The shadow on that wall is yours. It doesn’t have your physical vigour but I can read that pristine mind; The clearness of vision, the strength of understanding, the precision of thought.

Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I am mindful of what had transpired between us last night. I can still sense your leap from the corner of our room. The rest as they say is history, buried peacefully in my recesses.

You called me a lousy dreamer. That we all are. We all are weaving magical dreams. Its just that the fabric is different and the art copyrighted.

He kept walking promising himself at each step, the state of emotions that he desired. But then discontentment is addictive … one despises it .. grows tired of its capers but some where deep down loves its quarrelsome nature like a man in love with a termagant.

Discontentment is deep rooted in desires. “Desires … Bah!”, he thought. And he kept walking further and further towards the prairie. The beauty bogged him down. The landscape humbled him and he wondered, how could all that was troubling him could have troubled him so much. Inconsequential. And he lighted another pack ….

31st December 2008. The last day of an extraordinary year. In few hours time an episode of a roller coaster ride will be over.

And all that will be left is nostalgia. All that will remain is the certainty of past. What we will see is a definite place in the history books; What we will remember is an unusual package of love, hate, betrayal .... friendships, bondings, break-ups ...... avulsions and havocs. What we will realise is how real life had presented itself in a garb of weird enchantment.

Tomorrow we will start to gamble again. And if we are courageous enough we will forswear all medial beliefs. We will put wager on the insignificant and evanescent lines of the palmate. Tomorrow we shall take the stage again .... Tomorrow we shall start all over again ...

And for you and me, we take each little step together ....

And in a year's time we would have covered a mile .....

In the silence of this quite night
When I fail to rhyme …
Play me -
Play me will you;

Hit the strings that bind me and you
And few notes that I taught you …
Improvise me -
Improvise me will you;

When no longer the sleight of your fascination
Extols my celebration of you …
Delight me -
Delight me will you;

Rhyme the rhythm, scale up that quarter note
Look, see me through that resplendent orb …
Surprise me -
Surprise me will you;

And when the chorus picks up, culminating our joy
Hear carefully for that base tone …
Surrender me -
Surrender me will you;

A desire .. a dream …
Not often for being
Clipped off its wings
In an aviary the pigeon lie
Dreaming some day to fly

What if I stopped dreaming someday just because I thought even without giving it a try worth it’s salt that the dream wouldn’t be realized.

For every dream that I give up, I loose an entire life. I wish I could be like the pigeon some day who can dream even when it is in a cage, even when its wings are clipped, even when it knows it cannot fly, but still holds a desire that it can … one day …. perhaps some day ….

Who knows what holds, who holds and for what
The clodhopper perambulates the dim lit lanes
And breeds a yeoman far more succinct
Than the prig on his way to a school
Destiny.. that’s not life,
That’s not what soul had engendered
That’s not life without its own karma
That’s not the soul that had betrayed my decision
That’s not life if only it was ever to be destined.

Destiny … that’s not life
In every semblance of doubt that bores
A yes or perhaps a no …. But then
For every wrong, would life have made it right
Even without that one single try
Would it still be destined if I had not
Given it an honest try.

Besotted still ....

The silence of mahogany bothers me some time
unnecessarily, not but for reasons undefined
my eyes open wide for your surreptitious glance
as my candle burns all night long ........

The echoing cricket, sings your tune
in staccato muteness I listen, endued
your pretentious hide behind curtains white
as my candle burns all in sight ........

The taste of past, not sour any more
watered the tears, for gardens that grew
your frisking laughter still cast their spells
as my candle burns through the morning bells .......

You walked past me in carousal stupor
your scent smelt of rain, beautiful uproar
come back and let me proclaim, for one last time
as my candle burns all that is thine .......

Snow

Cold gusty winds laden with snow
white and armory with a tinkle glow
fallen leaves covered beneath
buried and rusted without a tree;

Showering sleets of cold creep
uncovered twigs falling asleep
as it touches your feet, hidden aside
unheeded it comes filled with desire;

Dark and blustery it seems outside
melting sun behind your pride
autumn is past … the winter is here
brings you closer without surmise;

Let it snow …. Let it snow …. Let it snow
breathe in the thin cold air, and sit low
warmth all around the fireplace, growing …
laced in my arms … my love … sleeping.

Love .........

The sun was beginning to set, armoured by setting dusk of a golden tinge, dusted and beautiful but somewhere flagrant in mythic legends of a dark setting. He could only see water as far as he could see – tons and tons, gallons and gallons of water. Water that brought him a sense of calm and serenity …… water that was his source of living and running away, both personified in a single form of societal demonstration. Water, which for him had no meaning …… no meaning at all …… for things that you can feel never have meanings attached to them

His eyes were searching for something. Perhaps a log, a small wooden log, no perhaps a bigger log; he needed to sit. His limbs had started to give up, heinously he thought. His own limbs were betraying him, whom he had cared so much for, whom he had given the strength through continuous runs to sustain adversity. His own limbs were betraying him. His mind wandered a little, yes he was looking for a log …….

George loved sea. Born in a small village near the western coast of Goa, he had seen, desired, admired, loved and fantasized water for so long that he didn’t remember. Everything that mattered to him belonged there, engulfed and engrossed. He had one dream ….. and only one .... to be with water. Today he had just ventured out in the deep, ignoring the calls made by the local government of expecting a rough sea. For George it did not matter. He knew his waters too well. He loved them too much to be hurt. He had sailed far. Far off in his little boat randomly without much direction on a day that had carried winds on its lap. George’s little boat had lumbered on, somewhat telling him of what lay ahead. George had no ears to listen, the boat's pleading bore no heed.

It wasn’t till evening that the wind had castled its devilish spells of destruction. It had brought with it an army that was powerful beyond human imagination. It had power that could kill with one force, power that had no respect or appreciation for life, power that only knew annihilation. George saw it coming from a distant. He didn’t bother. He had no fear. He knew he would be sheltered. He rode over the first impact, never bothered even for a second. It was just a big jolt. He had felt them many times in his life. And as he looked aside he was hit again by a force as monstrous as a dozen of them before. George knew not what it was.

George was taken down by running streams of high pressured flow, deep down the sea level. He held his breath down living on his lungs that had sucked air for as long as he could remember, there was a sense of respect that said you too need a rest, defying nature and task that nature had allotted. The surface seemed relatively calm now and George was gasping for little breath of fresh air. He had lost all sense of time. He didn’t know how long he was there ……. Now he just let himself go as if released from hundreds and thousands of chain borne upon him. He sailed onto the surface. It was as calm and as serene as he had known it all his life. There was a sense of love in its eyes. Love that was pure, that was so pristine, that it desired nothing. George felt relieved for a moment.

He searched for some broken raft. He couldn’t find any. He thought perhaps it had been blown away. He lay still floating in the water like a bubble which just came out filled with air but no substance. He stood there embracing his love as if it was eternity blown into a single moment.

He felt tired now. He cursed every bone, every muscle, every feeling within him ….. never a feeling that water can engulf him ….. that was something he had bargained for all through his life.

He swam a little helped by the deserted blowing wind, stripped of all its vices. He stood and sailed …… and stood and sailed …… and stood and sailed for it was nearly dark now. Only a crimson in the blue horizon was left, barred and unattended. He could still see nothing but his love and suddenly there were green. Like a blot on the sea ….. spreading across. He felt a little tinge of jealousy that they could embrace her more than he could and he kept floating …. No desire, no hope but only trust sailing him through …..

The question is ....

Would I have lived it differently
had the pen blotted un-relinquished,
A little more thought in the
spindrift slugging mind …..
and a sailor’s parafelia.

Attached with a rigging ship mast; in
the perihelion of unsophisticated sea
Exercised in snake-black night
of little but obscured sullen cilata …..
and leftover chasm of un-fulfillment.

Would I have lived it differently
had the pen blotted un-relinquished
In the smoke of known past
still black, untidy and ugly ….
but with psalms of cerebral proclivity.

Four meals a day?

Mired in black wooden box
unfitting shoes laces ….. unfastened and untangled
coloured, stationed, patience unhidden ……
black inhibited smile
sharp focus unaltered demeanor ……
with a shoe brush tucked in a corner.

Greasy little palmed fingers
blackish clothing dirty riddance …
borrowed smile with promising eyes ….
tool box and a multi errand
howling ears …… eviscerated bowl
three quarters a meal a penny can roll.

I see him running in your house
calling him names for delayed chores ….
his mother calls on the weekend
you listen on the other line … with some vengeance
he serves you day and night ….. faithful and diligence
and a prayer ….. thanking for food and pittance.

I am there for you

When something is wrong
and the going is strong
love, i will be there for you.

When the winds of hardship
flickers the candles of hopes
When torrential rains
dampens your spirt
When hurricane waves
engulfs your passion
love, i will be there for you.

When black will turn to grey
and people immoderate
When legs will start to loathe
and hands need rest
When day will become less
and light a little difficult
love, i will be there for you.

When eveything is wrong
and the going is tough
love, i will be there for you.