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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

butterflies and sugar rush
looking at her mane brush,
rustling of novel pages
the endless sea
sat by the porch she,
why?
there's arousal for the causal,
and what followed since?
the fruit seems forbidden
and looks a lot like quince,
the endless sea,
sat by the porch she
where do the waves go
we shall see.

Blanket and black coffee
Measly morning chills,
a longing for winter enstilled,
until I met winter in person
and man is she all the thrills.
Time stops when she walks
as if it were a frozen lake,
she smiles like a snowflake
and chuckles like the sun
on a winter day,
I've met winter in person
not having one bad day
anymore.

Oh the peculiar village,
her eyes carved out
from her visage,
thieved just to
look at the moon
and the stars' lagoon,
for the moon isn't the moon
the night isn't starry,
when not seen from her eyes,
she who seems married,
to the night sky of course.

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.

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.

Pages be poured out,
be torn out books,
they all append with
you getting her looks,
how alluring she is
and will always be,
reborn each time
with no memory,
the seed once was
or the fruit it could be.
Thieving a mere sight
here and there
is worth every bit of
the herd's pity.

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.

She was the moon
then the sun rose,
daylight looked on,
as he buried away
his dear prose,
a grave to mourn?
or a seed was sown?
She was the winter
then the sun rose,
all the blood bled,
all the tears shed,
manured into the land,
on which they both wed,
and in the deep ends lied
his dear prose.

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.

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 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.

Palm trees, streetlights,
dim strolls and caffeine,
her words and giggles
inches closer to morphine
and oh so giddy are the nights,
the reality just doesn't intervene.

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.

Indeed a french beauté,
the most luminous of faces
and a black beret,
she paints to seize the moon
as it gently caresses the rivers,
not knowing that she herself is,
the waxing gibbous.

An outlander gone astray,
a mile for each day
is now the distance
we're away,
in her mind,
on the map's line.

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.

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

Me and my beret
oh so longed
for the scent of her mane,
as the King for his Queen
atop the Dunsinane.
Disappearance of the scent
from the beret,
how hastily it went,
on your departure's day.
The return is imminent,
with one of your own
resting on your mane,
all the days I yearned
must not go in vain.

A fool for love
and for requite,
her golden brown mane
his fingers in tight,
souls were touched
in the night's quiet,
his tears roll a lane
her fingers in respite,
lover's etching their love,
sonnets they live
sonnets they write,
her golden brown mane
his fingers in tight,
then they sleep.

Lemon tea cake slice
pink orange sunsets,
she's alone with them,
as the sea looks on
with its trinkets,
and so do the pets.
A voice so euphonious,
but it comes at a price,
the night knows her well,
the moons and the stars entice,
a pleasant heart to heart,
must be a great sight.

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.

It's a room of gold lights
he is drawing lush nectar
the fear is drawing his blood
the admiration is enslaving
the fingertips are tracing
every inch,
through the cloudy nights.
The ears are savouring
each whisper,
they are savouring anatomies
perhaps the creator's
greatest mights,
Perishment is consuming him
he desires yet he doesn't
for what good is fulfilment
if it didn't birth from yearning.

When it all turns disdain
when it all seems to go in vain,
myriad sounds of her breathings
slither in my brain,
while I catch my own,
with her and her alone.
My heart and the waves racing,
cheery puppies chasing,
as they look at the sun sink
so do they,
in the warm laps of heaven herself,
as she hums, as she sings.

Endless voyages
but this one you go alone,
I did too
then I couldn't come home,
neither will you.
My exile won't go vain,
for it was your liberation
from unjust pain.

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.

Holily they allied
emerging from the dark,
him and the thespian inside,
the groom and the bride,
so is the story arc.
they whisper and hiss
"He has no one to call his",
well the herd can't be heard
call it marital bliss.
Not with his palms,
not when knelt,
only in his heart
can the missus be felt,
compels him to think
how it must be
to hold and be held,
call it the only miss.

Each passing day
your ring's mark
digs it's grave in my skin,
not too long it's been
when our bodies tied knots,
when our souls married,
untied each other's knots,
untied each other from knots,
our tongues strangled
eyes sinking,
war of words,
or a lighthouse in floods
forbidden fruit in bloods,
lustings in the night's hoods,
immerse drops of me in the flesh
Oh! now a marriage of bloods.

- Diljeev

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.

Let's find refuge
on the misty clouds,
above the downpour
away from the crowds,
muffled in the sheet of stars,
I'll ****** your skin
like shrouds of silk,
under the dim light
of the moon lampshade.
I look up at the falling rain
and think of your hair
entwined in my fingers,
gliding leisurely without a care.
Sweet belle I hope to god,
before it all,
each one there is,
or if there even is one,
you find home in me,
in the face of
every storm to come.

Days of nights,
a night of mirages,
souls longed for massages
and then morning dawned,
revealing a lonesome stairway
in the sunniest day,
so were the nights once,
the same day's
pitch black decay,
until the moon rose
from bombay,
eternities swayed,
lives changed,
so long as the moon stayed,
days of nights,
a night of mirages,
souls that longed for massages
and then the morning dawned.

Sunlight from
the window pane,
sun rays sift through
strands of her mane,
they stroke my face.
She and
the sun collaborate
to reveal the brown
in my eyes,
little does she know
it's my love,
outed in glimpses
as the sun shines,
it's the dreams
of this autumn,
and how we'll be one
by then,
it's the brown of
the tree's leaves,
greeting us on
our usual strolls,
and when we lay
on each other's laps
on all the autumn eves.