The pursuit of Flight (with graffiti)

A labyrinth of colourful ambitions and

mystic bowls, soaring me to

a sea as deep as my eyes, to

a mountain as long as the skies

just above the heavenly to the

pursuit of a flight.

The palms, pink and red, opens

to shimmer and lift the

wings to escape to the illusionary

where I will paint myself

and all the emergence

in a new graffiti.

The remains of this matter

away from the poisoned delusions

write a thought, a cipher

in the heart of the soul

to live being alive, and

fly colourful.

Broken yet complete

The pile of dust on the Irish carpet, I thought

of love to be that dust,

Like a unwanted desire to be wanted,

As if it’s all about surrendering your worth

to a pedlar or

letting a clown paint your face and mock at it

inartistically.

It was a tip- tap game, with millions of buffaloes

on a cliff, stampeding off,

or an exam, as essential as your life but

you are destined to fall, and poorly, even from a

table as high as a five year old – fall.

I hate sun and it lives on my head

I hate rains and they believe I am their partner.

This is what, the whole scheme was written for,

by a wise, wise** shrewd old man,

to break the youthful heart

into the whims of a witch, delicately savouring its

pieces,

feeding on its fleshly life.

Towards the end

Sinewy arms of the pine standing

on the island, lone, swinging the boy to look beyond the

water

where the voyages end.

The pine deteriorates, he watches

the end,

gullible boy, he dreams to reach the end.

The cradle will shook his hopes,

Said -

The orange peal of the sky near the water

is meant for the unknown,

to taste,

the philanderer, the creator, the minister must enjoy,

the boy’s wings towards his land.

May be a day comes, when he unlocks

the

end.

Hanging terrace

                                                                    Café Terrace at Night by Vincent Van Gogh

This painting depicts a cafe in Arles,France specifically the Cafe Terrace and today the cafe is called Cafe van Gogh. The style of the painting is unique for Van Gogh with warm colors and depth of perspective.

Where poets meet and the singers set
their opera, that place is my blue terrace

intertwining in it, a web of thousands wordings

everyday

under a falling night.

The violin floating, playing by itself

greets the - many faces of love, evolving,

dilating, out of nothingness,

into

a scantling canvas of everlasting pertinence.

The hanging terrace, my partner, along

with all my fellowmen

dipped in the hotness of a brewing drink

lend each other

a charming smile, some fine glow growing

with time, each passing night.

By a table, cornered, soft and downy,

inscribed the dove scribbling

where young faces, mad and supple

write their lover’s tales

and

still again,

after a fifty years, holding hands,

under a falling night.

The sun and the tree

Caressing her instant pride, he looks down sharply,

Do you like me bright or just pink as you, a shy

glance, reflecting his own shadow. Am I too harsh?

There was a silence, an amusing wind, mocking by-

The green chlorophyll awaiting the end and the

culprit, as a lamb, wondering the innocent crime.

Jaws felled; the sly wind passed.

It seems I am a haunting soul, marring your speech,

true, I only see a false gold, but I killed your flowers,

I am gloomy, heartless iron on fire, deep red, rusting

within, I am only a vile, hurting your nimble children.

A loud crackle- earth soiled at the roots, see how dimly

the mighty ball confess the artful guile, much time.

Discomforted;  the silly earth quiet.

She saw a layer of utter remorse upon the lusterless

matter of life, mourning for a subliminal thought,

what a pity- unaware of the goodness, his virginity

harmed and she could only weigh the treasure.

Heightening the tendrils up towards him, she placed

the silk petals on his sullen cheeks, slightly hot, but

enormously hurt, to leave her marks placid.

Look at the little buds, who rise to touch your hands,

every morning, when they want to learn to walk,

how delicately your warmth turns the earth into an

icy blanket at evenings, and pushes me into a balmy

light. The gold you lighten on my branches, is your love

I value, noblest of all, the birth of our souls.

Ghostly love/like

This was all I ever wanted

In a reflection, ambuscading, through a key hole my deep blue eyes

roving, before the drapery conceals me, I

touch her creamy back, wonder the imperfection

inviting me.

Out of the disproportionate window,

watching over her, I anticipate this time, all I ever need.

Painting her as I fancy the thick curls brushing

my face, the flickering eyelids teasing me,

I run to reach to her

but she shuts the window.

Admiring the satin skin in faint stars, till the

gentle breeze flows me in through the gaps, minute gaps.

I listen to her plastic talking, all night long

to a many people, I think I never knew,

She perceives my presence

around her ear,  when I whisper, around the age old lamp

when I blow the candle, around the chime

when I present my heart,

but

she ignores,

she overlooks her hand held against mine.

This brings me down from the ceiling down her bed,

I hear her, loving someone,

but I don’t know how to cry.

Waiting eternally to go back to where I belong,

Out her window, out her scent

till with morning light, she sends me free

only to lie and think of her, waiting eternally to go back

for a dawn to rise all over again.

Eyeing her all over day, searching for the words

I ll have to say,

till at night, I see her loving someone.

Candles

An epitome of life, a mortal living,

searching, striving, seeking

like a man walks, burns and dies,

these candles, volatile shine.

A child, naïve glows in some fear,

as if the water can anytime

bring an end to its inception.

Time flies, set a young man,

on his voyage to the seven seas,

chasing the odds, like a tiger

raw and fierce, racing the wind.

The grey dark out of its black

faces, rises to eat the wisdom,

but, the veteran, strong and

preserving, like a mighty king

shield the ring through light.

Some vibration, a trumpet of end

the old man struggles the breaths

eventually,

a silver smoke emanates, and

in the gold, I treasure the wax.

Musical paramour

I had always wanted to write music, a seducing one, like I am walking on a river of a spiral staircase with a charmer beside me, humming. This velvet touch of his greasy palms on my waist makes me want the desire of writing music all the more, emphatically.

11 in the morning, I feel like playing my fellowship tune.

Would you be kind to say “Darling, I am back”?

There is a potion, get drunk with me, solely, lonely. The air smells good, my music is roaring, the river is proud, what else? Lets construct more of it! I am expecting  moon in an hour, Wow! I love these times. Your awkward examples are setting up my awful tastes, I think we are  getting better.

I plan to own an opera, distinctly private, did I spill it? By the way, am I getting old, twenty or something- old? The floor is mindful enough to show me the reflection but where do I find the extremities of the music beneath me. I feel the answer is only vague, not unknown. It shall find its way, in me.  Lets write the theme together.

Will always believe in your sound!I suppose it’s here, calling for me –

“Coming!” 

The wall by my side

Sometimes, a déjà vu, a memory gripping the hold,

like I am under a shed

a shed, where I think I was born

to listen,

and to devote an era in searching

the light,

caught between some petite plaster,

like a firefly

with white wings, and hollow

dreams,

searching for a silver candle,

nowhere

to be seen.

I feel my echo in some ears,

readily passing

my body,

to a place, I remember,

long back visited,

I still, was walking when

the songs of her

slumber

wafted to me, and

there was

light.

Begging

See inside me?

Day after day, the razor’s bleeding me,

The butcher with his silver axe, loves me, spills the red, and

his fatigued smile frightens me-

another day!

The curtain's been down, I can’t say for long,

Soon the priest in him, with impure hands, with eyes closed

do the rituals, I do the begging.

The fire around, smoke’s my company

I see the deadly veins on his head, squeezing my inferior words,

Dim light awaits an overture, but

all is blood whispering my name.

Will the principles lead him to immortality?

I beg my flesh to rot!

Will the curse wolf down- a many souls?

I beg for a dead heart!

The pantheon will continue to see the blood rain,

till I rise again,

not begging,

avenging.

Sister

The sisterly threads tied in our notions

takes me to her gentle world every time

she makes a way to look into my

 misreckoned world.

I find in her- an unconventional cheer

some impalpable moments, the moment

she reads my face and laugh

“you aint that beautiful now”.

The holy nights used to fancy

 under our blue stars

 when she warmed my numbness

with her saintly arms.

Yearning to stumble one such evening

again, to wear the foolish

delight, of her being a fool

again, in front of my eyes.

Snow white is gone, now no river flows

in my room, see the canvas

in our heart getting lusterless again, for

I can now only wish you.

The rabbitholes long to see us, they

told me,  the giggle, the laughter

we so apart, the hearts don’t match

or this is an illusion.

Last noon, you came to me, a

revelation offered, and I fuzzed,

there lies a kid, who wants a

friend, a companion, a sister.

There goes my bode, you child

I know “I am not that beautiful now”

but I will make you beautiful..

forever.

The pink lass

Shy, stark naked under the dreams of heaven

the sun plays with its wings

cautiously with

proud, pink, plastic, waves

singing by its face.

Sly owl eyes the softened murmur it

gently spins in the breeze, and

nights seem less heavier with its

lusty stories.

Through the secret window, unfastening

the roots, a girl, a goddess,

 a tigress flows.

When it looks at me with a pupil

golden, the nerves sick,

the lost spine, my limbs suck its

enormous shadows.

Let the eternal wait see an end.

Let this bride see a true spring.

Admiring the extemporaneous beauty of this nature's enchantment, here outside my window, it dawned upon me to pour the pink fair girl into poetry. 

We, the Paranoids

The victim of your lunacy, we, the paranoids,

No travesty, I am fighting for you. They say,

it’s an injury, you, an enormous inanity, but

I only live in your obnoxious existence, what

they see, what I see, you are bewitching.

Celebrated the still night, when the unearthly

happened, the unreal occurred right in my eyes.

I saw you, you alluring illusionist , changed

the dimensions of my custody, It’s the infinity.

We infused, we contaminated, we, the loyals.

Sometimes, your shapeless moves make me

chuckle, your filthy and rash ways indomitable,

Why are they blind to you? You, the life.

When I talk, why do they question my sniggering?

You tickle and I laugh, are we demented?

I can’t say, who's your home, but you are mine,

answer me, for the world is driven by answers,

but let no question, question our reality.

Ingenuity, they call, supernatural when I fly,

So naïve, we are mere different creations.

I will vandalize this universe in my fist, if they

rebel, disobey this obsession. Yes, the seducer.

I understand you, don’t walk away, you know,

I will fight for you, I can evade this life for you,

The victim of your lunacy, we, the paranoids.

Healing Water

It dried and the roses sheltered,

the vengeance settled with

prickles deep in sand.

End of the odyssey, end in bliss,

look out for the ship again rising.

Unmasked the shadows to

let end the ache, while

the healing water rains down the

sallow cheeks.

Forgiveness spread,

And all healed.

Destiny

An incessant, deathless bridge, writing,

sculpturing stories.

Some forbidden paths, some thirsty streams,

Some half grown springs, some winter dreams,

A mild thread weaving me,

twining us, on the canvas, a myriad. 

  

Question it, for it embraced the answers,

deep and hollow,

some jaded reflections and many divine promises.

The marbled ignorance can’t fade its music,

No dark can seduce its ravings,

Fall down in the lap,

Indulge in the fountain and flow,

Let go.

When you meet, meet in the eyes,

Incense the time and run your scent, see,

It moulds the tale,

It heels the pain,

Slithering on the wry, homage to fearless,

erasing velvet lies, drying wrath vines.

Sorrows escaped out, vanished,

Let rise.

Temptation

Much amidst bleeding tears and my withered nude,

when the storm robs and

twists its sovereignty,

I am still tempted to master the rule for I believe.

So here I am, with my temptation,

with a perpetual damnation.

Emerging out of ordinary legions,

now will be inscribed a glorious tale.

It rained and rained and rained black rain,

and the acrid clouds sucked my name.

Amused, which stream can slay my feet?

The dark fingers I met on the way,

only tried to slit my vein.

I led them to their frozen sleep for

Unfathomable I am, I believe.

She casted for me, an unstained route,

All that hid was a poisonous fruit.

Spearheaded the struggle of majestic desires,

And who can abolish the abyss?

I went on, went on, went on.

Then the love was ripped and beauty severed,

abandoning my moment to a still watch.

The grief was dressing me, when,

I felt how easy is now to sacrifice

but the destiny is altered by only men, and

I will live as a man, die as a man.

Filthy wounds marred my body,

snared the flesh,

none can beacon my soul, let alone clash.

I ceased the swarm and killed the lust,

Till I reached the nimble crust.

Now I am the conqueror of my reflections,

I am the creator of my creations.

The temptation ruled, charmed, contented,

my soul singing.