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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When the vast sky says hello to the enormous ocean
It’s just the breeze I hear among the roars

A half-dressed sun hides beneath the clouds
I try to dress it with a half-naked orange moon

This evening seems to have lost its sheen
And the night seduces the stars into illusion


Image Credits: crazycameragal.wordpress.com

The sun-baked hopes seem to wither
I wash their face with a new song

I look up, and then down as the silence caresses me
I hear a good-bye, my shadow moves away

It’s just me and the night, as we sleep hand in hand
a cushion of the half-naked orange moon, and a blanket of dreams

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It’s Just!

It’s just I wanted to think,
Just like, I never write
It’s just that sky is so dull,
Or else the sun is too bright

It’s just I wanted to scream,
I want to start a new fight
It’s just I’m always wrong,
You think you’re always right

Image Credits: Sumner Crenshaw

Image Credits: Sumner Crenshaw

 It’s just that day never ends,
Maybe he’s late for the night
It’s just that love is so blind,
It’s never out of the sight

It’s just that white is so black,
It makes the black so white,
It’s just my thoughts are so loose,
Like broken strings of a kite

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Some Words

The trees want to whisper,
and leaves dance in the isles
The breeze trickles them
It seems they are all drunk

The road’s too long,
and the journey unknown
A gang of clouds kidnap the sun,
I’m not sure who’s the one

The moments gather here,
all of them
They hymn a lullaby,
a newborn moment falls asleep

What lyrics they were,
i don’t know
A haphazard song,
the one with me and you in it

Image Credits: fineartamerica.com

Image Credits: fineartamerica.com

The smell of dew,
still afresh
The mist of hopes,
thickened with expectations

This road seems to go nowhere,
the dreams chose to stay still
Aimless i wander,
in this world so unknown

I live by this moment,
of peace and serenity
A tear in my eye,
the taste of which is sweet

The sun pays its ransom,
the clouds let it free
Some words that i write
some words that i breathe

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