What is so nice about the dusk?
Am I happy for end of the day,
Or for darkness to come?
I don't know,
What am i moving towards,
And what am i running from?

This light in between the sun and the stars,
With no brightness,
In the blurred view of it
I can see all the mess.
Then, What is beautiful about the dusk?

I don't feel as cold in the morning,
Nor do i have warmth of the night.
I keep looking at the lane,But everything is out of my sight.
My heart is empty,with my feelings on ground.
Am i searching for something,that shall never be found?
So, what is okay about this dusk?

It reminds me of something,
I don't know if its your arms around or,
your words against me.
It reminds me of everything.
Everything terrible.everything lovely.
And it leaves me so lonely,
I feel abandoned by the you and by the me.
So, what is so beautiful about this dusk?

My heart floods with blames,hatred love and pain
But my eyes don't shed a tear.
This dusk is hollow
and emptiness is the cure,
It confuses
,hurts,
reminds
and leaves.
So tell me, what is yet so beautiful about the dusk?

It hits me right when I open the door:
The sweet, sweet scent of rain on the pavement.
Each time I stumble upon Petrichor,
Her halo is blinding; she’s heaven-sent.
She’s friends with the bluebirds and butterflies,
The neighbor of freshly cut grass, the aunt
Of the insects, first daughter of the skies,
Leader and lover of each lovely plant…
Only ever all around you, even
When the ground is dry and for a fleeting
Moment, she’s just something to believe in;
But Petrichor and her honeyed greeting
Are worth waiting for – because here’s the thing:
They’re simply a welcoming sign of spring.

Every dawn is pregnant with aspirations and anticipation

It’s only at dusk that we are in limbo,

Fraught with a polarity of purpose and possibility;

and a duality to self and the soul.

Every dusk comes with its share of positivity blended with negativity,

Practicality speckled with spirituality,

Optimism dusted with cynicism;

Possibilities punctuated with improbabilities;

And a reality rendered palatable through rose tinted fantasy.

Every dusk is witness to a purging of the unwanted and unnecessary;

And plays host to a catharsis that cleanses and calms the soul.

A bittersweet end to what could have been, would have been, should have been.

Every dusk is a pregnant pause of what can be and what will be.


*Inspired by a series of images captured at dusk through my lens, in different parts of the world.

The air that drifts in through my window
Has come as the wind from afar for me to breathe;
Past mountain tops and river valleys;
From the mouth of my beloved.
It has rustled the leaves of trees along the way
And has skimmed the crests of waves in vast oceans.
We breathe the world with every breath.

if
we
are
tethered
to
the stars
the
resilience of joy
say
who
we are

Bonding beneath a Bloodmoon
Stuttering starlight of June
Waves that trace a salted line
Ever-changing sand with time

A loon calls from afar
As the wind responds in kind
Whispering wonders of the stars
Projecting our peace of mind

Bodies shrouded in darkness
If not for the afterglows
Speaking words in silence
Ruby kisses on the nose

Two silhouettes on the horizon
A glorious, glistening red
With nimble waves to guide them
They'll continue to forge ahead

… and though it became void and formless
I knew that it was good
for the same as my conscience lives
so to as the light upon our bodies would
if only we could accept it into our lives

… as I looked upon silence where there was sound
I knew that it was good
for the same as I had witnessed a moment before
so too the shadow upon the moons face should
revealing how my soul bleeds as my body in the night