Embarrassing,
Each time, I remain a passer by.
She walks past, smiling,
Perfume wafting, shark to blood,
I follow yet remain wary.
If only, when she looked at me,
Said hello,
That one and only time,
If only the sound I made then was my own,
And not the frogs in my throat.

Apocalyptic departure
A comical catastrophe.
Separated from reality
By a mere apostrophe.

Two breaths left,
One was for saying good-bye.
But the vapour hugged his throat
Breaths wasted on a deaf layby.

Gone. Just so.
Parallels do not meet after all.
Yet he'd break mensuration
A tangent beside her, tall.

Mayhap it would suit needs
Had stitches not sealed his tongue
To speak of fruits forbidden, but
Ladders of memory, often have broken rungs.

Bah! What use is the eye
Without beholding her?
What of the ear?
Without another conversation..
The nose?
Without soap soaked skin.
The flesh?
When tips of his fingers grasp air
The tongue too..
When all it has tasted is a delightful future.

Cool breeze riding,
Name personified,

Whirl, skirt and soar
He waits for her to come home.

Feather light,
Suspended feet-
Scramble.
For purchase
On surfaces-
Far,
So far away.

I am neither the Sun
bright, fiery life.
Nor am I the Moon
flawed, lifeless cold.

I am the Eclipse
a precipice,
Between.

Imprint on skin,
Imprint on a pane.
The One on my chest, her grace;
The Other fades sans trace.

When you finally burn your soul,
Was I the pyre,
Or was I the fire?

I tire of waking to sticky notes;
On my pillows,
Where your head was the night before.

Between the memories of a twilight just past,
and the breaking of the zenith with holy light,
hangs an old child inverted,
suspended on a thread black as unholy night.

She wonders, she ponders,
she reminisces, she thinks.
She laments, she cries,
she laughs, lucidly she sinks.

The ground below turned,
as the tide of time wills it.
While in her free-float she  waited,
unaware of all earlthy business.

Things and People come,
Things and People go.
Was it really so different,
from what those awake know?

And Realization dawns,
in the stead of  Golden Eye this morning,
just over the valleys it flew,
just under the hills it was soaring.

An arrow of inner thought,
whipping through the dark,
severed the thread,
and let her fall.

Between this one dream,
and the future beyond her shut eyes,
sleeps an old child, almost aware,
that time shall pass, time shall fly.

I depart from the comfort,
Of my home-
From my crow's nest of ever watch,
Into the world seen this far,
Through a spyglass.

Concave reflections,
Of valleys and shores-
Part and whole,
Large and small,
From winter to fall.

So it was that I reached,
Two marble pillars-
The stone, smooth,
To the touch, cool
Through them, the way through.

So it was that I found,
The Bloom-
A doorway in the centre,
Its walls, soft,
Gliding my hands on them, I entered.

To a river of tranquility,
Beckoning me-
Towards the sea,
In which I bathed,
Stripped and laid my soul, bare.

And through the sea,
I was led-
Elsewhere, to a prairie,
Of cotton, warm and bright,
My skin bathed in glorious light.

By the light of two suns,
Far away-
Over the hills ahead,
My next perceivable destination,
A beautiful scene, a godly creation.

A due respite,
Slumber-
In the shadow,
In the valley between the hills,
To a warmth giving me chills.

I traversed further,
Arriving-
At a well, its shape; a rose.
And though the well's mouth was pursed,
It drew softly apart at my touch,
Quenching the last of my thirst.

And thus I stared above,
Finally-
Gazing at the suns,
Lighting my way,
Beckoning me, giving me aim.

I arrive at the comfort,
Of my new home-
Away from my crow's nest of ever watch,
Into the world I had seen this far,
Only through a spyglass.

Little Wood Elf, She
Stumbling across her, I;
Watch the kindred spirit, gentle soul,
of woodskin with hair of moss and
satin ivy, which drapes my neck,
As she becomes the black sky and
I, a dead star in it.

My toes fail to curl in the concrete beneath,
Tears unfurl as I yearn for the Beach.
My nose bleeds, infiltrated by gas, smoke and dust;
The sting of saline odor gone; eyes dry, for Brine I lust.
I swim in a Sea but of a different kind, stretching far out before me,
Schools of myriad Fishes crossing roads, circumventing my being.
But there is only One true sea, the Sea behind my Home,
The Sea where I lost a sister, A mirror on which the moon shone.
The Sea sighing and whispering, its waves the only lullaby I knew,
On its beach, golden sand and memories of a woman I made love to.

So I swim and I come up for air,
For air that smells of death,
Not of Brine.
Until I lay to rest, like
My sister in her watery grave
In this concrete Sea of mine.

(Ec)static*

Rusty voice
Blending in harmony
With the static,
over a 4 am phone call;
Wading knee deep,
In fitful sleep.
But it was precious;
The sawed voice,
The parch in her throat,
A raw call from slumber,
Into sudden awakening.
And she realized later,
Today was the first day
His voice was the voice
That interrupted
The silent dreams.

My Friend,
The only, is a Rainbow.

The world, a burning Sun,
Blinding me, lighting the dark corners
Of my mind.

Passing sunbeams through me to fall,
On a carpet of skymoss and cloudgrass.
Where to my surprise,
She stands everytime.

Reflecting the Colors,
The best in me,
To me.

He looks in your eyes quite seriously.
You see a light in them. More. A fire which once gave light profusely
Dying, but warm nonetheless in those frigid moments of loneliness.
He leans in after softly touching his nose to yours, with a certain degree of finesse.
Your heart tries to not stop but it does until he rests his hand on your thigh.
He asks you to breathe his name but all you can do is sigh

Out of light,
In my sight,
A ghost in your voice,
Whispering lies.
Of a bed, of walls,
To be shared till we fall;
Of two who would not part,
Till either of us, the Reaper called.

Hm.

It's that time again.
I utilise the block button,
Block out her and my memories,
The epitome of futility.

It is time I write,
For strangers to hear.
Of my endeavours and my pain
So someone validates me,
Gives me reason to be sane.

But then again this shall be the last,
Of the times I have held her back.
This habit I'll let go,
Little stagnant flower, I'll let you grow.

There was that salty syringe,
Sweet seduction of senselessness.
Then there was you,
Who left behind a ghost heart,
Carried by numb hands,
And dead legs.

An Autumn of departure,
I peeled away like a dying leaf
Hoping for a spring.
Finding grief.

Unnatural, a leaf must die,
Against all odds and wishes.
Because what spring comes
Before winter has hit?

And now the tide has turned,
The Winter returned.
I wither in prayer
Seeking shelter at this time of year.

A resting spot,
Beneath your roots.
Wishing for Spring upon us
I whisper I love you.

The cost of Patience,
Is the hours of silence.
The breaking of a heart,
The distortion of common sense.

Its cost,
Is the screams one swallows.
The words that die,
Their meaning hollow.

Its cost,
Is an eternal hunt.
To find shelter from an attempt
To resolve or confront.

Its cost,
Is the tumor filled of thoughts,
Pulsing under the skin,
Of a Man distraught.

The cost of Patience,
Is an Eternal Agreement.
To be and to let be,
Condemned to be in confinement.

Dear Ma'am

Let me begin by saying,
A heart in your office is left swaying,
When the elevator dings at around nine,
When your scent before you arrives.

Wafting past my aisle,
Drifting beyond my seat,
Shampoo and Conditioner galore,
Your presence fills the floor.

Around March, I got lucky,
When your computer caught fire,
You vacated your cabin, and
Moved to the cubicle next to mine.

Even if for a week,
It was worth the entirety,
Of the time I have invested in your venture,
Of the time I shall spend in the future.

Kindly allow me this poem,
A message I will never send across to you,
Subject-less, impertinent,
Never shall your inbox receive, my words so true.

Regards and Thanks,
For letting heart slip into work,
For though this may never come true,
My feelings I shall never shirk.

Yours sincerely,
Mute eternally,

Arjun