Is autumn already here or am I reminiscing a memory from the good old days?
I feel like I'm drifting towards an ocean of golden needles but this state of euphoria is confusing me.
Sometimes confusion is the answer to what just went by and what is to come,
Sometimes a chilly autumn breeze through the sleeves can take you home.
I won't know until I've left the shade and basked in the last sunshine of the year,
But for now, all I know is that I want to indulge in the autumn nonchalance with you.

I've had a love-hate relationship with this bed of crackling leaves that surrounds me,
It makes me resign to my state of slumber but I want to be wide awake.
You know I'd rather appreciate your beauty, so hold my hand and take me away,
To the top of a cloud we thought looked like us among all the other pretenders.
You might think I want to run away, forget my trail and start over,
But for now, all I know is that I want to indulge in the autumn nonchalance with you.

I can hear the bitter symphony of the holiday season calling out to me,
Making me feel as if the near future is a sugar coated rainbow, dancing to its own tune.
My present is serene and your presence can feel like autumn at any time of the year,
So can you hold me tight and don't let me gaze too far into the future?
Maybe I'm too optimistic about the things I'm fond of this time around,
But for now, all I know is that I want to indulge in the autumn nonchalance with you.

You are an antique , a relic or maybe an old bottle of wine,
every time you ask for me , I get shivers down my spine.
Your aura is the reason I'm nervous and unsure of myself
'cause all I want is to be a silent observer on your shelf.

You say "there is nothing to loose other than yourself", on the news,
but how do I believe in this when I have your motivation to loose.
All I care about is still intact and fueling my happiness
so maybe I should imitate you again and be the "casual selfless".

You’ve known me since I started looking down at myself.
What the hell were you thinking when you said : “ I’d be there for you” ?
Isn’t it funny you were actually there to pick up my midnight calls,
Isn’t it funny you were actually rooting for my crusade against the trolls.
Well, I fed on your optimism, twined around it and faked my smiles.
You could’ve gone along with my act but you chose not to.

You’ve known how my dry frown turns upside-down
And yet you make me figure it out by myself.
You please yourself by seeing me out of my comfort zone .
You are selfish, you use me to tickle your funny bone
But I know you mask your good intentions behind the sly wink .
I’m no fool, turning a blind eye to the things you do.

You’ve known places I like to go on a Friday evening
But you take me to the hole I won’t even visit on a Monday morning.
It’s uncanny to face someone else’s fears with them
And you have walked the mile in my old-dusty boots.
I sometimes feel that you’ve reached out to my roots,
Reminded them of my unique existence or maybe resilience.

You’ve known , yes you’ve known it all
And you decide to stay and continue the journey with me.
What’s your intention, motivation, illusion ?
I used to ask these questions and found myself in delusion
But I don’t care anymore about anything and everything.
I’ve known too, maybe not enough but I will always try.

A fire on some distant mountain under the grey sky,
the beauty of it's shape halting every passer-by.

I hope it keep me warm during a stormy night
and shines my path brighter than the moonlight.

The fire, a solitary goal for every lost soul,
fills the void of emptiness that takes a toll.

Survivors have named it "The Illusion of evasion"
and preach, it's the mind's creation to end desolation.

Am I a fool to have jumped into the common crowd
and reached out for hope sailing on a fluffy cloud.

This grand leap might bring me a merry evening
and let me enjoy my tea in Japan's pink spring.

The scenery I see in the fire has set me free
and I feel destined to become it's devotee.

My happy place is my reality now,
dancing like a  symphony on the seventh heaven.
It's the kind of joy, that'll keep me warm,
when the fireplace freezes and blisters surround my bruises.

The merryland  is not greeting me too long
'cause the reality will take me to the peak and spin away.
I can sense the free-fall charging towards me
and hurling my life back to the ordinary way.

I'd be a happier man if my happiness wasn't real
and if it was a dream that has decided to stay.
Dreams never die, they're like vintage honey,
the sweetness is complicated but it gets better each day.

I can let my summer go on for ages
and lie wasted under sheets of pleasure.
Living the dreamy life will make me a clumsy ******
but will let me hold on to my life's treasure.

There are some stars that shine brighter than others
but they're too far from here to be visible,
they hang in the sky like flowers in a busy courtyard
that's hosting expensive suits and leather boots.
Summer evenings keep the imperfections at bay,
as a setting sun with orange sky won't let the warmth die
which I need, to survive a tired and forsaken night
striped off those stars that stay hidden behind the bars.
Some dreamy nights make the beautiful people shine
and take them to heights from where they get brighter,
to replace those stars that I never see
or expose the ones sitting in the cabin next to me.
To be among them is stirring in my dreams
and helping me pack for the jet plane
that is bound for an unknown upward ascend
with plans to take off but never to land.

Eyes so wild that you can feel the thunder,
Soul so free that you can sense the splendor.
What’s holding him back from unleashing his zeal?
Is it the Gods, who don’t want him to unveil?

An era, starved in caves like the stray
Pleaded for a leader who wouldn’t fray.
The clan’s ‘Hope’ hid in the shadows of darkness
Anticipating about all the power he could harness.

These manly thoughts injected into his goodwill
Paved a way that went straight downhill.
He had a charm that glowed like the stars
But was reduced to **** covered with scars.

He often dreamt of an angel during the day
Who would remind him to climb up the stairway,
A path that would reveal him, his might
And propel him to an unassailable height.

His life finally entered the autumn season,
When, all he loved was charged with treason.
The angel he dreamt of started making sense
‘Cause all his emotions had turned intense.

Blazing with fire he rode the chariot of wrath,
Condemned to hell were those who obstructed his path.
He disdained all, whose actions were abysmal
As their glorious fates had now turned fatal.

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.

Dumb Streets stroll along with brains of blitz
to an evening ritual of bathing with blood
where young smiles melt away and tears dry out,
guilty die and so do the ones who dare to doubt,
audience calls it the crowned fool’s supper
but our fool names it ‘Blooming of the Juniper’.

Dumb Streets poke their pride with ***** knives,
scoop their brains out for the queen of beehives
and surrender their soul for a single penny
which leads them to a war-zone surrounded by jinni.
The poor souls mustn’t retreat to the fool,
who’d treat them as his supper or a war-tool.

Dumb Streets fed-up, riot with sullen spirits,
they burn bridges and **** the fool’s puppets.
The supper gets heavy as the days go by,
our fool feasts on rioters who’ve sworn to die.
Soon the puppets disappear into thin air
and leave the palace for rioters to spare.

Dumb streets have our fool as their supper,
sink their shelters with wine and clutter,
but fail to notice uprising of another fool
who’d played leader of fish in the pool.
Shower mercy O! wise Fool upon your streets,
preach the dumb, who wonder what he eats.