At the stars (throwback from the sea)

All that is around: music and the words

and the waves as they break upon the hull.

I am floating with the stars, on a quest to touch the moon

Sometimes the wind hurts my eyes and forever comes too soon.

 

The days are fine and nights beautiful as they get

Wind gets warm but still cold I sweat.

Wandering on the precipice, wondering where you are

And if differently we lived if we looked more at the stars.

 

Sometimes the words don’t come and sometimes they flow in a gush

Why do we keep running, what is the rush?

 

The surface is calm but the insides are in turbulence.

Still collecting the pieces in the aftermath of the storm,

Somethings don’t let go of us

For a part of us they form.

The bleeding Dahlia

Soft, sweet and blossoming

O you flower of March

Oft you announce the coming

Of winds that make the ‘lyptus arch

 

These days your reflection

Sits on the ground, gazing

At you and the sky above.

That girl, taking turns, now on

The petals, now the blue of love.

 

This evening she carries within her

The yearnings of broken self

For a touch to last a lifetime

But the sun should sometime set.

 

The sky at the edges fraying

The imam in his piety praying

She hugs herself, a trembling flower.

The love metaphor: fated to wither.

 

The faint smell of blossoms

That balm on her chest

For the heart underneath

Broken, but the spirit unbent.

 

Where you had to leave, my love

To be so far to not see this:

When the girl you did so lovingly kiss

She muses, resembles a dismal dove.

 

When my body burns in the fire of love

And your memories play those sadistic tricks

When the days are spent in longings

And in the nights, the thorns on my bed I pick.

 

How I wish you would be here

Still to hold me in embrace

Look, the wind has settled down

Maybe today it shall rain.

 

And then she settles on her feet

The first drop on her upturned palms

A smile on her face

Her love leaves no qualms.

 

But one thing must be done:

She caresses the flower,

Standing under the providential shower.

The rain seeps between her body and clothes, she shivers

Then plucks the flower and crushes the love metaphor.

She plunges into the ocean of melancholia

And in her hand bleeds  the Dahlia.

 

The word forever

I look at her sitting across

A strand of hair in her finger she swirls

“Now that we are here”, she says

“What do you expect to unfurl?”

 

Should I try to take you back in time

And surrender my body and soul.

Or should I stand my ground and again

Say that what makes you think me cold.

 

Or could we not just stay silent

Under the blanket of stars.

And let the memories play,

In our hearts, different songs.

 

Our time was good but now

It has come to pass.

Torementor? You may put me in the class.

Remember the nights spent in love fever?

Never then did I conjure up the word forever.

Roads of reminiscence.

Today when I lost myself again, I took out the letters from yester years

With a wry smile I sniffed them and once again fought with the tears

With a match in my hand, burnt them for only that made any sense

And with the fumes of love, walked alone on the roads of reminiscence.

 

Came across us and laughter roared in the sky

Took a while to accept it was really you and I.

Walked a few paces further and found myself undressing you

Had to look away for it made me wonder if you think of it too.

But the sighs made me look back again

Till the view faded and climbed a different terrain:

One where we still held hands and watched the moon,

But the parting ways, did we not both rue?

The trembling eyelids and tremulous lips

The scent of your hair and the incomplete kiss

Come in my way as insane semblance,

From the roads of reminiscence.

 

Lonesome days and nights falling across as shadows

A lot of love left, through my veins in agony coursed.

All the sense of longing from the asphalt arose

Till I learnt to weep in poetry and prose.

 

 

Skirts of heaven

The words we didn’t say

Oh they do come my way

All that’s in my heart

Should I tell you today?

 

And think of me,

Maybe

In the night at half past eleven,

When you watch the moon clinging on the

Skirts of heaven.

 

When the air was wet

Often we met.

Now I sit in the same bar

but the drink is different.

 

And think of me,

Maybe

In the night at half past eleven,

When you watch the moon clinging on the

Skirts of heaven.

 

The years pass by and the memory fades

Won’t you someday recall all the love that was made?

And think of me as the unforgiven

When you watch the moon clinging on the

Skirts of heaven.