PaperFort

Secluded here in my room I think of you.

Stepping aside my worries a while,

I have come to you.

I won’t bother you much, worry not:

And this cuppa hot tea is just an ally to the drizzle outside.

 

I must say this in the very beginning: I’ve come to you

Knowing not, where else to go.

I have come to say, that I always felt:

Hidden amid the words you speak,

Faintly laid, are the connecting dots to a hidden puzzle.

Puzzle which I could (may be, ought to) solve;

Puzzle which would lead me back to the treasure trove.

I always regained a missing part of myself:

When you spoke, I listened, and the world would just stop.

Guess the treasure trove, in real, was all about that.

 

Remember, we spoke and laughed for long hours?

Gossiped, all along, as if we were the only true people:

And all others vanquished in vain.

All hues of joy would then slyly enfold us and,

Conspire with the time passing by, to make it irrelevant.

Roughly, it was a game of hide-and-seek every time,

You would always hide something curious, priceless.

I would always go beyond what I knew.

To get what I never had before.

 

Things fall apart: not all things are true,                                         

You fade away and my cup of tea goes empty.

Sky clears itself and it no longer rains.

The Crusades of Recuperation

Things come striking back,

And, all small ideas swarm around you.

 

You must come back to me,

To solve the puzzles you created.

You must come back, for me to proliferate.

Come back to return things you never returned.

Come back, to reason out the reasons beyond my reasoning.

Come to witness my failing attempts to witness you in words.

 

Seek your stare while I pick and sketch,

Intricacy studded amid daily chores.

Be at my shoulders and I’ll paint,

All shades of grey to federal-blue.

Be there and get my equations right,

In return I’ve nothing but more equations, though.

 

Things come striking back,

And, everything else swarms around you.

assorted life

Press the bundle of grey ribbons in:

Leaving bright yellow loose ends, dangling out.

Strut out the shambling voice:

A weak crutch of loudness would also do.

Do not believe the tear glinted eyes, in the mirror:

Even when you know they are too naive to lie.

Nor let the sniffle out, off the puckered eyes.

For it may dilute the long harboured sting.

Press the bundle of grey ribbons in:

Leaving bright yellow loose ends, dangling out.

(photo courtesy; paris2london)

P.S: “Life is somewhere else is just a myth”, life is here, life is now.

Sometimes a simple grammar tense, can change the whole way you think.

P.P.S: Have my apologies, if PS doesn’t exactly go with the poem. Assorted lines with an assorted life; the title says it all. What say?

aftertaste

It was a festive eve.

Everything around sifted to a placid uniformity,

Except for that girl, with eyes stained of kajal.

She was a welcome flick of flare,

Amid that cold foggy darkness.

She talked relentlessly, with all smiles and joy.

 

Oddly, many things complemented.

My frayed, unkempt hair, as against,

Her kempt, well combed hair.

A perfect grace she had, as against,

My hands scratching back of my hairs.

A captivating, mild smile, spilling

Scented mirth around, against my clumsy grin.

I was like an angular definition,

She, a well writ: curvy poem.

 

And then it happened that,

Our eyes met for a moment.

She bore right through my eyes

For a moment.

I felt as if the words she spoke

Tumbled, to reach me ultimately.

One moment more, her eyes still locked on me.

I really don’t know if she curved

Her lips to a smile, this time.

I tried hard to  broaden my grin:

To reply. No, nothing happened.

One moment more: this was more

Than a usual gaze.

I felt everything around went dawdling,

Except for her lashes, which flicked once.

It was only the next moment, that

She broke her gaze: as subtle, as again.

 

I don’t know or remember what happened next.

May be everything merged back to uniform:

Careless of what happened.

And she left me with all, but answers,

And left my eyes desolate, longing and lonely.

replug: she makes it so easy to live

 

PS: I guess, it is hard to draw a line between reality and a poem sometimes. You never know where reality ends and where begins the poem.

keepsake

lazy and decomposed.
here i lay drifting,
trifling with toys near by.
rain drizzles out and a
scented breeze wafts in to soothe.

a dream sprouts in.
i can’t figure her face,
nor, the home she stood.
but, it feels homely.
she stands still, joy and resolute.
like an even blip amongst all odds.
i stretch my hand to reach.
but nothing to find, except;
except for an aromic whiff to console.

i curl back to toys again.
the real world: awakened.
drizzle continues to send its scent;
but now turned to be a keepsake.

she makes it so easy to live

I say I’m wrong.

She says, so what.

She knows I’m not always right.

Yet she pats and says wake up!

I say I’ll go.

She grins to say, let’s go.

She makes it so easy to live.

.

When I’m puzzled in a whirl,

She says, I’m there and crumples her brows.

She draws a shovelful of raw bliss,

And sows fruits of soaked peace.

i don’t know why she winks.

Neither do I why she giggles.

She makes it so easy to live.

.

She is a conundrum for a lifetime.

Think, she was crystallised of an unsung puzzle.

She wears alacrity as her earrings.

Ah, what jewel more she needs than her laugh.

I unfurl her thoughts when I’m free.

She isn’t far: hidden somewhere within me.

She makes it so easy to live.