Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Rose-red voices lie intertwined
in the dew of this summer bed
dark constellations burn forth 
where my wings graze your soft grass.

We met at the corner of the dusty road, 
past the last lonely house in the village,
under the gaze of the gulmohar burning with envy,
we drank deep of that well together
the sweet waters of Now trickled down
and slaked that infinite thirst.

Music lies in torrents surrounding us
separating us,
drawing us in sharp ecstasies
and dashing against the rocks our sense of self.

Now someone turns a light on in the distance
now we step back and take stock of the prosaic landscape
now we breathe and collect our papers in a neat bundle
but now again we chose to plunge and forget. 


Sunday, September 08, 2013

I woke up to the brisk bite of snow on a late summer morning
I could see the cold breath of long gone winter fog up the window
and the leafless pine scrape hopefully
at the threshold of my past.
As the day wore on
the ghosts of the present visited me
as fleeting visions of a bridge
that the wind teased out of the surface of a shy, yet clearly aroused lake.
The parallel universe,
whose laws seem natural only to me,
speaks to me in faux nonchalance
knowing that one of these days
I'll follow his voice
and take that step into the slipstream.
For now, I sit up this night
waiting for the seductress future
to steal up on me.

Tuesday, September 03, 2013

A parable of half starts and full stops.

Period.
The end of an era when I stepped out into the rain.
Turned up the collars to the wind,
and turned a corner off the road of momentous occasions.
This alley had two dumpsters
one filled with forgotten plans and stratagems
the other with unnecessary regrets.
I closed my eyes and there the sun smiled through the slats.
Period.
The rounded edges were frayed in the most intricate manner.
What once was claustrophobic now abounded in infinite possibility,
and I pulled back the curtains further, and raised the blinds higher,
till the council of trees filled my vision
and my mind with the voices of a thousand whispering leaves.
Period.