Proverbial

An unrelenting and tired walk,
Now familiar, now strange,
On the quest of what has 
Revealed to have always been
Nothing
But an ever haunting Mirage.
Yet the walk refuses to end;
Stubbornly clawing on to
That one painfully rare chance 
For the Mirage to be conjured as

The Proverbial-
Oasis in the Desert.

Edge to the Brink

From the edge of the Sea
At the brink of the Earth
A river flows backwards
On to the struggling boat
Rowing towards the Sea 
On it's desperate quest to
Leave the Earth forever,
Forgotten, murky, forlorn.
Neither the wind favours
Nor does the tide allow,
The oars row fatigued
Yet the boat remains just
Where it set out for voyage.
Would there be a freak gust;
Or a fated turn of the tide;
Or forever is it destined to 
Row in ennui yet only fail?

Pantomime

Moving daubs of pale blue
Silent, with chilled efficiency
Floating amidst stark white.
A bleeping red pulse dot
Within a box of plastic and
Snaking metal on silicon.
A clockwork box bubbling
And pumping fumes besides
A reclining cot of cold metal.
Canned and pressurized within
An aging torpedo flaking green,
Hissing oxygen, every other hour.
Needle tipped plastic veins
Dripping 'life-savers' into
Tired sluggish blood plumbing.
Struggling reluctantly to keep 
That proverbial fire going, the two
Forlorn, fatigued bellows within the chest;
For next door lives a mass of muscle
For whom is this entire pantomime,
Beating mechanical in black melancholy.
The past months have been eons,
The past week an eternity.

Blink

Draped from her dainty throat Down to her porcelain ankles In a radiant white gossamer of That exuberant Spring nimbus She stretched in the langour of A bubbling winter valley brook. Behind every blink of my vision I see her only with eyes closed. She's a vision not for the light But of fleeting moments which Live in between wakeful sight.

Luna

For a walk I headed on In search of that, of which I write many an ornate word. I chased but just its wake Of that light which shines Now mercury, now silver. I ran and yet I felt its chill It smiled from its lunar sky Morbidly indulgent of me.
There it was and then not, There again and not again.

She

I am but a wild streak, I am but a driven freak,

I am an impassioned heart, I choose my own part,

I choose my own path, Who cares, what aftermath,

I am empowered, am stronger, Am a vision, am a risk-monger,

I'll run, I'll fly, I'll dive, I will live, forget survive,

I am joy, I am sorrow, I am today, I am tomorrow,

I am calm, I am rage, I will grow, I'll forage.

I am below, heck, I am above, I am risk, damn, I am love.

Dervish

Am Awhirl within a Heady Maelstrom,
Striving eager to Plunge Deep as it is;
And Drenched, be One with the Vortex-

That is You.

Eternal

Of Walks not yet Walked,
Of Talks not yet Talked;

Of Hands not yet Held,
Of Eyes to be yet Beheld;

Of Laughter always Missed,
Of Lips yet to be Kissed;

Of Hair with which to Play,
Of a Lap in which to Lay;

Of a Smile ever so Shy,
Of a Touch ever so Sly;

Of a Voice to fall Asleep,
Of a Look haunting Deep;

Of a Body to hold Near,
Of a Soul to hold Dear;

Of Wisdom which never Expires,
Of Compassion which ever Inspires;

Of an Essence that lets freely Roam,
Of a Presence which feels like Home;

Of a Love always blooming Prime,
Of a Voyage together, beyond Time;

Eternal,
I Dream...

Memory

In a Memory fondly Imagined
Together on a Beach, We Laid

Humming Content Silent Smiles
To the Tune of the Waves' Songs,

The Sun kissed us a Dusky Farewell
The Moon hailed a Silver Embrace,

The Breeze lent a Sensuous Caress
As Eyes fathomed Eyes' inky Depths.

Breathed

The air even, seems drenched in the rain Cooling, beautiful; unrelenting, incessant The sunrise was imagined as was sunset It was all grey outside and blue in within Yearning some warmth I closed my eyes Yes, it was there to feel, but not to touch; Vision of that rising fireball on the horizon It may be from the past, but belongs to the Future imagined; destined to soon arrive.

I breathed the drenched Air; yet felt warm.

Asleep

Drop by drop it trickled-
The viscous dark of a
Tired sluggish night, and
In inky hairline whorls
Began to seep into the
Milky silver of the moon,
Slow and deliberate.
Scary it seemed yet it wasn't;
Only of a mesmerizing beauty,
Like a divine masterpiece
Hypnotically painted,
For my very eyes,
Right besides me, as I see
Your dark wavy locks slowly
Fall hauntingly over
Your tender sleeping Face.

Impassioned

Eyes inky closed moist,
Lips rosy trembling apart,
Tresses fanned out in wavy rays,
Chest arched heaving ragged,
Arms locked in tempestuous embrace,
Fingers gripped in brimming passion,
Legs entangled in boiling frenzy,
Heels dug in stubborn craze,
Hearts sounding an inflamed beat,
Breaths caught and blown deep,
Minds churning in sensuous whirls,
Consciousnesses explosively merge,
As
Existences live a cathartic release. 

I Think

I think am a poet

My verses come easier with your sunshine smile.

I think am a writer

My words ring truer when you look at me. 

I think am a painter

My colours brighten when you wake up in the mornings.

I think am a sculptor

My forms express more when I see you in lost repose.

I think am a musician

My notes sound moved when I hear your laughter twinkle.

I think am a singer

My voice soars when I just say your name.

I think am a dancer

My feet tap divine to your inner rhythm. 

I think am a preacher

My sermons find meanings in your conversations.

I think am a soothsayer

My seances find comfort in your simple presence.

I think am a gardener

My flowers bloom bright at your fragrant arrival.

I think am a carpenter

My wood shines at your soft touch.

I think am an engineer

My machines run smooth like your honey voice.

I think am an accountant

My numbers add up right on your dainty fingertips.

I think am a doctor

My stethoscope finds its beats from your generous heart.

I think am an astronaut

Your kiss leaves me more breathless than outer space.

I think am a teacher

My lessons are all learnt from your fathomless love.

I think, am I who I think I am?

A simple man, I think again

In your love, I am

What I think I am.

Dive

From behind my 
Lidded eyes,
I watched you dive
Naked
Into the churning ocean
That was language.
And from its 
Eloquent depths,
Statuesque you emerged,
Elegantly draped with-  

Poetry.

Mere

A chemical
Black and sticky
Devoid of any 
Meaning of it's Own
It merely is-
Ink.
Yet, this mere ink 
When shaped by minds
Sculpted by thoughts
Forged by ideas
Driven by visions
And committed to print,
Assumes identities
Profers meanings
Preaches inspirations
Conveys views
And tells stories,
On what was
A mere blank-

A mere
Piece of Paper.

Irresistible

I often wonder
What Newton would say
If he was around this day
And he saw me as I am
With and around you.
He, perhaps, would have 
Bowed down before
Our very own Bard of Avon,
"Dear Good Sir! This phenomenon here
Is simply beyond my Physic-al ken.",
For, this, no science could explain.
The wise old Bill 
With a chuckle would've said
"Dear Issac my boy fair,
At the wrong apple you stare!
With a tempted bite this all began,
And not when it fell on your head, 
                               you Wise Man!"
Let's ignore the rhyme and meter,
For old Bill's, well, too old; rather
Just listen to what he told.
What Newton called a phenomenon,
Shakespeare simply called it Love.

Hence my Dear Love, on Me
It's an irresistible Gravity you exert.
And despite whatever cold science has to say, 
It is in Your warm Orbit that I am forever,
                                                  Meant to Stay.

It

I spied,
I saw,
I looked,
I waited.
It reached,
Your Eyes-
Dainty,
Elegant,
Quiet,
Subtle,
True-

Your Smile.

I Smiled.

Decay

Every shed tear washes away,
A verse
Off my body,
A poem
Which unbeknownst to you,
You have been writing.
With every tear washed verse
I become that much lesser;
Decaying away verse by verse
From the inside out.
I fear
I may never be complete-
Forever remain
An unfinished trope.
Though am yet,
Alive.
Alive enough to fill the aged inkwell
With every tear washed comatose verse.
Would you dip your nib in;
Would you then refill the voids
Left by the decaying verses;
Would you trust again
In your own verses to come together
And rise beyond a mere poem, into
An Ode, 
Humbly and gratefully singing
Of your brave beautiful heart;
Would you begin to
Believe again?

Would you....?

Dots

A Rainwashed Night Sky An inky blue-black Iridescent with the promise Of a Moon soon, meanwhile The Stars reign the expanse Little pin-pricks of light Masquerading as Diamonds Studded on that Cloak. I sit, longingly look up 
And like a kid My eyes connect them as dots And despite the miles in between I see you right in front of me, Alight, Aglow and Glittering in that Rainwashed Night Sky.

Do I...

I feel, or do I...
Cold and Distant
Voided
Empty
Just a shell
Spiritless
Not Living
Just an Existence
Meaningless
Purposeless
Life less
A Haunting Misery 
Is all that is Left
And
Fathomless Reasons.

I crave for Light
For Air.

I wish for Breaths,
For Beats.

I long for a Touch,
An Embrace.

I hope for Life,
For Love.

I pray for Oneness,
For Togetherness.

My Penance is for You,
For Us.

I wait for that enchanted
New Dawn...

When? When? 

Just a Tree...

Not too old, but grizzled

Not too young, but etched

It still stands where it has

Stood since memory began

Roots are growing deeper,

But why?

Branches spreading wide,

But why?

Leaves sprout green and shiny,

But why?

There are blossoms and fruit too.

But why?

Why, it's a tree.

It can't be any different.

It can't not take root,

Nor can it not branch or leaf 

Or blossom or fruit.

It is 

Leaned on,

Climbed on,

Marked on,

Rested on,

Perched on,

Nested on,

Eaten on,

Lived on,

Swung on,

Lied down under,

Blown over,

Sunned upon,

Rained upon,

Grown upon,

Burrowed into,

Broken from,

Taken from,

Jumped off from,

Flown away from.

It loves all.

Possesses none.

It's sometimes sad,

Melancholic even.

But Why?

It's a tree.

Just a tree.

Firefly

How often do you see,

A firefly by the day?

I wonder because, I

Happened to see one today.

They are beautiful by the night,

Glowing yellow green pinpricks

Of temperamental sort of light.

Now why does a fly need the fire?

'Well of course, it's dark in the night!'

Then why don't other critters require?

'Duh..the fireflies have it for all, all right?!'

Some say it's their way to say 'Hi!'

Others differ with their scientific ho ho,

Say, 'Oh no sir! That's not why!'

Just forget the 'why' and come back 

To the original question,

Is the firefly out in the day, often?

Let's ask around, in fact, take a survey,

But no one can be sure, can they?

I think then, I'll make up my own story-

So, he doesn't fly the day, but he was 

Today, out of sheer worry!

He and his miss had a lovely night,

In the trees near the water's edge,

And of course, by the firelight!

They talked and laughed until almost

The stars went off and the sun was out,

A freak breeze blew and Alas! The miss was lost!

He looked through the tree and its hollow,

All along the water's edge, the meadow,

And decided on the highway to follow.

It was 9 AM and I was at the toll gate,

And he came in with my hand and the spare change,

What's that glow? Oh! Hi there mate!

He told me his story and I called in sick at work,

We rode along the highway looking and then turned back.

I dropped him at his tree and sad, he alighted on its fork.

A glowing yellow green pinprick of temperamental sort of light,

And before I made the next bend, I saw in my rear view, 

Right there in the tree, there were two of them all right!