Blue Love

She brings sadness, my love,
And the grief of broken flowers
When I see her in the blueness of the morning moon,
She sends her kiss like the cool waft of the southern breeze
I fly into her sadness, drown in her tears, her fears
With the bleeding wings of an unfettered blackbird,
And without apprehension or providence, I get blued
I taste my salty tears and her palpable love
We are two in this world,
But one in a world beyond the realms of eternity..

Providence and The Beggar

Providence, (lonely as he was) was walking down the urban streets. There was smoke in the air and the moribund humming of vehicles along the city carriageways. The city was bustling with activity. People on their way to work. No time to look and stop. Man eats man in this rat race. The sweet vendor sold his sweets. The naked urchins would try to steal sweets from the vendor. There was a man selling lockets. There were fruit sellers selling fruits, wine-makers selling the blood of the earth and prostitutes selling their bodies. And suddenly, he found himself face to face with this man bent double and with deep, dark eyes. He held a crooked stick and a rusty old bowl. He was a beggar. He did not speak. He just held out his hand to ask for alms. Providence had no sympathy, and so he asked, “What is it that you want old man?” And the beggar again just held out his palm.

He had nothing to sell. He had nowhere to go.
Providence smiled and put in two pennies.

Providence and The Temple

It was one of those evenings again. The weather was stormy and the clouds looked threatening. A cool wind blew from the west and carried little drops of water which touched your face like the cold hands of your amorous lover. Providence, (lonely as he was) walked about the streets wondering what to do. He needed Peace. And where else to find it, but in a temple? The cold marble on the burning feet, the sound of the bell and the sweet fragrance of flowers. Providence walked pensively along the grey streets as the west wind ruffled his hair like the pages of a book. And he finally reached his august destination. As he climbed up the steps of the temple, he suddenly stopped. He looked up to the sky, and almost in reply it started to rain. He sighted a peacock dancing in the distance. He felt the drops of the cold rain trickle down to the edge of his mouth across his face and hair.

He had found Peace. He did not enter.

Providence and Silence

He was a lonely fellow. When you come across the word lonely, generally the mental picture one paints of it is this loser with drooping shoulders and watery eyes. He was not one of them. Our man, (let’s call him Providence) had long hair and dark circles under his eyes. Providence had many friends. But in this world of myriad emotions, he was still lonely. Solitude. What made him like it? Maybe he liked Silence. Silence was eloquent to him. Silence took him wherever he wanted in the unfathomable depths of his mind. He and Silence would hold arms together and walk across the open sea. They even went to the moon. His deepest emotions, his hopes, dreams and aspirations he shared only with Silence.

And one day, as he walked, lonely as he was, across a street, he came across this girl. She had love in her eyes and flowers in her tantalizing hair. And he stopped to talk to her. He stopped to pour his heart to her.

And the Silence was broken.

Sepulchral

I stepped out of the green portals with a pensive mind and a calm soul. I looked up to the sky painted in the red of the dull evening as my feet touched the sodden ground. And as if to greet my human presence, the evening birds flew across the spectrum of the twilight with the semblance of the motion of the Artist’s brush on the canvas. I walked on. Shadows lengthened as the delicious sun annotated its evanescence. I gazed across the grounds to look at children playing their careless games. Not a worry in the world. Freedom. Peace. And as night fell, the silvery clouds and delirious roosting of the gasconading crows heralded the Night. The clouds were like the silhouttes of uncelebrated strangers across the saturnine blanket of black. Majestic and tantalising in its own eldritch way. And far away in the country, the lonely brook would still ebb and flow and lap at dark deserted banks. An abandoned boat. A lost purpose. Sepulchral.

Words

Words are like soft messiahs,
They travel through ether,
Like bright fireflies-
In the doomed night

To a listening ear,
They are untouched, unheard
They can hurt
And heal a myriad hearts

Words are not meant to be heard,
Words are not meant to be spoken,
Words are to touch a tender heart,
Words are like soft messiahs..

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They rise like soft dunes,
On a vast desert,
Like the godhead of fate,
The dream is not lost,
The voyage is not forgotten,
And hearts not broken…

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Not a word was uttered,
No greetings exchanged,
No friendly handshake,
No hostile stares,
No stuffed up feelings,
Perfect strangers or intimate friends?

Sleep

A strange numbness grabs my feet ,
And pulls me into a whirlpool ,
Of the random , unorganised thoughts ,
In the obscure nooks of my tired mind …
I am no more a mere man ,
I am a king , the emperor ,
In the myriad world of my dreams ,
Dreams which I dream , but do not remember !

Signs of Life

A lonely ship in the vast ocean ,
No land in sight for miles and miles ,
The ship rocks on the jubiliant waves …
Heading to nowhere

The water reflects the cool moonlight ,
Creatures of the deep ,
Murmur the secrets ,
Of hidden riches

Stars in the night sky ,
Stars of heaven … or hell ?
Signs of life …
Or ominous death ?