bubbles celebrate
transience.
phut!
they  vanish after
a short life.

Inspiration resists my morals’ Plea
And I penalize the madness spilling forth from pen in hand.
Revoking my passions to save a lover’s skin,
As I hold my heart under wings spread reluctantly.
Innocence was cast into Time’s sand,
Alas my passions win.

We flourish in this partial reality.
As I quietly touch your face, your lips, with my thumb,
Begging to know the thoughts you never utter.
Perhaps this suppression is a favorable one,
Where after my uninformed dreams will run wild with hope,
And your affections are safely concealed by
Plaster walls and my contract to mum.

We really do thrive here.
In this vacuum.
I dare not think of when we must leave it…
When nights like this one
Come to a close.

We will only be able to dislodge quavering,
Reluctant sighs.
For we have so often recited the volumes of our hearts with
No words.
Always saying everything by saying nothing
At all.

Only fit for heaving heavy desperate breaths--
Airy, impalpable syllables.

On a silent quest for time’s
Antidote;
Struggling to exist permanently within
Such small moments.
Lips.
Hair.
Skin.
Snippets of life to which we cling.

like the pink sun rising
the beginning was very kind,
and pleased every one's mind.
a fine start, ensuring
that things are half done
(yet the other half is worrying)
            the irony is this,
the moment it was begun,
the beginning itself has become
insignificant.
the lone thought
took possession then
of everyone
was the concern about ending
or rather,
the worry, how it would all  end.
the short lived euphoria of beginning
gave way to the angst
regarding the end.
the sun  then, goes in to an eclipse.

the end was
just the opposite, rightly so,
of the beginning.
it was  imminent too.
no beginning could stand
without the inevitable end.
-it could be extended, may be,
just a little.

the end was very rude
only fair, counting the kind beginning;
it could only be that
--and the cycle continues....

life springs surprises at you
like a sudden  rainbow magnificence
after a rain that drenched you
and  made to scurry for non existent cover.
some times the glitter you firmly grip
and all the while  thought was  gold
turns out to be a mere carbon block.
will you cry or smile?

-I got the poetry bottle, yesterday
a long day it was,and at the end
I was hoping to get forty winks;
drooping eyes stopped expecting anything.

the setting sun was a blaze
on a dark thicket like cloud,
that reminded me of an ancient omen;
and then,  the waves
washed the bottle ashore
with this piece of poetry
for me, inside
it  cryptically said:
"You won,
I wish to send you
calm tides
followed by a silent night"

I smiled in the dark
did I wait
against all odds
to walk away with
this uncertain trophy
in my hands?
I turned around
and threw it back
in to the agitating waves,
that suddenly felt appeased.
on that moment sun went down
the reign now begins,
Darkness, dear darkness....