the cart you left untied
Went further in its silly locomotion
Convinced of the unwanted freedom.

If you knew

We never witnessed the dawn
The night was almost done in hours
Soft winds blew across the dimples
Misty morning whispers splashed
sunflakes, in dollops.
Sounds of yesterday in my city room
In a cloudy monochrome, quenched the dryness
Unrest had died, rolling in a stereotype shadow
Togetherness was but a crater in eider-dawn.
Nothing much changed, silence of night dews
Turned into a secret stillness
The aurora in your smile, stooped into forsaken buds
Intruding as always,
To the disapproval of celestial chorus.

It was complete in your incompleteness

Came the pierced mid May in penumbra
Got myself a Walt Whitman poem, and a closet of blues
Summer brightened up, in elongated solos
While slowly the day dissolved into night
And the ring would quench me,
Find me a shelter in the empty nest.
Baffled ,I drew you , in shivered strokes
Amateur words wrought in Gary Moore
Retraced in pantheism of Wye.
In that dimly lit room, my ink parade
And Gary Moore.

On evenings I would chase the snapped kites
Climbing heights, sleeving your unspoken words
Beneath my striped shirt, till it came out
Through torn corners, before my ink inched.
And when the sun slipped into darkness
My wearied legs cycled, along the boulevard
Across million slums and busy streets
Till the fourth crossing encumbered me
Beneath that neon lampshade, my ink parade
And Gary Moore.

On nights , as the friends retreat
Throwing up casual remarks, crafted flirts
Your smile lit in an unseen finesse
Made me more lonely, trapped in a leaping green
As I recounted the minutes, people around blossomed
Somebody in the night sky, somebody in unimaginable infinity
Limitless thoughts pursued through Saki, ending up in Cummings
As I lifted my eyes, the faint image lured me further
In that ill smelling alley, seeking ; My ink-parade
And Gary Moore.

Replica Inc.

I whirled my mortal remains in the quicksand
Where lips of time met in denial
Half remembered scent of a mothball
Hidden tacitly, beneath the blue top
Reeking of the perspiring green youth
On a rainy June night, when silence dripped
Between my chest and your etceteras.
Undid the hair, your freckles brushed against mine
Leaving the crystalline clip, encircling
The fecund nails, nourished into the root of the night.
Till the rupture of the plasticity, mixed into gray
Of the replicated anger, earthbound and shrouded.
Today, while the light wrapped morning
Melted my icicle, and million droplets cluttered the street
Elusive and desolate sojourn in west
Walked a mile with me , in a familiar
Rearranged laughter.

Filth reborn

Unrest lurks deep , draped in terror
Imperial wind stains the milky sunset
Impaired in that decadent vision
I caged her, in lovelorn defiance
My fingers traced sinful territories
Retreating voices of the dark
On such a moonlit night
Bathed in lunatic ambience
Valkyrie was born,
Stormed from tired centuries,
Crucified to erotic despair.

Icicle

Icicle, born in antiquity
Hanging in contemporaneity. They call it sun.
For her, its the incentive to run
Forsaking the transparency, or the myth of it
Slender, stained, angled to a stranger's rooftop
The playmate of winter grows unveiled
And on nights when the chilly foes yearned,
For my skin, embellished in frost
I would step out, impressing on;
Inciting Icicle's tears, dropping cold
Quenching the stick of fire, I tamed
Between my fingers. Whispered eclipse,
Till the drop died wet , annealed in amazement.

Flippancy

It's only easier to inherit yesterday
And let go of dual tomorrow
To dwell on the interlude
Stringed quartet of unspoken words
Unwritten but laid amongst hundred dewdrops
That autumn begot, only an easy pimple now.

And I dreamt

Today, just after a prolonged dream
Of Macchu Picchu heights, I swum across Amazon
In search of blue Peruvian skies, dry stone walls
The flora and fauna, mystery of Inca
Propelled the arms.
Polar, akin to the flock of birds above
Pushed upstream, while the silent veins froze
The raging upthrust whipped on
The bosom, impassioned and untamed
Lofty cliffs deemed formless, sight grew dim
With the wrath of the fading light
Coarse pleasure of youth turned gray
The icicle that never melts on my window shades
Unwearied in that frozen ecstasy
The solitary, yet locomotive venture
Seemed motionless,
Swallowed in quietness and beauty.

Impassioned & seasonless HER

Perfumes of Spring trill against the shadow of Fall
A sense of half knowledge wanders, sniffles, nauseates
Mystifying the unborn fruit of winter
Enfolding the child with caresses and gestures
That would only make her eyelids flutter
In silence. Carrying the kisses with the wind
Till the air precipitates love on her cheeks
With words, reels; like a halo on her visible aroma.
Neither voice nor sight were her weapons
She would play the passive act, roost with agility
Without parenthesis the luminous eyes
Poured delirious youth, untamed, drunk on turpentine.
Every new meeting would make me more ignorant
Clenching along the worm of oblivion
Her interstellar flight like a torrent of snow
Froze the cries of Macchu Picchu.