Thou rustling of waves
is there word for me
ensnared in thy anatomy?
Perhaps an odd bottle
with a funny smell
but doesn't stench of reality?
Perhaps a precise note or
a drenched lump of paper really.
This island sure snared me,
yet another natal day
and seconds for eternity,
thou rustling of waves,
rouse me from fallacy
when there's word for me,
ensnared in thy anatomy.

Our journey was brief
nearly as long as
a walk in that park
down by her place,

fleeted like the sound
of a crackling leaf,
on that roadwalk home
in utter solace,
oh how I decieve my years,
for those mere minutes,

they may be
demonic nightmares
pushing you to limits,
to me they're dreams,
worth more than
every passing wakings.

I often sit at the pavement,
tired by the bereavement,
perhaps from there
our journey resumes,
but this time
the stroll consumes,
that's how I'll go.

I'll return from my exile,
back on country roads
lodging in this foreign space,
another one of my "abodes".
I'll apologize for their trouble,
while the true abode
and your essence residing still
will have turned to rubble,
four walls and the roof,
embraced you in the flesh,
when even to me
they were aloof.
The bed and the pillows,
clasped you to sleep
gold brown hair all set free
years later,
it will have been buried
with your essence residing still
in the abode's dead debris.

Words may fall short
one seldom night,
we may never resuscitate
in this life's daylight,
should I rest this quest?
once and for all,
at my thespian's behest?
We may not come to life
a faint sense of hope stays,
may you come to, in reality,
until then it's separate ways.

Pelting hail
on the window pane
awakens me,
jogs my memory,
a year passed in vain,
and a lucky man's year,
with his face buried deep
in her gold brown mane,
to think it was me,
wouldn't that be insane.

The meadows of his visage,
soil cracking with age,
all it takes is her thought
and the meadows
cease to rot.

Each one in his dream's domicile,
tears racing down their eyes,
for the day may not be far
down the aisle,
when the prolonging dreams
and the reality blend,
and so do they, in the end.

It isn't a certainty,
but a man can hope can't he?
hope made it viable,
he made past the ordeal,
now it comes to a close,
it is but human to think
a reunion is undeniable.

The past fades, it must,
alas! you fade to dust,
oblivion be thy death,
you are but a phantom,
words be thy breath,
mine in writing them.

Vicariously,
you pull through,
A man merely has one
yet this one gives life to two?
One as elegant and lovely,
her immortality
deserved to be made true,
words be thy breath,
mine in writing them.

Dreams be thy eyes,
mine sinking in them,
hours, days, months,
passed and to come,
Our kin never dies,
never did, never will.

No more sinking in your eyes
no whispers in my ears,
perhaps it should've
stayed with me
in all my years,
it's the next best thing,
in this world of lies.
In each waking moment,
in every drop of daylight
fading you are,
stains on a wet cloth,
burning you are,
I embrace, I hold fast
embracing the dying light,
saving it with all my life,
a yearning moth.

Worlds apart, cities divide,
miles of distance
but minds collide,
they were no dreams
just our own realities
for the time being.

We met indeed,
spewing out our lives
to each other,
reading all there was to read
entrapped in our eyelashes.

Deranged they called me
and every night's "meeting",
said come back to reality
life is fleeting.

Each day I flee
this alleged reality,
is proof that
my life has fleeted.

Our realities lie in each other,
with each other,
all these other ones should
stop feeling cheated.

On a rare starry night
dead silence prevailed,
with them all unsheathing
their very own plight.
The moon turns envious,
as she appears in sight,
for it is but a torn kite
before she in her own right.
She turns her records on,
echoing in the silence,
let the humming commence,
all are safe and all are sound thence.
As they all sink in the tune
She confides in the moon,
in the planned secrecy,
she confesses how she
loathes his absency,
even more than
she loathes to admit this.

Today's age
in absolute carnage,
I dupe this reality
so devastatingly plagued,
merely to see your visage.
Your lips, your eyes,
prance freely in the scene,
a flood of tears in mine,
yet I lie still in the spillage.
this false reality so obscene,
I run for my life from him,
but he shall always intervene.

It'll be salvation now
to breathe you in somehow,
oh in this dire massacre
graves appear,
as far as the eye goes.
Pawn off my soul,
this is my corpse's affair.
It'll be salvation now
to breath in your air.

There's no god's belief
I pray to an energy,
praying that you're safe and sound,
praying for the world's relief.
Hoping his arms are warm,
ample to make you feel home,

There's one too many arms
yearning for you outside,
one of the pairs is mine,
the others are those of time,
to be blamed are the soft shackles
of your essence,
compelling all in your presence
to abide,
to your absence.

Lie in his arms before
the arms of time grapple you,
fight your love, fight for your love,
while I stand here everyday
doing the same as you,
for you,
until the end of time.

Gentle waves of the beach
caressing the shore,
the sun sinking into the core,
a known figure from my life's lore,
stood afore,
in this orange light
this divine body,
god's very own pottery
appears in sight.
Into each other's eyes we sunk,
like our feet in the sand's chunks
like a dip in the ocean in front of us.

this beautiful heist
of each other's soul,
blind to what she stole,
oblivious to her core.

Yet it was her own being,
that helped me in fleeing
each day,
but we never crossed paths
since the dawn of may.

The blind mademoiselle,
there's no way she could tell,
it was she who gave me eyes,
reason to wander in the world
looking for her
as each waking minute dies.

Where oh where is it in me
you still reside,
where is it you still hide,
irony in it's full stride
sees an outsider
on the mirror's inside.
I am but a corpse of our dead kin,
this is how it has always been
and always will be.

A year ceased to the known,
crystal to each other
selves of their own,
clear as day,
but the day's long agone.
Her voice still etched in his ears,
and as it appears,
it sure won't be gone for years.
Years to come, years to go,
will there be another to the known?
each day passes in this question's wake,
another day of talking and giggling
over something his mama baked?
will there be yet another night
skinny dipping down the lake?

She could be air, she could be breeze
as we speak,
yet placed in his mind with such ease,
as if a blind man's
last notion of the world
before his eyes decease.

When silent is the bird,
mum's the word
everything's blurred,
they meet then,
reality doesn't intervene,
no sense of being.

When the curtains did close,
from the dark she rose,
her eyes, her hair,
her lips, her brows,
revealed by the light breaking in
from the back doors.

this is all of it
his memory thieved,
before being left bereaved,
he had reality all deceived,
until the curtains rose,
she was thin air,
vanished off the face of this world,
atleast the one he knows.

Stood by the window
in the heart of the glare,
her feet bare
on the cold floor,
with a much colder stare,
there she is.

never out of words
on days it's his breath
taken away,
what else is to expect
from someone right out of
a Shakespearean play,
there she is.

Dressed in blood red
one day she'll wed,
he hangs by a thread,
the clocks may run out
he'll never be done,
every thousandth look
is the same as the first one,
there she is.

There he was,
gazing on from the woods,
blended in the scene
like a ranger,
an afterthought
in the gaping nature.

Fate played
it's own little game
his eyes couldn't see,
the light of the day,
which he coveted
for dear life.

All he saw at noon
was her back turned on him,
which was no sun
but instead,
the dark side of the moon.

Divine in it's own right,
just to have seen her being
right infront of his eyes,
for all these months
she'd been nothing but
a figment in his mind's skies.

And then a year later,
the ship sets sail
fleeing a year long sorrow,
into the tomorrow.

Each breath
calling out your name
a yearning for a last gaze,
every ear's thirst
for your voice,

a desire to quench it all
one of these days,
on you and me if there may
never dawn this tomorrow.

From the captain
to the cleaner himself,
they all yearn for it,
before they depart.

From the sky
to the ocean herself,
envy the troop's pining
for she who on the port
detract's the beauty
of this scene
for she who in their eyes
poses to be better than art.

- Diljeev

It was last year
the day they embrace
their love,
all of them,
it was then
I declared my own.
Seeds were sown,
In the sun then
her face shone,
it was me alone
who could see,
the seeds growing
into our sweet union's tree.
But as fate would have it,
it's their union's fruits
that the tree bore,
and it was almost as if
an encounter with death
deep inside my core,
there was rebirth then,
a man with the whole earth
to his name as if,
it is indeed land galore,
to sow seeds
until one day a tree grows
just like it's seeds it's pure,
bearing fruits
it should've always bore.

And then I open my eyes
yet another misty morning,
half a year has passed by
but my heart is still yearning,
with the passing of each night
there's always a fairytale dream,
never will it make me vulnerable
even the bravest yearn,
silently we all make a wish
to the moonbeam
for nothing's ever enough.
It's hard to put into words
a dream that doesn't change,
just that it's always a different place
yet a part of it tends to stay,
from your tiny black eyelash
to the enormous warmth
of your being,
in the thick of it all is me
standing there looking at you
what else can I say,
And then I open my eyes
yet another misty morning,
half a year has passed by
but my heart is still yearning.

- diljeev

There you were
by my side watching me
wave my last goodbye,
pains my heart I won't get to
watch you wave yours.
To not see you draped
in your own charm,
as tears rolled down
your right eye as you wave
your last goodbye,
sadly it all ends,
with him getting
the best seat in the house,
holding your hand,
brushing his thumb on it
to console you,
as you cry in the light of
your last goodbye,
what I won't give god
to be him for this one night,
just to be there one last time
by your side watching.

- Diljeev

The record player plays
the Vinyl of November,
the forthcoming of winter
and the apparent
festival of lights
amidst all the glow
a light shinier than the rest
radiated by this woman
draped in customary pink,
smiled like the light of a candle
lighting up the room.
A different match however
lighting up this candle,
unsettling it was to see and it still is,
but the beauty always lied
in one's being amidst the light
of this ever lit up candle.
The vinyl stops abruptly
bringing me back
to the cold dark room
as cold and as dark
as the reality has been,
neither a candle nor
a match to be seen.

This once I dreamed about
a rainy day in Paris,
when I saw you out of the blue
nailing the business grey,
I subtly walked across the bridge
hoping to run into you which is
exactly what I did,
sorry for the coffee spill
one can't possibly be allowed to
look that good in business grey.
With all the catching up to do,
towards a café near the tower
we made our way.
Amidst the anecodets
and the laughs,
time passed and the café
now turned into a bar,
not wanting the day to end
deep down I'd slowly pray.
Now it was midnight
silence echoing in the streets
and then came the two,
completely wasted,
wandering around and giggling away,
stopped by a bridge when you asked me
"who knew we'd meet again like this."
I replied "I knew... I knew
all along the way.",
everything that followed after this was
consequential to the beauty in this day,
That's when I woke up,
adding another one to the list of
dreams I hope turn into reality someday.

Tell me how does it feel
to be on the flipside of things,
I bet there's joy in every second
So dreamy yet so real.
I've had my share of moments
and I keep reliving them.
The things I pen about,
Look at you actually living them.
Tell me how does it feel
to be on the flipside of things,
I bet there's beauty in every minute,
Every minute as soothing as
when a wind chime rings.
I have my share of beauty
I pen it down every night,
Look at you in this shining armour
posing as her knight.
Tell me how does it feel
to be on the flipside of things,
I bet there's charm in every hour,
Unlike this ordeal.
Often I pen about
how I starve for
these moments and then I
Look at you as the same
moments you devour.