order of the day

there are days,
I remember tossing out
of that side broken window. 
I can't recall the contents of those days.
I have gone out numerous times
to pick up those days, 
however, someone else has taken them-
maybe reused after dusting.

"now that window is mended
I want the days back in their proper place"

a spinning tale, which makes no sense

I draw a line on the sand
and see a streak of light following it
an eerie light, that is so creepy
a premonition of something
I can't see the top,
the bottom is fathomless
yet I spin it
weaving a tale out of it
yes, I'd catch a grenade for you,
but I will not keep it.
I will throw it right back at you.

"after all , destruction is what you are best at"

I write footnotes here...

by riverside I sat with closed eyes

he was reading out to me

what he uttered barely registered

his voice flowed mellifluously

that was my anchor against stillness-

a stillness which frightened me

I felt his chin touch my shoulder

I turned towards him

when I opened my eyes

I saw the invisible abundance,

smelled the intersected air between us

"feet by feet, why do we have to measure distance?

melted

broken breath, I left it
shivering on the stairs
icicles as its innards
burnt by frost
now see fire
engulfing dirt
my aorta can take it
while I bleed happiness

astral music

I nudge corners
into the centre
they resist
I persist
my hammer hits again
a column resonates
I hear astral music
in a sandbox

door frames shake
as I chisel away the concrete
I want mud walls
on which I can do finger painting

"enough space you saved for me, give it to me now"

patches in snatches

patches of sunlight
I try to gather
in my palm locking all in my fingers

I also gather beads
thread them with wires of sunlight
enclosing the warmth

those snatches of wind
(fancy those!)
I collect in my hand towel

in the upcoming days of drought
I will take all of these out
and fill my emptiness

"can anyone hold transient nostalgia?

mirror at crossroads

immense resolutions
shimmer in the cauldron
steam arises out of it

I say I want to grow young with you
never old, exploring
everything new that we can

not just each other, but beyond-
the crossroads are my destinations
intersections are yours

with my finger tips
I trace out the steam off the mirror
while you watch the effect of it on me

"are you not pleased that we are both children in that image?"

fortune tellers

I climb out of the window
in the middle of the day
to get a grip on the clouds

my gold fish has escaped
riding that yellow kite
I hover at the opening

the trees make fun of me
I could never nudge the trunks
but they allowed fortune tellers

my fortune flies in the sky
floating with that fish
I fan myself, latching the window

"I am too agitated to breathe"

ecstasies

a miniscule particle 
I drift in airlessness
almost weightless

a metaphor for what
has there to be an explanation-
I think not

ecstasies of nothingness
beats the joys of perfection
exception being love

shape is not defined
yet so welcome
giving me the freedom

to be what I like
just a shadow
take any form

as mundane as a bowl of soup,
a plate of colourful salad
even scrambled eggs

drift into space
pulled up by the stars.
or into a black hole

"fall into an abyss or disappear into a black hole, nirvana is never afar"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have you visited One Shot Wednesday? If not do it now!

baton of time

I wear my newly stitched wings,
pluck time from the sky
I nudge it towards you
you make a face as if it stinks

my shoulders itch so much
I change my gait
one of my wings slips off

the time I gave you
is melting so fast
my strength recedes along with it

when you see that
you solidify it again
ripen it and pass it back to me

my wings flutter
I fly away to my destiny
the sun might burn me
but it will also give me light

commas in the pauses

this isn't really about me
this isn't really about you
this isn't not even about the two
what is this about, you might ask
I say, this is amalgamation
of I know not what

yes, you heard that right
I never asked you to feast here
or to ogle at the pauses
or the commas as some might say

I am not going to charm you
you keep away from the graphs
I never dangled the space
I presumed it to be robust
to hold under its own steam
your pigheadedness broke into it

"when the wings fall apart, you will exist not"

rock bands rock out of my brain

I am nothing but air trapped in a vacuum

of my own making

within my brain chaos thump on the walls

creating the most beautiful ache

some rock bands may come out those

maybe I ought to market those

I lay down with the lies I tell myself

that love will help me die

I wrap everything in a scented tissue paper

and hit my head with my fists

if only it was possible to gather the crumbs

into my empty fold. if only...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I must mention here that not all that I write is autobiographical. So I wouldn't like anyone to assume as much. As I said in my blog header, I don't know from where words come, how they form and why I write. I have to. Isn't imagination a wonderful thing? For a poet?

equus asinus asinus

smoky mist blows from the greenish sky
giant scorpion falls on the marshy land
its legs pull out a weed,
the wetlands split into two
strange creatures stumble out
with unaccounted limbs,
"equus asinus asinus- homosapeons"
calls out a croaked voice
all exclaim and fall silent
scaly body of that man-animal
scares even the weirdest of those
the sky falls to embrace all
blue scales shine giving out light
"we have a mission, it says,
"to go out and spread our seeds,
make it as much as like us,
with as many permutations
and combinations as possible"
when it turns and spreads its wings,
that donkey-head on a man's torso
along with the fishy fins
doesn't surprise them any more
snaky lions, tigerish tortoises,
wolfish sparrow, turn upwards
walk into all directions
circling in, circling out
but converge under the red mist
shout as loud as they can

"equus asinus asinus, we found a leader in him"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I don't know what direction my thoughts took me but the photo made me write this.

book of myth or reality?

when i got to the book of myths,
i hesitated as i was scared to open it
my utmost fear being it might be truer
than what i had envisaged till date
still i had to open it
i loaded the camera
put on the awkward mask
with rubberised gloves
i flipped it open

a sweet smell hit my nose
almost gagging me
i saw ladders beyond the doors
within the book, which
beckoned me. i climbed down
each rung with care
yellow light surrounded me
following each of my movements
in the cold moist air

although i do feel a warmth
coming out of nowhere
a paradox in midst of snowy
hills, yellowy light dimming
fading away completely
a green aura is visible
my camera capturing it all
i see a broken glass
picking up i see my life enfolding

which had been lost in the sea
of neglected human sounds hurled
from the top of the vastness
of the sky. jealously i guard
my secret hiding the glass in my pocket
wherein i find my lost knife
which cuts deep into my palm
my blood spurts out almost pleasing me

out there in the open,
my funeral is celebrated followed by
a great feast. No wonder I smile
from my book of myths,
did I not know it would come true?
come watch all the fun
captured in my camera.
would it be too much to say
i relish the show that came out of my death?

Diving into the Wreck by Adrienne Rich inspired this post. It is a rough draft. However, that is ok with me.