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.

 

 

On farewells: Epiphanies on sea

I am but a voyager who came on the sea undone and in the course of  months realized the beauty in the process of finding oneself in the grimmest of times. There’s a song in the sound of the waves on a starless night and there’s music in the never-ending blue expanse of the sky on a still afternoon. There’s poetry in the tranquil sheen of molten glass over the Mediterranean and stories floating over the mighty Atlantic. Just like the sea, the human consciousness is a million fathoms deep and our life is an amalgam of peace and chaos, but the luminescence within us remains the same as ever, once we have found it. It could only grow wilder and denser with every burn that you get. Remember that evening when the raindrops hang in the air like a blanket of mist but the sunshine still seeps through, falling warm upon your skin.

It has been a long summer and the sea has been kind to me. She has led me from my most convoluted spasms of doubts mounting towards insanity to the day when I stand with the wind on my face, illumined from within with the realization that strongest of passions and the wildest of loves may very well be ephemeral beauties, that certain things are better meant to be breathing only in memories and that more than a journey, life is a process, the process of understanding the poetry of it all.