Let you be the first thing I behold
On days, the morning sun feels worthless,
On days, the ***** sky seems dusty gray,
On days, the summer wind makes the trees look pale.

And on days, the bags under my eyes mourn life itself,
And on days, the screaming kid next door wakes me,
And on days, the things that I ******* up make me regret.

But I earnestly wish that you be the first thing I behold,
On beautiful sunless noons, when the clouds sing as a choir,
So I could tell you that you look lovely;

And on mid-winter mornings, when gusty wind stops to see the silent grass-blades holding timid dewdrops,
So I could tell you that you look lovely;

And on nights when the drowsy sky stands embroidered with the cosmic jewelry,
So I could tell you that you look lovely.

Let you be the first thing I behold,
So I could tell you that you look lovely,
Each and every day, 'Till death do us part'.

Distorted midday dreams
Deepest unwelcome fears
Uttering thunderous screams
With inglorious tears

A warm but scentless gaze
Limited by these walls
Lies fixed on you these days
While a dread in me crawls

a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words”

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”

O you ,that I devoutly loved, have changed,
And the glorious sunshine of your summer has faded.

I wish we weren't so - temporary.
I wish the words 'left' and 'gone' never existed,
And I wish no such assortment of consonants and vowels was ever invented.
But then there's no way around it,or is there?

There was a piano that I played.
An old one,but now its keys are broken.
And I keep on counting as more break.
A life,much like this piano -O the comedian that God is!
I keep on counting - as my friends go away.
I won't hear both-the broken keys,the friends gone.

Friend 1
(My first friend in college - a birthday gift from God,who went away the next birthday)
Remember how I'd always say to you,
'Don't respond to my crap. I'm again falling for a girl.'
And you'd reply briefly,
'Good idea. Falling fast.'

Friend 2
Remember how we'd always talk, starting with,
'Promise you won't tell anybody?'
And we'd talk for hours exchanging embarrassing anecdotes,
Yet,not get tired of it at all.

Friend 3
Remember how you'd say,
'I saw you sitting alone in college.I wanted to come.'
And I would answer,
'Yeah,I do that these days.'

I wish you weren't so - temporary - all of you!
I wish the words 'left' and 'gone' never existed,
I wish you all stayed.
I wish your echoes didn't torment me,the way they do.

I'd rather cut the cord
Than hang myself with it.

(7 pm - sad news)
A soul departed.
And I could not be but incredulous that how so natural a quietus was to be met, when one would most deny it.

(8 pm)
An inch closer to reality.
Or else this Death, would've been as devoid of taste and essence as a heart that but stalks the fleeting pleasures of an unworthy world.

(9 pm)
I pitied him. And myself (rather selfishly).
He lost a mother.
Oh he lost a mother, and I have one to lose!

I wonder, with what subtlety have my heart and mind deceived my  sense of sympathy, because
I remember vaguely whether my tears were in realization of the misery of an ever-rejoicing friend,
Or in mere anticipation of what was written in heavens, for my mother.

I never really admired the man he (my friend) was.
And I never really appreciated his general lack of concern and the apparent absence of mindful demeanor.
But when I came to know the person he really was,
I cried that night.
And I cried that night talking of him with other friends.
He had found his breezy spring here, seven hours away from the silent autumn that was meant to strike his home.

And now I knew him,
Whose patient smile, kissing the perpetuity of bright harmonies,
Denied bowing down to the contours of a winter twilight.

Oh, now I knew him,
Whose eyes had shone like a thousand summer sun, even
When night's crawling terrors lay unhidden;
Despite the profundity of darkness that showed no mercy.

He lost a mother, oh he lost a mother.
And I have one to lose.

(12:30 am - 7:30 am - the travel)
A visit.
To the autumn, seven hours away.
In the middle of nowhere.
Where he had lost a mother,
While the white desert mourned
And the clouds hung low in melancholy.

There, ah, there in the ivory clouds I saw a cleft.
It must have been the door to heaven!
It must have been opened for his mother.
It must have been opened for her.

(8 am)
I met my friend.
He looked alive, not brilliantly though,
In submission to God's unquestionable will.
Had I looked deeper, I would have found vivacity stone-dead,
I would have found unfathomable grief,
And I would have found life,
Trying to hide from the terrors of its own self.

(2 pm - the funeral)

(Condolences)

(3:30 pm - Return)
The tough terrain that we traversed on our way here was smoother now,
And the mimosas had reappeared, and the desert seemed less dull.
I wonder why we forget too easily, the matters of "the bourn from where no traveler returns".
I wonder why we fall too easily for the winter even though we know what freezings it would bring.
But then it's only so human to forget.
So human to forget.

My eyes can never unsee
My hands will never stop holding
My feet can’t take back the steps
My heart will never stop aching

Never will it stop screaming for you
Never will it walk away from you
Never will it let go of you
Never will it look past you

I hear the Violins,
Vouching for each trivial,
But fair feature of yours that lies chaste.

I hear the Violas,
Bearing the melancholy,
Your heart conceals deep within.

I hear the Cellos,
Pouring the velvety essence of love,
In my sullen ears.

I hear the Woodwinds,
Singing for beauty, calling for love-
All in unison.

But then the Clarinet disagrees,
For the sheer taste of dissonance.
There,the Oboe tries to moderate,
As the Flute flares up,
Emphatically proposing the passion be mutual.
Then the Strings intervene,
And all play in unison-
The purest articulation of the desire,
For love - yet unmet.

I hear the Brass finally,
With Percussion on its side,
Sounding as though Zeus were to erase Mount Olympus,
Arising turmoil,
Provoking the Strings and the Winds,
Ousting the gentle harmonies,
And ousting the gentle melodies,
And alas! ousting the very notion of love.

Yet,I love the symphony.
And You - are the symphony.
The most beautiful I've heard.

The ensemble was quiet.
And strange voices talked.
While I stood by the pillar against the big wooden door,
Looking around to see if I could dance that night.

Lights hung low from the elegant ceiling
Of that hall,built with a distinct victorian taste.
A girl in pink, sitting by the staircase, rested her cheeks on her hands,
Looking around to see if she could dance that night.

Then the ensemble played.
Lights grew bright.
The hall turned into a boundless ballroom.
And music moved the numb hands and feet,
To chase each melodious note,
Down a surreal abbey,
To the realm of a passionate,ecstatic relief,
I had not witnessed before.

This cast a spell.
My eyes sparkled.
Her eyes sparkled.
We moved toward each other,
With an irresistible air of this divine passion guiding us through.
So we danced that night,
To the 'mellow' waltz.
And we danced thereafter,
To the 'mellow' waltz.
And we danced infinitely.