Civilized life is rigged, O land-dwellers!
With landmines hidden
in trails of Society's doctrine,
'Too often is it stepped on,
Too often does it explode.'
Blowing constitutions to smithereens,
Where you then rummage within your nucleus
to piece together your scattered jigsaw,
Misplacing your natural elements,
Overcasting your ability to side with beauteous aspects in simplicity—
Of those ethereal-resplendent butterflies.
Disillusioned on land thus is you (the complex you).

Let go—
Rise above your materialistic graves—
Walk on air!
My kindred wisps
Walk on air!

Like a drop of dew I condense—
Onto a leaf where I sojourn.
And as swiftly as that I fall
Beneath the clouds
Hand in hand with gravity
Offering zero resistance.

Somewhere,
I've lived you.
Enjoying
the lensing of solitude,
the breeze, trees, figures surrounding
the dark grey moisture-laden clouds;
All of these ingredients,
must've been tasted before--
For you to rinse the sweetness in them
Again.

"I Think I Love You"

So swiftly these words, these human words
(so dense in Nature),
Ensconced--in a language,
Made an escape,
through those scrumptious lips of yours.
Not realising,
that these beautiful-eloquent words,
You doled out so uninhibitedly(in a single breath),
Had rolled themselves up,
And breached,
My opaque atmosphere
in the form of a meteorite;
Colliding with this surface,
and Cratering
this isolated heart;
Which
shall be forever visible
within the Cosmos of my eyes,
Which shall hence be named after your vivacious soul,
Which shall indelibly be located within the latitudes and longitudes
of Earth's time;
And,
Always be scouted--
by telescopes of ephemeral Love.

I rose, from where I lay.
Slumber then being done with me.
I followed upon what's necessary
––A routine sung out to me—

Then on this particular day,
Trees on the outside
Beckoned with the wind—inside
No thought was then wasted

In entering a paradise
Where clouds charioted across
the sky—to diffuse the harshness of light
So that I could glance at the source of life.

All our lives are we cultivated—
Cultivated by birth,
Cultivated by parents,
Cultivated by friends, teachers
—Institutions such
Cultivated by self,
Cultivated by Earth—Irrigated by Love.
All so, to be purchased by Death—
A ripened Consumer.

Here come the formidable rains,
An air of sombreness it decrees.
With it, bringing--
Tears of the forgotten dead.
Cleansing the earth of our influence.

A thud at my window!
An unseen moment was let go
For there I sat on a throne
Which bore an ephemeral glow.

—Though it soon had been heard:
Our mother's hand not in the least is arbitrary,
For she weaves such a gossamer web
That connects through all things contradictory—

And so I rose above my windowsill
And found, a soft bird perched hither,
So close to this ragged forest
Brave—I thought—she;

She waited for an eye, so it seemed,
To meet with her's—indefinitely
Though it took an eternity for me being there,
The next gaze she stole and flew away from me.

A meaning I saw with no boundaries
For an incoherent silence was answered upon—
The yearning of a wave to find a shore
Only then, to retreat back to the sea.

So lost is this ship in your ocean
That even the amicable stars
Collude with clouds
—In the frame of the sky
To cloak the referral to my compass,
To keep me from my contrived destination.

Only after aeons thence do I value Earth's opinion,
And know,
That—
'twas not collusion
'twas aspiration,
That I was being guided to my shipwreck
To go deeper in you
Be consumed by you,
O! My predestination!

O fair one!
Surely you must be our Moon's kin
For none wears his reflection as perfect as your complexion.

Sleep oft colludes with night,
Pulls wool over my eyes—
By announcing itself anon
On my station's platform.

Evermore delayed to reach this vessel,
It refuses to hypnotize a compliant patient
Despite the dated rituals performed
For slumber to thrive—

Prayers chanted in your name,
Darkness donned in your chase,
Silence kept vigil, sung as lullaby,
Consciousness sacrificed for your gain

Yet you refuse to sway me in my cradle,
Yet I lay squirming on your saddle,
Incapacitated by thoughts—untenable
Enslaved for their cause—unassailable

Many a sleepless nights were my penance;
Upon which, one of sleep's commandments
bequeathed...
To sleep—toil to reach the summit;
Inhale the thinned air
Exhaled by a content-shaped mountain.

I'm in a relationship with my loneliness,
She embraces me
When need be.

One look at you—
And time to me, seems a follower of yours,
For your mesmerizing, comely appearance
Which enraptures every ticking heart
For sure has ensnared time's—
For it so seems that
He's stopped the march of advancing age
From reaching your youthful mien
So you may parade your timeless beauty
Across this globe inspiring life,
Showcasing the victory you hold over time.

Weaving itself, the dream-spider:
I see an aged man
(Wearing his evening time-machined body,)
Walking,
Traipsing upon the jogging track
At a pace which nature observes.

His frame battered,
Pummeled by age's indignation—
Of youth's battle lost.
His mowed grass-like hair showcasing
a white hue patented by age's theme of perseverance.

Beholden to years which he beheld.

His suspenders holding matter elegantly
Despite the invisible mass adhered to his layers
Excreted by years matured;
Increasing his gravity
Making him denser, heavier;
Decreeing excess energy.

Yet he obliges with his compromised gait
in reiterating verbs of motion.
Taking twice as much time to complete a revolution,
Taking twice as much
As his yesteryears.

In a witness's capacity, I relay:
Everything is a disciple of change,
But your energy...
Your energy remains as the constant
to the proportionality of age and will.

Answers lie in effort
Questions—in result.

I am unwell,
Have a slight headache--
I should sleep--
But for some reason I keep awake
Thinking of you,
Drowning in my feelings, suffocating under the pressure of my uncontrollable emotions--
Rationally looking at this, it should make no difference in me trying to sink into your depths--
For I am here and you are not,
Yet I keep awake talking about you to this oblivious Night--
I should... probably sleep?

My muse, you need know—
That some day hence,
Idleness shall come knocking on your
door.
And know this now—
That when you do decide to let him in,
I shall accompany him—
For I have forfeited my night turned days
To him—In your name.

Sense of entitlement prevails in primitive minds

Lest you forget!
Each definition in itself carries a connotation—
You'll always be something more

Silence—the galactic language—
Enunciating exploding Stars,
A background to the dialect of Humans.

Destiny be preordained
Plucked by Goddesses
Placed at thy temples.

Identify the petal,
Sight the flower
In a nursery,

Bring it home
And nurture thy
Flowerful destiny.

Such was the persevering love
That even to your wrath
I was a credulous sacrifice.

She dances ethereally,
As possessed as the leaves flitting to the tune of a breeze
Pledging her rhythmic heart to the beats
She unfurls gracefully—
Footloosing to every note harmoniously.
Her supple form traces meandering rivers,
Imitating waves of music flowing,
Creating effulgent-scenting symphonies.
So unaffected, so ardent her step, that
Gravity, enchanted by her resplendent feet,
Loosens his spell—
So she may flutter around unbound.

I've loved you for the years that I've lived
And lived the years I've loved.

Sleep lasts a while longer during Death
Awakening is an alternating inevitability

Pull your mask out
Let your guard down,
You need not hide anymore
I see you for who you are
Not what I desire to see you as
And I've got to say:
From where I'm standing
You couldn't be more bare.

Finally, stripped off of your facade
I see you for what you are
You're just as clueless as I:
Here to discover life!

Now, let's take this plunge into the abyss
And realize all our forgotten realities,
Sketch on each other's silences, we will,
For repainting these faded colors is fill;
For we know: time there's none absolute
But for our time together made of absolutes.

Mars to Sun: See those highly intelligent humans, all of them equally guilty before us, speeding up the process of decay, of that nurturing Earth. And now, are looking to inhabit me; let them arrive and see that I'm in my dormant phase and realize how good they had it on Earth.

Sun: Give them their concept of time, only too late will they realize that all is one.

Trust is necessary in guiding
The ink to give meaningful forms
To words written in darkness.

Time to come home—
Before you never know
What happened to anything.

Learn envy—
For it does so exist.
And then uproot it from your garden—
For it renders one blind to the fragrances emanated by other flowers.

Heaven is grounded upon your ethereal feet—
A garden of flowery bliss grows
Where your lithe, heavenly form roams.

I see you at the beginning and at the end,
All the while thinking about you
in between.
Only now,
I can't perceive where I begin and end.

I had always wondered—what could be eternal?
Since I'm taught that everything is transient.
Though I've been destroyed by my love for you—
My Love for you is indestructible.
I guess that answers that.

Reality sees what beholder believes—
A pond discovering your reflection together,
Authenticating relative truths to thinkers—
Absolute to dreamers.

Beliefs—to stay alive
Broken to live.

When you stay long enough through what it is that's needed to be done
You'll heed a song which had been playing all along
On the periphery of your shore,
Whose vibrations are meant to make sense of your ears.
At this point, O fellow flesh-mate!
Listen intently
and follow the tempo—
And so shall you be hurled to the brink of land where there stands a bridge bearing the label of love.
Go on,
Stroll upon it—
In the end, when all is unlearned
Love is learned.

So...you want to know yourself?
Listen then to everything else but what you think is you,
Even to the silent interactions;
You are but the summation of your external influence,
your internal world is the reflection of the outer.
Or is it the obverse of that?
But if you want to know the real non-you:
There exists this black hole at the centre of your universe
Get ****** into it and know that you never really existed, externally.

I shall compare myself to an unsharpened pencil
Brimming with potential to sketchingly write.
Yet,
All of it unconveyed,
Encompassed in my receptacle—
So long as I
remain unsharpened.

Work your relative truths
During the sound of day,
Reality construed through tools
Of your calculating conscious minds:
Optimal for survival and longevity.

But do remember too:
As when the silence of night dawns in, and
As the sound of thought scurries away
While you're cradled in the arms of slumber,
None of those truths will matter
Which governed your existence during the day.
It best be thought as Maya(illusion).

So long as hands can write,
I'll persevere in composing songs for you,
So that you may retain moisture
In this probable dry desert—
My dear self (the bard).

Take a look around you,
Look at the room you're in,
Are you happy?
Do you recognise yourself.

Paint a page of your past,
Write a word that infuses you with life.
Here you're, looking at you through the invisible glass,
This is what it must feel like:
To be free,
To spread your feathers willingly into the storm,
To gaze at that elusive light;
For once, to look in the mirror and not deceive yourself.

Traverse further in time,
Can you find yourself?
All of what you're, had been staring at you,
Your eyes had predicted this,
You were just to adamant to grant them true sight,
Blurring them;
Always escaping to your poisons
Living life in flashes, satisfying your convoluted mind.
Are you happy?

Here you're, back where you lie
Realising the gravity of this time,
Wishing you could run as fast as you would,
You want to, you see,
You want to outrun your shadow,
But here you're seeking substitutes,
and pleased with yourself.
Hoping someone deciphers your pain from your being
Shares it, alleviates it.
For here you're, always stuck in between
these familiar walls.

They say "let bygones be bygones."
But How could one let go of a clock
To which one referred to—time.
Though I believe in forgiveness
History as is—is a tree
For a point cannot be seen—
Without salts in the seas.

I laid there in my eternal sleep
Unwilling to let the chains roam free
I asked of it, to hold down upon me:
Better me than a bird in flight.

And so, this mind stood dormant
In a place known—of unknowns.
With a purpose being lost,
And a faceless shadow gained.

To the rescue, came a bird—
Warbling the verses of my identity.
It lent me it's wings—
To pass on, a view from the sky.

'A lonely smile'
What may one contain?—You do ask—
Honesty's communion—is my retort
For it gains me nothing for my display—
In a world where everything's gained by one's display.

But can a smile ever be lonely?
For is it not accompanied, invariably, by a comprehensive glee?

In the emptiness of my dream
I laid there wandering...searching...
Till I unearthed—
A goddess weaving—my dream—

A forlorn figure cut by the window:
Yearning for coalescence.

Communion with a butterfly thwarted
by that shut transparent window.

How can one soul treat another unequally?
—That which can't be perceived by the senses is free of judgement.
Sound in to your silenceful Nature,
Echoes of an uninfluenced instinct shall reverberate:
That all of us are consciously different,
That all are in a relationship with a predesigned ecosystem,
That all are the functioning cells of one body,
One organism—The Earth,
And in that all of us are one!
So, how does one treat oneself unequally?

I've learnt to let go (of everything),
To attain serenity,
In order to evolve and be content.
But you I will not and shall not let go,
Your essence in me I shall let no one touch,
I shall let nobody know of
(Shield you in me lest you become susceptible to the travesty of perspectives.)

You shall be my one act of resistance—
I shall resist in the process of death
To persevere in my love,
To reincarnate on this plane where suffering exists, over and over, only to embrace your person when need be.
For is not the greatest of love the one that resists everything and chooses to stay.

An unscathed voice—not mine—
Had been stumbled upon.
With "The odds stacked against us"
Oh wait! but are they, really?
For how does a mind learn
If it hasn't lived an entire beat.

Words rearranged by your lips;
Carried by the medium called fate
Have found a home, eventually.
And though you hold an exalted tongue
And although I don't apprehend.
A grass under a tree
Appreciates a warmer shade.

These lips retain their colour interlocked with yours;
Seal them,
And let not our colours fade.