Fight

Fight I
Oasis of dreams frozen, divided into small pieces
The pitcher of thoughts full to the brim
I walk back to my home with these prized possessions
Making the conspiracy of silence squirm and scream

A flight of words swish by - taking me by surprise
My hands shake, spilling the pitcher of thoughts all around
The frozen pieces of my dreams fall on you
Soon you will be swimming with or against the currents of my mind

Fight II
When words rule
You and I look at them perform
I wish verses could come and save us from it all
Like pasture desires drops of dew
I long for the rhythm of troubadour songs to defeat the words rolled into hard balls

I think of all those little pieces of our personal life
That decorated cafes, pubs and distant beaches of the town, once upon a time
I hear that some of them have been taken down and strewn around
And some are melting away in the heat of time

When words rule and you and I look at them perform
I lose the sense of love; I lose the sense of time

Time Machine

Before we met, I showed you my diary

And the verses we wrote together then urged us to meet

It was another time and space

I long to repeat those verses in real time this time yet again

Those were the days when verses ruled and urged us to perform

Now words rule and you and I look at them perform

Breaking Away

Washing pretensions in a washing machine
I learnt how difficult it was to maintain the sheen
Pretensions bled and coloured each other
A riot broke between treachery, excuse, shame and other such brothers

Pockets made up of guilt tore open
Buttons tangled with each other and created a din
Even as I held my ears you shot at me a volley of questions
Why couldn’t I stay pretty clad in those pretensions?

Vultures of thoughts pecked on my heart
The mere touch of their beaks tore my skin
I lay opened but refused your cloak of pretensions
In their pecking routine I find soothing music of reason

Untitled

On the ladder of silence
Pauses sleep
Wrapped in your and my dreams
Sometimes shaken by the whiff of screams

Over some sugarless coffee
We try to eavesdrop on what pauses speak
We try and embed words
But our tongues slip on the ladder of silence

Reality trapped in unrealistic walls

Thoughts simmered on the kitchen stove
Silence slept in my bed
Smiles sparkled on the black sky
On the waves of words I surfed

My world was a set of walls
Some made of pure paint, some a collage of words
Then someone told me colours could fade, words could smell bad
I lived nevertheless freed within the same walls
Dreams will carve out and fend for themselves when the bubble will burst

Nostalgic Odor

Stones in my hand
Transparent and coloured
Some merge into the lines carved on the hand
Some induce a nostalgic odor

I see my childhood in one
My adolescence in another
While treading through the halls of future
I face those memories without a shudder

Its only pleasantness I want to remember
As though coloured memories roll on only one part of my tongue
Stinging my one half with sheer sweetness
Leaving the other with an emotion unsung

Untitled

Away from the quagmire of conventions
We held hands and sketched on each others soul a delicate rhapsody
We conceived some desires
I call them ‘bohemian dreams’

No black, no white please
A mix of both though is a welcome retreat
Drenched in gleaming gray, our dreams can laugh and weep
If they cry too much, we will wrap them in cellophane paper and put them to sleep