The doldrums of these midnight hours-
Like the receding waves at the beach,
Remind me of my evanescing youth.
I suppose,
There is profundity in waves,
That undulate in deeper oceans-
Than those that gnaw away at the shore.

For the mendicant of thoughts,
Sleep is a virtuous incentive.
For the explorers of thoughts,
It is simply a cursed routine.
It is not a surprise why the hungry,
Seldom bother how the food is cooked-
Or why the chef's palate is insatiable.

Now, I am a book going to print.
I write myself as myself I read.
My work weaves my days as pages,
And events therein, the bookmarks.

Come tomorrow's day thither-
Some words closer to the ******,
I shall think of past days' ink,
That lay dry in gross memory,
And wish some days ebbed-
And some others, rewritten.

If the final page comes forward,
Unbeknownst to me then-
I shall live by the little legacy,
In the journals of the reader.

Your genteel keenness to deny me my identity,
Has impelled a lenient amnesia in me.
Pray, allow me to be rediscovered-
In the dark luster of your eyes,
And in the plush depths of your thoughts.

The gentle high of the ****** Mary,
Makes midnight's breeze seem like Jazz.
A mere glimpse of your opulent eyes,
Hammers me like tequila on ice.

We covet the nature of things,
Like dreams knocking at reality.
As adults in some offices pause-
To mourn over their own death.
An equanimous person squats,
At the shores of flowing thought-
Seemingly free and perennial,
And asks,
What if rivers are forced to flow-
And the drops that don't comply,
Are imprisoned in ponds by rain?

-Ajey.

For 18 years, I poured my efforts,
Into little shot glasses of failures.
Today, I am a successful alcoholic.

There is no glory to light
When the oceans gleam,
Yet the waters beguile
Sun-lances by the clouds.

A slave isn't the criminal-
In his master's bidding.

So sunlight is forgiven
When drops are stolen
From veneers of oceans
To mend those clouds!

The only companion of loneliness is silence.
Theirs is an unceremonious marriage like -
Couples in the middle of their middle age,
That mutually run out of things to explore.

One tries to find meaning in keeping a book,
That tells the same story a million times over-
Hoping to find white pages in the yellowed mess.
But that hope too, soon becomes a relic.

But lately I've come to love a poem,
That unites loneliness with silence-
It's the twisted compromise made-
By water when it settles in a container.
It is written on the faces of mothers-
Whose husbands are away at work.

A verse in the wind that all men hear,
To an effect that it stitches broken hearts.
It is a call for worship in an unbuilt temple
And the belief that enshrines love in trust.

'Tis like this-

The pride of men is locked in mirrors.
Laying dormant, bound in fetters.
This prisoner is presented to a fool-
Ever at the end of a fruitful groom.

Ajey Pai K

Is there a thing-
to which The God-
may thankful be?

In a million prayers,
would The God,
my silence see?

To the God who-
rarely answers thee,
What odds offer-
a better chance to me?

So, in a million prayers-
For my solemn silence,
The God is thankful to me.

-Ajey Pai K

I see the moon in a balmy blue ocean,
Undulating in its restless waves.

Oh these foolish waters!
Find love like a little girl,
With waves hitting the shore.
The sea goes to war with itself,
As the rising tide falls in love
With the image of the moon-
That the falling tide tries to erase.

Irony sleeps in a coffin every night
For when something so deep,
All consuming and powerful-
Be so fickle as to fall in love,
With a mere image that projects,
But only on the surface,
There's nothing one can do.

The devil isn't hidden in darkness.
He is in the eyes of the girl you love,
And in the smell of the man you desire.
He is hidden in the tiny crevices of your morales,
And in your thoughts of sinful deeds.
So, do not dread the dark,
It is asleep like the will of God.
Beware of those echoes in thought-
That speak the will of demons.
For the real dwelling of the devil,
Is in the prosaic details of your life.

With bodies made of stardust
And minds driven by dreams,
Mortals write on papers of time.
Like scrawling words at the seashore.
At the behest of purpose,
And a night's deafening screams,
Art is made in the image of man.
As he is made in the image of God.
And as waves of years hit,
Glories fade and wash away
Like the words in wet sands,

Then a symphony of souls comes to a halt,
To be sung by faceless people in the future.

Little drops of water
Descend from above.
The nimbus in the sky,
Of dust and dreams,
From everlasting stars-
Make up the ocean
That bring life:
To you and to me and to the world at large.

A universal message of Peace.

Two eyes shine-
Two milky moons.
Two words rhyme-
Two divine boons.
Two hearts beat-
Two simple tunes.

I encountered a fading moment,
In the sparkling eyes of a lady.
The gamble to express my love,
At the behest of my feelings,
Was like the evanescing tail-
Of a nugatory shooting star;
Dead in the dead of the dark.

My verses whispered in the past,
In the dreams of a dead poet.
The effort to pen my thought,
At the beat of unusual events,
Was like awaiting for dreams-
In the purposeless slumber,
And the tumultuous din of day.

But your words are my symphonies-
And in your company is my epiphany.

Not of any divine thoughts,
Or of some disruptive reports,
Not of high tales of morals,
Or of those words of import.
These are meagrely of those-
affairs that seem arbitrary.
I write of the many things-
scattered in the ordinary.

There are wondrous beauties-
In the wisps and curls of smoke,
That escape the evening's tea.
And in the weird lingering smells,
That call to morns from childhood.
Aye, there is solace in the news-
That the morning papers convey,
And also in the harsh routine of the day.

In the humble love of a spouse,
And the stern faces in the crowd,
Are those elaborate stories that tell:
The musings of a cause untold.
And on this premise of thought,
Like how flowers beckon to bees,
Spreads a meadow of a certain-
Fulfillment nurtured by chaos.

So, what with those chores,
That do not end with death!
And what with those odd things
That are strewn around like stars!
The daily battles with trifles,
And the woes for 'morrow!
Amidst these stultifying hours,
Lie the true secrets of happy living.

So, with no image nor compare-
'tis verse describes the ordinary with care.

What a miracle spins off the eyes,
Of a master capturer of colours!
For his harlot is the dancing lights-
Of a happy day's golden hours.
What with these attributing sounds-
Of a furiously futile attempt at beauty?
For what a line of poetry gets to stir-
Is foolish beside the language of images.
Words are arch enemies of colours,
Shining vibrantly on a lazy afternoon-
And of the beauty that lies in the sight-
Of the night sky with a cloudless moon.
No poem can ever stake a claim-
Of ever making hearts skip a beat
Or goosebumps riling on the necks,
As portraits of women with rosy cheeks.
If the poet sees what the sun cannot
And the best words need inspiration,
Let this be a reminder to all your faculties
That a picture is worth a thousand words.

Trudged by the demons of old,
Seared by the lashings of time,
Yes, I am crying out of pain-
And these tears are mine.
Diamonds mined in the tunnels of thought-
Of those memories that ought not be talked about,
A burdened mind is soul-steered
As I cry an ocean of tears.

And my eyes run dry before my memories of you fade away.

Of the best memories we oft overlook
Are the depth of the experiences felt.
For what the surface offers in a day,
Are rippled by the torments within.
Like the beady eyes of an upset lover,
Or the stoic silence of seers in seclusion.
Whence do thoughts get expression?
And where do rivers find solace?
Whence does light of cognition germinate?
And where do unspoken desires die?
Whence do the notes of music resound?
And how do two lovers find their paradise?
These are but words as bubbles on water,
And these are humble attempts at answers.
As thoughts are expressed from depths of truth,
The rivers find solace in the depths of oceans.
As Light germinates from the depths of darkness,
The darkest desires die in the depth of commitments.
As the notes of music resound from the depths of passion,
Lovers find paradise in the ties of trust.

A girl must eat.
No, a girl must hog like a ravenous vulture.
A wretched beast from within, she must devour with grace.

Like the turbulent sea eats away at the shore.

Forged out of stardust and shines,
Your eyes peep into the depths of my soul-
Threatening to steal my beating heart-
They are conquerors from the kingdom of love.

Out of the many colours of the world, my favourite are the ones in the night sky.
Dark and solemn, they seldom have anything to hide.
In the death of the sun, lies the creation of a masterpiece.
In the canvas of the clouds, the moon becomes the centerpiece.
While the shimmering stars sing a symphony of sparkles,
The stern planets groove to the hush of their splendour.

When the night of the mind brings night to the world,
New colours are brewed while dreams are dreamt.

I dreamt of thy love in its faintest chances,
Showering from the ninth cloud of reverie.
When I stood the test for my affections,
't was a fool's confession of true love:
For I remained ever a lovelorn dame.
Didn't my eyes sparkle right?
Or the curves on my hip, not enough?
Did my words fall short of my love for thee?
Or my bearings in public a little rough?
Democratic are thine associations in flesh,
Deriving pleasure out of mindless affairs.
Whilst I am ascribed the proverbial taint,
I remain the sinner and thee ever a saint.

My heart is soaked in the dark inks of the night,
And my mind traverses the shimmering canvas of the skies.
I sit upon a cliff, overlooking a sleeping world
And from this silence, I derive these wonderful words.

These words, come from a source unknown,
They have been whispering in my ears when I'm alone.
Narrating from the dream of a dream called life,
These vivid revelations have now come alive.

There's one plan and a plan of balance it seems,
In the image of man, the almighty dreams.
Stories are narrated in the rivers of time,
Today's glory becomes tomorrow's dust and grime.

I have seen the divine plan through the eyes of human
And I have seen both good and bad things happen.
There's bloodshed, there's despair and there's sorrow
And there's peace, there's hope and the promise of tomorrow.

- I had a revelation

#Original

-The Silent Poet

Ajey Pai K

There's a place behind my mind which I intend to call my paradise.
There's a place, where the seven colours melt onto a single life.
There's a place, I intend to show you today behind the confines of my mind.
So please, be my partner in silence, would you be so kind?

I shall show you the tree who's shade has nurtured my words,
Where you shall listen to the songs of those tree dwelling birds.
I shall lay out my heart flat onto the lawn of leisure.
So please, behold these words, for with caution they're measured.

A stream of thoughts flows nearby this tree
Where the thirst of my mind is quenched for free.
These thoughts flow from the deepest wells of my soul
And to quench your thirst, I would churn out some more.

And so, allow me behind the confines of your mind,
Where all your thoughts whisper.
When I set out on my way, I shall come to you, and only you I shall find.
Let's meet in that paradise behind our minds and let's make memories to savor.

-Paradise.

#Original

-The Silent Poet

Ajey Pai K

Imagine for once, that it is a sunny day
And the air smells of autumn scent 
And the music of the birds pervades.
Imagine for once, that life is going okay
And fruitful are the minutes which make a day
And meaningful are the conversations we have.
Imagine for once, we have the right people with us
And their presence only makes us stronger
And to bond with them means to just smile or briefly talk.
Imagine for once, that in a warm sunny day here on earth, we have truly lived under the sun and not under a ceiling.