4 AM

That villain of an hour where

Sleep and woken mess transgress

Where minds are naked parading 

Pasts are being exhaled in every breath

While present glides over ignored

And the clock hands are so loud

Your egotistical thoughts equal the sound

This villain of an hour where

spirit has the strength to be a vigilante

Bodies pierce and breaths shared

The answers are beyond honest

Brutal remain the questions 

White noise seeps in and walls collide

Calls hesitantly made and drowned

4 AM, the cradle between day and night

My time and your time to meet

The only time where time trickles

The start dissolves into a rapid end

I pick up the paper and smatter the ink

Spatter always takes your shape

Why is it so? The answer is not honest!

The clock has run it's time now

My head swings towards the ground

Drooping eyes, flashes of memories

The day becomes one, good and bad

I realize in my faintest of senses

This villain of an hour is the reason

I turn into a protagonist.

Ring of Latent Fire

Every precarious moment I indulge myself
Thinking of your presence or the lack of it
I visit the mirror to gauge the staring face
I see veins clawing their way out of my forehead, begging and praying to be loose
Bursting to finally reveal you, my obsession, my self proclaimed possession
You, my deepest secret. My untold desire.

One which I shoveled my skin so deep
to hide into, one which even evisceration fails to discover, one which got so latent that it hid itself from me, one which I pretended didn't bother me, a lie which morphed to unwavering belief.

You know, I feel a cycle of forlorn calm and waves of molten chest forcing it's way out to spew.
And I speak, barely though; in squeaks of cowardice, I tell a story of my love which cannot even pronounce itself, such woebegone bravery.

This was my gift and certainly my creation
I am happy in sporadic spurts, the slopes leading down are too steep until I think,
Of your unrepentant presence in my mind
Or the lack of it.

Timbre

I wish our voices had hands

So mine could hold your timbre

With mighty strength and let it go

To reverberate in these walls

Echoing your breathless stories

And silent moans building my name

Slowly etching your face in my skin

Dripping in untold desires you term sin

Nights unravel in a spiral 

Converging towards your absence

Remoulding situations with dead ends 

Leaving behind invisible tremors

Only you and me could see

Money

Money is the paper, for which

You and I devour each other

The white knight looked at me

Labelled me as an inferior

I caught the bug and did the same

To everyone I considered brother

Trees built on our collective grave

Laughed at us producing more paper

October Wind

O mighty October wind

What are you laying down

With your gentle strokes of fragrance

What answers reside in you

Those I cannot seem to understand 

As I lay these paper crumbs

Galloping in the air, riding your strength

A deep sense of wonder takes birth

I realize, the answers will be mine

The need to run is diminished

They were born in me, are a part of me

My anxious molecules. Her face,

Ever glowing is even brighter

This moment is in my hands

I clench it tighter and then I let it go

As you whisper softly, O October wind.

Stimulus

Homes can and will change. 

Ugliness is in the heart of the beholder.

Birds and crickets have all the music.

Real bed is the earth.

Wet paint has no friends.

Marking trees leads you to civilization.

Love has infinite definitions. 

Infidelity is bred in the basement.

Prettiest smile is unachievable.

Longing is art.

Science has spoiled sex.

Lost time is made up in grave.

Empathy is slow poison and so is oxygen.

Narcissists live longer.

Thinkers are late bloomers.

Thinkers are taking pills.

Friendship is the only pure relation.

Cigarettes kill and make you smile.

Music is your lover and wife.

Women have relapse with men.

Men have no rehab from women.

Entropy is increasing in your head.

Words are slippery and opportunistic.

She is beauty and wandering.

Writing is all about the writer.

And about longing for her,

A variable of mystical properties.

Funk

I see everything today, all the minuscule details. I woke up in a funk today, for the uninitiated it's the state of mind where you're zoning out every few minutes to your own world. A world full of fantasy, dark desire and primal urges. Two bottles of summer pale ale don't wake me up anymore, neither do the ultra light nicotine sticks. Nothing brings me back to the stark and razor sharp reality and I'm afraid I love it too much. I want to write, I have a feeling I have so much to give to me. I only write for me, to douse that fire lurking beneath. If I don't swat these nest of flies buzzing around I cannot move ahead. Speaking of ahead I don't think any of us have an idea of where this train is taking us, I think we lay down the tracks when there is nowhere to go, we keep making it up and then straight into a hospital or a grave or a pile of burning wood. Some lucky ones are cognitively functional enough to say a few words and touch the loved ones. I suddenly am losing the train of my thought, these days the sink holes keep coming and I dive in them. I need something beautiful or maybe someone exquisite, where are you? Come find me.

Truthspotting

All the truths walked on valiantly

Marching on the staged fires of time

Watching and dreaming, the lies die

Survivor's guilt ran like a cancer

Through their ancient fragile veins

They took a vow of celibacy 

Left the stage, a path to retreat

Rechristened to cliches, a few

Rest morphed to white lies

Resting on the tip of tongue

In the trenches of black hearts

These bloody desolate words

Sadist in the nature, they relish

Me not able to regurgitate them

She remains an unknown observer

Indifferent to the better man

Truths harbor a strong will

They force you to lie in guise

You will find them though

In a man with a mask

In the smudged letters

In the books with heart

In her dilated pupils

In the vulnerable words

When making love

In the drunken slurs

Truths, our roots of conscience

Immortal, they acquire an arrogance

Scarred, I can't take my eyes off of them

Elusive, I can't catch them

Lurking they are, look around

Eternal cliches of our emotions.

Always

Immerse yourself in my intoxication and while you are drinking me drop by drop, open yourself a little. An acquired taste, an unsettling experience, that familiar feeling of you stumbling upon a dark truth and your heart being swallowed whole.  Is that as per your expectations?

 

I hope not when one like me has practiced enough and spent their entire life belittling themselves to morph into an undercurrent. Let me stay latent in your veins and remember we tried our best. Years will pass as per their purpose and we will thrive on this road towards home. Do not waste a single breath looking for that connection because I'm here.

 

Always. 

All the Children, All Insane.

Wondering who picked the color of grey streets

We walked infinitely, submerged inwards

Generations back, they called us poor thinkers

We wondered and pondered and unearthed

What made the once graceful nights lethargic

They don’t grasp the full moon anymore

As we march aimless, our hands spread wildly

Some of us dancing to the vibration in train tracks

I question the sanity of the land around

Well-oiled flesh suits running amok

Hearts so weak and the souls trapped

I show them the rising hair on the back of my neck

I’m labelled disabled, they snatch my heart away

I wasn’t careful; I let it dangle on my sleeve

My friends help me, only a few times

The night is expanding its arms tightly now

It’s quiet and I can smell her grip

My love is unspoken and buried, I try to give up

So I create a world to touch the blissful

*Jolted suddenly by this ghostly beauty

With sun in her skin so deep

Flowing red hair glistening, I almost weep

She has taken my hands softly

As she whispers feathery notes in my ear

 “You and me ? You, inexplicable lover. We’re rare.”

I stare intently with no intentions

I am lost, I am the breeze, I am the silence*

My friends are still rhythmically moving

 Now they sing too

“When the music’s over, turn out the lights”

And it’s too late, too late

So we wonder again

How to be insane

In a world so tragically sane.

Feels of Time and Me.

Are you still looking to be friends with time?

Discovering home was always in your heart?

Might be on the streets you once tasted the dust

Could be the boring toy you fiddled with

Inside her hair, hidden from your curiosity

Remember the mud pouch you found the worms in

How brutally refreshing the rain was

As I wander around the memories clueless

I see a compelling authenticity

Moments holding ages, captured in my fist

Growing up was never your forte

It was honest compulsion, a way of nature

A product of habit, bordering the extremes

Hey mother, when did you get the creases on forehead?

Father, when did we stop singing together?

Time has made me learn to not count breaths

Just feeling them is enough

Distances which help me dream and imagine

All that I could never speak

An entire world slips away from you

To arrive in a new one, absorb!

Mortality was always a gift

Takes a lifetime to grasp it

I thought solitude was the answer

But we came here to love

That will always be our purpose

Breathing in the enormity of these feelings

I don’t question the intensity anymore

Farewells will always be gut wrenching

Don’t question the human in you,

Love defines overwhelming

Let it consume you willingly

Time has a limited track for us

It is fair in an unfair way

Again I lose myself in the memories

And I discover you all

And I discover me.

Subservient

I'm not a river you can drown into,
not a stone either to help you.
I might be a speck of cloud in the sky,
bursting my veins to keep you calm.
Sometimes, when I speak the truth
Those are the days you are deaf.
Pretense will help you but not me
This universe could not accept
The idea of  'Always'.

We All Know But Don’t.

Peeping out of the cigarette stain

Ruminating its thoughtful discard

Habit wasn’t how he would define her

She was one of those infinitely long train journeys

His unfocused gaze morphing shapes in thin air

Ending up as her face

She could be anything he saw

Do you see how blind the situation is?

He could not.

Talk he could, till exhaustion

Searching the wonder which

Vanished as the start of a dream

Connections he felt, on surface

Depth was already taken

Carving the name on pages

Oddly satisfying his urges

There would be no books he would write

He won’t share her with the world

Do you see how beautiful the writing was?

He could not.

I saw him born and raised

So many moons he wasted

Devouring the words, no outlet

Brown pages to smell

Grey thoughts to paint

So he wrote her a thousand pages

He asked me kindly

“I don’t see her anywhere

You tell her, be the messenger

Tell her, I write to you”

How could I, silence is my gift

Reconcile when your dreams shift

I be the messenger?

I could not. 

Dear Time

Today, I wrapped up time in a piece of paper and threw it away. Stillness abounds, all I remember are faint words I wrote in that time. I caressed them gently with my fierce imagination. 

Today, I struck a dagger in their heart and I'm apologizing with all my might but some curtains do not go back up. No, I cannot even burn them. 

Today, I sacrificed my self and I lost respect from the abundant sky and the running water. Learning a lesson slowly but it's too isolating. 

Whom do I pursue? What do I chase? Words will not heal you and neither will I.

Today, I don't need your help as it means nothing. Don't wake me up now. I'm traveling deep and the vibrations are finally in sync now.

Today, home is nothing but scratched mortar. You thought catharsis was the end but our story is a loop of constant cliffhangers with just my own hand to support.

Today, I bid you permanence and snatch my temporary originality. I hope you grow and befriend the trees.  This day I leave and dear time, you just be.