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.

Neither singing nor words,
nor humming with the birds,
neither giggles nor laughs,
nor the breaking of voices,
nor the rapid water quaffs
after heartfelt cries,
none of this is heard now
for we meet behind shut eyes,
I long for it all, but for now,
these mere glimpses suffice.
Hours spent in silences,
now they go in vain,
for even silences
can feel incomplete,
memories of her presence
are all that remain.

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.

Morrow's dawn
when I'm reborn,
the well known lad
will be long gone,
there aren't many
who'll mourn,
those who will
shouldn't for one,
the metamorph
will be who they
all should've known.
Blessing or a curse
I'll take it with
in all my lives,
the eternal longing
will be one of my wives
except even death
won't do us part.

Chaos in the chambers
echoing all over dunsinane,
the lady screams
insane and inane,
thence I flee to the forest
to lay still on the grass,
where the nightingale sings
under the moon for hours,
the lady and her raven,
they all keep mum
in this little haven.

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.

The sun set on the pash
clouds, dirt and ash,
a little ways down the road,
looking back at the odes,
it'll be remembered
How she brought
a corpse to feeling,
staring, giggling at his ceiling,
how she was winter,
then it rained.

It was all a dream?
Saving a mutt's breath
then a prolonged night
of hearing hers,
and now the night's death?
Lone cold bike rides
then her warm hugs,
and her scent on my shrugs?
When the moon made me feisty
I said how hard could the heist be
and stole the night sky for her?
feeling her hands lost in my mane,
with her and I being just the same
It was all a dream?

The thespian's dream
a perpetual affair,
stage lights and
the smell of your hair,
for it can be a billion eyes
but that one pair,
is supreme.

Take me to the cemetery
where souls go to die
may just find
the catcher in the rye,
some pass with
ashes in the sky,
while the others leave
their anatomy blind.
A saint and a muse
none of them
deserved to die,
then why
the untimely goodbye?
The saint will lie
far from resurrection,
the muse will lie
blinded by misconception,
we may never find
the catcher in the rye.

"Can't help falling in love"
the Elvis classic played
they all except you swayed,
I could tell before I held you
how heavy your chest weighed
with all your heart in it,
all your longing for him ached
thus I came to your aid,
if this wasn't dreamy for us all,
if everyone was still standing tall,
your head resting on my chest
would've heard mine
aching for you,
then the moment passed
Mr. Presley rested with his last verse,
"But I can't help,
falling in love with you."

Just as the selfsame moon
and the selfsame night,
pinches of dawn and daylight,
the selfsame giggles,
and the selfsame little fights,
all as exquisite as the first imprint
on my eyes' white,
hold me closer, hold me tight,
there'll be nothing left to recite.
Hand in hand, arm in arm,
just like the sand glass,
in which time fleets,
it'd be nice to have known
the night in the flesh,
and the necklace on her neck
with it's moon beads.

I've returned to find,
she as I knew her,
had all perished,
who is she now?
What is she now?
A state of mind?
The smell of rain
to the blind?
Or to the deaf
night stars alligned?
Her concluding embodiment
is out there somewhere,
do I look for her in it?
Who will I find?
besides a stranger,
will she still be there
enshrined?

Wounds renewed
knives were sharp,
****** fingertips
play the harp,
for a joyous union
yet again,
could've been
entwined in
strands of her mane,
bathed in requite at last.
Bled in a chalice
not in vain,
to be sipped a little
each passing day,
to ease the pain,
to yearn away,
yet again.

And then there was
A cliff's brink,
leap into the canyon,
plunge into the gape
to end up in her lap
beneath the banyan
or in vineyards of grape,
without a think,
let her fingers
run through your mane,
each strand rustles,
perhaps it'll always be fallacy
reality isn't profane.

Shivers of my worlds,
rivers of my words,
ardent to have flown
in the serene valley,
your mind hath sown.
So much I want to tell,
more than silences sell,
ones you read oh so well,
sightless to the world
but I see you see it all,
behind the childlike innocence
is a mother wrapped in her shawl,
how you see the moon set,
in a way no one else does,
how you talk to the horizon
that follows,
how the stars are kids
playing in the night's lawn,
how they allign silently
as you look on,
as if they are your own.

Potrait of a rainy night,
strands of her mane
are rain frozen in time,
the way the clouds and rain
immerse the moon in them,
so is her visage,
basking in her skin
through her mane,
the sole stars
in a night like this
are her eyes.
Words are this painter's brush
though none can sum up
how endlessly beautiful
her being is.

Her eyebrows
and their slow raise,
how her eyes grow big,
how her pupils dilate,
listening to me going
on and on about my trivialties.
Almost like a star
on the moon's surface,
the little black spot
on her face
above her lips
and it's slow raise,
how she smiles and laughs
like there's no tomorrow
in our days,
now all these visions are
what get me through mine,
the beauty of time.

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.

Closure is a hoax,
it'll take lifetimes to forget you
or perhaps just the one
if I tried,
no matter what it is I do
there you are,
my subconscious bride,
closure is a hoax,
it'll take lifetimes to forget you.

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.

Moonlight on our skin,
our manes are akin,
where will this "fin",
my blood runs cold,
my sanity runs thin,
for it's the same stars
and the same moon
culprits of a déjà vu,
just hoping the dawn isn't soon,
hoping this one never ends,
we'll worry about the "fin",
when the moon descends.

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.

I gave her my coat
for more than just a day,
to thieve her scent
and take her all the way
home with me,
now I rue each day,
it shouldn't have been my coat
but my skin instead,
I'd have thieved her blood
complimentary to the scent,
for unlike the scent,
the blood wouldn't have faded,
we'd both pass away in peace,
with our souls jaded.

Wartime looms
in my mind,
a war booms,
milady read every letter
respond to them all
before we reach our tombs,
your expressive breaths
far from being heard
in the moaning war's womb,
over the spiralling planes
and the enemy's role call,
your expressive breaths
far from being breathed
astray in this air of deaths,
the enemy's sword unsheathed.
Bright sky, night sky,
full moon, lifetimes later,
an encounter,
with no memory of the other
or how they were smothered
by the enemy who won.

A lost confidant
parting after a brief jaunt,
the killing anticipation
of getting down on a knee
in the middle of a restaurant,
waves of the fleeting flowing time
trickling down fingers of mine,
then again,
pleasures of the swim
come from the fear of
being hauled by
this torrent's whim.

Unaware sweet nothings,
her last words before
she parted,
perhaps the last whiff
of her mane
before an ordeal started.