THE PEBBLE

I lay to rest
A thousand maladies of an unceasing mind,
In the realms of night
Yet another one gone by.
In peace we sing then
As we float through the tunnel ,
Of a million tomorrows and their lights.
And everywhere these saints
Preachers with inky souls,
They ramble along our path,
What they ought to know
But we never heard of, Papa!

You give me in the grasp
A cold hard pebble,
Of nothing but what I lived till now.

Life and its idiosyncrasies,
Them, I clench in my fist
The ruthless joke of it all!
Yonder is the lake
Upon the silver face of which,
I saw the smile
Of a young girl ,
With the most beautiful eyes.

And beneath the waters Papa!
I see nothing but a myriad of dreams
Wept and rejoiced for,
Long back, now and that shall be.

I look at the pebble
Gleaming in its black shine,
And I look into your eyes
Nebulous in its gaze,
Little in its being.
As lurid as the thing in the crevices of my hand
Too small to hold, too big to give up.
They turn darker,
Big pupils of orderliness and kind,
As the little one swims in the joy of those rivers.

For one swift throw
Through ecstasies never felt,
The ripples breaking air
As they dance on the waters.
And so one life ends ,
Again in the lake of illusion.

And the dream wraps up itself
In the brown carton of monotony,
With a label called
Humble Harmony!




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ATTENUATION

*Gleam of a thousand carbons*



And depth of a million miles below,
Into the mist of blindness
A thousand rows of enigma,
Wings, a hand's length, grew anew
As she dropped through!

Hitting the silver sheets of blade
Sharp across,
Into the spine of her remnant guts
As they split across in the air.

Up goes a gust of chill
Brackish and hot in the skin lined caves.
And through the ventricles of a
Kindred spirit.
Anonymous.As it may seem.

She wakes up.
Blurring into the blue.
Hollow, viscous, callings from around.
A simmering golden crown.

"Is it him above?"

Immersed in the fluids of
A million tears from infinity,
And unknown horizons' withered away sweats,
She ate the sands of gold
And stood the testimony of aeons
Called Time.

Feet stuck into the weeds never seen
Her soul, a wandering star in
A galaxy of multitudes of unforgiving heavens.
She peered into the eyes beneath the trench
'Never there.Never anywhere.
Watching her all the while
Till a no' seen.

She went down those drains
With these reins.
Chains.

To travel with these foams
Bound again...

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PARADOXIA

Shroud me in a wrap of malignancies of senile
Youth,
Dip me in the sunset of a golden
Dawn,
Wake me up from the sunny dream of a cold
January morning,
Slither me into the slumber of a majestic horizon
In the chill of the Arctic,
From which I'd wake
And keep travelling,
Knowing never the
Calling of The Wind!

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THE TREE

The Man,
The miniature,
Of the tree beneath which
He stood,
Big, brown, bony.

Reckless crusader from
The hills beyond
He waited for,
Hills as worn as him,
Hills as ancient as
The Tree,

Waiting to be perished,
Waiting to be gorged.

" The Destroyer!"
Eyes beneath the gnarled palm glared,
Looking above,
Beams blinding the gleam of the
Golden crusader above!

The sky so insipid
As are the lands below,
Parched like The Man's throat
Drowned in the sea of his heart.

"Another dry day,
Another broken field,
Another broken string of my rope,
Another broken will of mine! "
*
The Tree,
The Minister
Preaching dogmas
From The Emperor above,
Seated on a golden disc
Melting pots of revenge
And Pride!
*


Fractured figments
Of lives,
Lived and unlived
In the same day,
In the same breath.

He let off the rope,
The eschewed soul.
" Not today. " , he whispered
To Her,
He knew, never knew.
*
A tiny nudge on
His brown, concrete legs.
*
He built today
Yet another empty temple,
Pillars brown with
The deprived sands of his land.

A shrine
As green as their wombs,
Once fertile!


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