Lost

In soul searching I am lost
There is nothing to find now…

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The leaves will fall this autumn…

The leaves will fall this autumn,
And the love shall rise

Of the fallen coarse leaves,
The pale yellow squanders the feeble green

And, a droplet shall lustre into springs,
The hateful yesterdays bludgeoned by the lusts of bloom

Those springs, ah yes, ones from the previous line
Take a leap into yonders of heaven

When the sunlight strikes a crackling mountain
It rises along to form a rainbow

From blacks to grays, from grays to white
The colors of doom fade away

Some clouds in the attic whisper a poem
The one from Rumi, and Ghalib, and Gulzaar

I pluck the rains from these clouds
The lightning plumbs a surprise

The leaves will fall this autumn
And the love shall rise

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Dreamer

I hate to run away
I hate to hold the lie

I hate what you never said
I hate when you never try

I hate why the rights never tend
I hate why the wrongs don’t say bye

I hate why the skies are too dark
I hate why the stars are too shy

I hate when the fears lead to pray
I hate why these fears never die

I hate why my eyes never bled
I hate when the seas are too dry

I hate what they always said
I hate that i am too old to cry

I hate why i can’t chase my dreams
I hate when it’s too late to try…

I am dreamer, yes I’m a dreamer!

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On this day of fog!

He sat there, near the masjid on a cot
His face crisscrossed in wrinkles
a long, patient artwork
from the 8 decades of an indifferent life

His hands tremble,
as if there are earthquakes
he hides in himself
his eyes burning with
volcanoes that went awry

There’s a broken toy in his lap,
people throw pity, some 2 rupee coins
those who need prayers flick some more
for a desire that is worth millions

The old man sits there,
the world seems hazy to him
it’s as if he’s died long ago
and everything is a Deja Vu on replay
or maybe an illusion, or an anxious thrust

Through his blind eyes,
the old man sees a bright young lad
on his father’s shoulders, the father held him tight
this boy meant the world to him

In the battered toy, he smells fresh pure blood,
it blends with gunpowder, like winds in a desert
That day he remembers clearly, death danced
on the pyre of small demonic kids, and women and men,
and the bright young lad

Who slayed the boy, he is not sure
religion, caste, creed, he doesn’t remember
he didn’t recognize the blood on their hands
they called themselves godmen though
this tune of devastation, brings back thy god,
he is pleased isn’t he, for he’s made this song

For 2 decades he sat across a temple
waiting to hear the answers
for another 2 decades, he waits here at the masjid
he seeks revenge, from whom?
the god maybe, the god whose angels are bold, brutal and black

On this day of fog, he waits to see the reason
of this chill, the numb air, and blank expressions

He waits near the masjid on a cot…
this revenge muttering, scoundrel old man

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I sing an old song…

I walk by the streets
I sing an old song
there are some merchants
who hawk their stories
some old, some freshly baked

I fall for this one
the one with mountains and rivers
there’s freshly stoked tea somewhere
the lump of ginger, I feel it in my throat
There’s a tea stall on the other side
the one where people brew their dreams

An old man pours a story
the chai wallah flavors it
I sip a few words,
I try to gulp some down

My story seems incomplete
I add some more lies, sugar coated
they blend well, the stories
but some words fall down
unknowingly, or knowingly perhaps
in my cup of tea

I call for another one
some more storms steamed in
my half-empty cup
my half-filled stories
I crush, and swing them around

As I start again,
I walk by the streets
I sing an old song.

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A night to remember…

Some stars slip away,
from the hands of a soapy sky

They make a pattern of dreams
some of them moist, some a little dry

The dreams untie some loose thoughts
the ones that almost said goodbye

The thoughts trek to the moon
and choose a place to lie

The moon wants to break free
some selfish clouds push him to a standby

The stars pull a string of winds
and the moon takes this alibi

The clouds watch him go
as he smiles towards the dark sky

The black, and the vast cold night
wants to sleep when the sun sings a lullaby

The sun is too lazy to wake up
and the night too lazy to die

As the dawn breaks, i watch the day happen
Some feelings too nude, some feelings too shy.

 

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