Rhythmic Retropection

​Come consume the silence within me,

Which makes as much noise as an incomplete task.

What doesn’t exist, exists in that

Presence of a world unknown.

Unfiltered love-

Raw and real;

Sleepless transgressions 

Devour

Cosmic sounds.

Stirrings,

Like a piano languorously 

symphonising.

A crinkled heart.

A cloth alive once on a  warm body,

lies on the

Floor… Silent, cold.

Memories rise like vapours; fragrant,

Mesmerising,

Melancholic.

Like a cessated beat 

Resuscitating.

Advertisements

Notturno

Nocturnal promises: dripping shades of memories

Versions of untasted ambrosia

Serrated sounds 

Enjambment of quickened pulse.

Fading from a,

Singed heart.

Promises were kept, not in body or mind, but in luminous knives,

Still your kindred.

Diaspora of a lover’s face 

Belonging? A colossal demand.

Ashened arbors of stillborn

Touch.

Twining, in arms, it still burns

Here 

Here

Integrally.

Once when the streams merged with rivers and drained into abysses unfathomable

I heard your name, a whisper

The glint etched in memory,

Strings cut

Luna sings silver songs.

Entranced Memories

Silent night…nights

Can they be louder with their rushing

Phantoms?

Now when he comes

It seems,

Like a memory

Waving;

Smiling, benevolent, pathetic.

His words turn languorous,

Succumbing to a reality,

Which bothers him.

So he stays, to sing her a lullaby

Every night,

In images, art and bodies.

She gets tired,

So she weeps and slumber engulfs her being.

But she wakes up to memories again;

Poised like a Grecian sculpture in a pristine space,

Embracing her through soft scratches.

The night does to her what she asks:

Opening passages to silent hills,

Where he still recites his delicate poesy, 

Asking her to wake up.

Coloured Cosmos

She was raised on white, all pervasive, predominant, disciplined white. If she made a mess, clumsy as she was, it exposed itself outrageously on her ablescent backdrop. What a pity ! She used to muse on the whites of her kins, was it impeccable? It seemed to her that it was; Or was it that theirs was of a distinct hue? She was burdened with guilt, a dark shade of grey was ingrained in her morassy white life. Bullied and betrayed by the so-called connoisseurs or bigots of whites, mocked her defiled life, her lowered spirits, her internal monologues. Brown, grey, mixed in the pool of white. 

Blue was her fortunate discovery, it empowered her, her absolute love and support was Blue ! Dark, regal, calm, composed, powerful blue. How it coloured her white, turning the grey and brown to Blue, Blue, Blue. Never leaving her side, her constant stronghold, her profound Azure! Ah ! She was ecstatic with joy and imbued with peace, no judgements, or bullying hurt her, she loved herself, she loved her Azure, and a vow of eternal kinship was made. She was free of the colourful society, living and enjoying it’s colours, but never letting it emblazon her. 

It was a certain pink in the air, with a tinge of yellow, gold, breezy blue, when Red became her secret colour, seeping deep and thick through her, pleasurable, exciting, throbbing, murderous, monumental, life changing, ambiguous Red. She lost her days and her nights, her body and her mind, and Blue was witnessing a sinful sight. Alas! It was a bewitching plight. Only blue had known, the whites of her childhood disciplinarians would at times catch a reflection of the Scarlet, the Threatening carmine, on their whites, fearing a rebellion, which was taking shape, revolution and revolt. Hers was an elusive one, satiating her, and in turn, making the fascistic autocrats fear anarchy. She laughed a drunken laugh, drunk on red, hot, sultry, smothering, seductive red. She was colourful for Red. Blue was in the backdrop, protecting the white that was left, for her well-being. She had ridden Black. Dark . Darker. Darkest. She was far away from pastel shades. Red had given her black, red took it away, it turned into a pastel pink. She was anxious, hysterical, it cannot be! Red was gradually fading, turning pink for her, although only through her vision; red was the same. 

She realised that pink is her weakness, she coloured pink so dark, that it became red again. Red was always her secret. It still lingered around her, on uncertain occasions, in dark alleyways, on revolutionary roads, in anarchy, in love, in outcasts, in Bohemians, in carnality, in secrecy, in writings, in poetry, in physicality and in depths of amour. 

She had epiphanies, she was tired, it was a wild ride, and blue was her refuge, all through this, her mentor, her pristine love.

Today, growing through all these colours and with them, she lies, envisioning the hues, that will colourise her life so unfathomably in the future, that these constant companions, white of her upbringing and red of her heart might fade into a crystalline rainbow, but blue was, is and shall be with her forever.

Nausea of the unpolitical

​

Today I shall offend you,

You, with your intellectual halos!

Holier than thou, you! With belligerence on roads, in the shanties where your mothers birthed you!

You with reds and Saffrons, your political brains and feeble conscience

Muted on apolitical deaths.

Bigoted on the same.

Be ashamed, for your soul is darkened by the political game.

Amnesia

​

They come from an ever resounding hollow,

The memories with voices.

It echoes my words, like a self talk;

Were you a dream?

I lived in that hazy daze.

Your gaze is affixed on my screen,

Your words stifled mid air, thoughts which you suppressed;

Did you love too much?

You, who were always afraid of it;

Broken shards of shuddering heart, it’s windswept fragrance emanates,

From a time within me that’s still,

Still, in the ephemeral mos we spent.

Too less.

Too less.

Longing is useless,

For a daunting you.

There are voices and odours about me, you present yourself in unexpected places;

I travel again, revive with those remnants which you bestowed,

To keep me entranced.

My flesh was enough , but I gave away more.

Now that farewell is in order;

Amnesia has its own delights.