I’ve lived with the future and the past
but never with my present,
fetched for moments I thought would last,
as they were well spent.

I’ve gone miles adrift of my conscience
by seeing memories slip away,
they try floating with burly defiance
and not drown in the stack of hay.

I was told to hold on to words
spoken in the finest hours of many lives,
yet I scattered them like shepherds
and poked their existence with rusted knives.

I am not a slave to the time God
or a souvenir for the realm of memories.
I’m just a fool at sea without a balancing rod,
battling the infinite boundaries.

Lonely I stand in this grand hall,
where I am forced to expose my scars to all.
People walk by and mock my fall,
as if my feelings were a toddlers doll.
I wipe my tears in pain
to carry a soul that was slain,
by folks who made my efforts go in vain
and had all my acts, dumped away in a drain.
Dejected I kneel down to address
the evidence of my oozing out weakness,
to a hall that has the power to suppress
and turn the jury heartless.

I feel a fluttering hand on my skin
which brings upon my face a rare grin,
as I know the hand would go up-to my chin
and wait for it aspproaching twin.
Expecting the fingers to cuddle with my face,
I dream of a romantic scene on a terrace,
where the lover would warmly embrace
and freeze the ticking clock’s pace.
Such colourful feelings like mirages
drag my imagination out of the cages,
where it has only speculated for ages
that the glancing off hands were like blessings from sages.

Floating kites are for none to keep,
they sail with a subtle grace
and forsake the biblical goth
who regrets to let go of his kite.
Slanting forces try to slay its flight,
but end up launching it high,
high enough  for it to never retreat
to the land blotted with ***** feet.
Born to fly like a lost feather,
to crash or to fly away into space
is for the Gods to decide
and not the wind or the tide.

While scribbling all I knew on wet sand,
I would feel my mind drowning in the marshy land,
so I did wash every letter away with my tears,
and left no room for clingy fears.

I was hoping after all these years in exile
some fears might have fallen down the pile,
a pile of silly things dipped in agony,
I had built to challenge my cacophony.

After a decade my fears are resurfacing,
their wrath is deadlier and blazing,
leaking from bruises I recklessly ignored
and dragging along a shady past I abhorred.

I have a child inside me crying and screaming,
hiding behind doors, when the past comes knocking,
it wishes for the lost luck to retreat
and bring along fables that once skipped it’s heartbeat.

I know the scars I wear, shall stay and glow red,
till the time darkness plays with my head,
forcing it to believe in the beastly visions
that were more like false hallucinations.

Will we care to know who we are,
unbolt our mind and explore.

Boundless lands are a leap away,
yet we decide to stay where we were.

Holding on to careless memories that slip,
we make a conundrum of our life.

Eyes turn to faucets that sob till dusk
and nurture pain that body expels.

Second chances that God showers us with
can drag us towards a utopia.

If our reluctance still shows up,
we must be foolish to preach for mercy.

I’ve been reminiscing all those faded memories,
Where your footprints reside,
And they lead me to the garden of cherries
A place, stashed away in my memory guide.

I flip through it’s pages every night
Hoping to relive the divine magic,
We felt, while our hands played under the moon-light
And waved at feelings which you thought, made you allergic.

Inking our fables down with blood
I had wanted the letters not to fade away
Unaware we were of the approaching flood,
Which would melt the guide’s pages like models of clay.

Every astray tear of yours
Was like a holy rill flowing through the cracks
On the book’s cover, decorated with dead flowers
And reeking of unburnt corpses, abandoned in shacks.

Our fates had drifted away too far into the dark,
Making retreat a mere joke.
A joke which Hangs on our bodies like dead bark,
That mocks my heart to have turned broke.

My palms keep fluttering over the guide,
Trying to connect with forgotten memories,
Trapped between the pages that like to hide
And bring back visions from the Garden of cherries.

She's crying for shelter from city lights,
her way was lost chasing the kites.
She doesn't deserve this mellow harshness,
her muted soul needs some love to harness.
She's shying away from the forbidden innocence,
her eyes beam with, while seeking guidance.

O! dear, doesn't she remember,
she's the Daughter of the Nature.

She had a smile that spread like wild fire,
melting hearts of beasts and gruesome liars.
She was a fawn in disguise, innocent and sweet,
knocking down obstacles with her mushy feet.
She also had her majestic, sparkling eyes,
trapping time in a bottle and  her crooked lies.

Why doesn't she remember ?
She's the Daughter of the Nature.

She still hides that girl in her conscience,
waiting for herself to crawl out of defiance.
She walks with the shadows of her past
thinking, her old-self acts like a mast.
She knows, culprit are her own people
but still lets them treat herself like a lost gamble.

One day she will surely remember,
she's the Daughter of the Nature.