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Niranjan Oct 2022
Your walls don't deserve me
(A conversation)

Had been thinking of ways to end this.
Rapid beats of unusual jazz on my weary skin.
The feeling of being left out
feels like a grape being plucked out and thrown away due to the bitter taste.
Taste, taste, ******* ecstacy.
Drown with me till the last bubble.
Drench in the nights where clouds bring no rain.
Nothing can hold me, I'm not water.
Nothing can entrance me, I'm not wide eyed.
I'm not who you thing &
I don't know what i think.
You can push me to your wall and
paint me all over.
I'll still slide and push you away.
You can throw ropes at me like a mid-west ranger.
I would swirl and dance through the knots.
You can even call a mystic and summon my soul.
Won't be there, its been dead for decades.
You cannot, you cannot hold me, you cannot capture me.
Stand by your wall, stand on your side.
Stand by your voice, stand on your greed.
My place is nowhere &
My place is everywhere.
Now, what do you say, what do you have to say.
"Nothing much but only this,
Oh dear, even my own walls don't deserve me"
Niranjan Oct 2022
Ode from an Asylum

He called me and called me and once more it happened.
Could feel the sadness that glooms in his voice.
Could feel the clouded future in his head.
Imaginary, invisible shackles chained to his limbs
Marks of swollen skin ankles and wrists.
Eyes black, insomniac. Even though sleep was there by side.
Nonsense, Nonsense, No sense of Euphoria in anything done. Felt his way, d
Felt his anger, saw the act he did for me. Hardly he kept it, tiredly his soul seemed.
In shackles he is, In shambles he is.
Tired he is, gloomy he is.
Voice breaking with intervals of laughter.. is it for real or are they for me.
I fear of failure. Failure of me and failure he never was.
Cannot see him go into the abyss, where buildings are down under with windows not built.
Help he wanted, asking he was not.
I knew, help he wanted, which i am not aware of.
Help he wanted, someone help me.
Help he wanted, nowhere to be seen.
Niranjan Aug 2022
Lacing your moon with something of mine
In search of flashes...
I remember,
your scarf, red as i recollect....
Oh my, it had small stitch bumps,
now i remember.
The day was a literal sunshine,
i long and long for even more of those meets.
We listened to Damru..
We sat and read what all We've been writting..
A critic of a kind you are...
a nihilist of other sorts too.
yet, that is true it seems...
Your eyes were dialating as the moonrise on the 7th of May.
You remember May, don't you?
That's the day i had my hands inside you.
That's the day i felt what you are in flesh and not in mind.
And in that process
i found what you thought about, even things you are yet to know.
Inside you.., while we looked at each other.., without breaths..,with ecstacy
And inside, my hands searched for a pen to write all of this and a cigarette to smoke.
Niranjan Aug 2022
Edo, don't worry about the things you hear.
It's all a happening.
Everything happens as to let you know,
these are what you have to bear.
What you lack, lack in life.
Lack in life that tears you apart,
which you always lick from
which you take for granted.
My Dear,
Don't be sad.
Don't be sad when I'm with you.
Tell me all that makes you numb.
I will,
We will,
Make it love.
Your confusions & anger is always natural.
Neutral in ways it or ee help you through.
Signs these are, realisations these are.
Nowadays we stink in our own shoes.
Move to the other persons shoes,
find what they are.
Move to the other and look at you.
You'll see what you lack,
You'll find what you lost.
Go Vaanaprastha.
Find your jungle, go for an exile ,
look back home and see what's happening, through which you see what you did, what happened and what all you took.
What made your head weigh and bow down,
Even when you pushed your muscles to hold it  Up.
It's normal and beautiful to die,
By killing your most minute ego.
By devouvering the skins of those creatures
that hold you in chains.
It's a dual choice to go which way.
Choose yours by knowing yourself,
by finding what you are,
When someone asks.
Speak of who you are in terms of what you do.
   What you read &
   What you listen.
   What you consume &
   What you excrete.
       Rather than,
   Where you come from &
   Where you are going.
   No more tears.
There is no such thing Dear I am here.
It's all nothing but what is now.
Like these moments of time
while reading each of these words.
The breath you take in each second,
as it passes, as it goes away while you were thinking of me.
You were my Early wind,
that brought me  Streams.
Streams of water straight from them hills.
You were the wind which made me walk.
Remember who you were
To me you were the wind, the wind, the wind,
Those early winds.
Early winds i still cry for.
Look for,
The picture of the person that
comes into your mind &
The smell that lingers when seen out of sight.
The smell I found,
Your beautiful smell i found,
Found before a time where
we hadn't even met.
The smell i thought was a myth,
Found in time.
In time, everything happens,
In time, you find what you long for.
When we do it by surrendering ourselves.
Listen to music,
Dance till exhaustion,
Let those sweats fall,
Let the ego burst,
Let me love you &
Let me hold you.
Let me feed you &
Let me have from you.
Everytime you do this,
The healing is done.
Everytime this happens,
It's always a happening.
Hugs & Kisses,
Wake upto me.
It's 6:26 am,
4th of Aughust and im thinking of You.
Niranjan May 2021
Kiss me she said,
I kissed her hard.
Now with more effort
'My Lips', she said.
I kissed her hard,
but shook her head
and came more close.
"The other lip", she whispered.
Niranjan Mar 2021
She slid my hands through her thighs and wishpered, " Your parchment, your pen, now write that poetry as our lips moisten sippin on each others words.”
Niranjan Oct 2020
Statue By the River

A stone white statue was built
by someone on the banks of
the foggy river by the pines

The statue was sitting on a
wooden bench,
the way it was built
white as snow and lone as the artic

The day came, that i saw
A man sitting there with the
statue of a lady, white as snow
and lone as the artic

A distant view i had of them
He held her hand as if
trying to get a part of her
sadness...whilst looking at a
pale eye with a dead stare

I thought to myself
why the sculptor made this,
if to e left lonely by the banks

The man talked and spend time with her
in a way as if she was alive
by each day the pale woman was more and more alive

I had seen him laughing with her
I had seen him contemplating
the beauty of the foggy river with her

The day came i saw him on her lap
resting his head while crying
as she moved her fingers through his fine light hair

That day she was more human than any of us coukd ever be...

Feeling ones pain and sitting there in scilence,
contemplating, it was more human than any godily miracle

I gazed upon my hand,
to see me holding the statue the other day
looking at a pale eye with a dead stare....
a drop of tear
           of joy
           of completion

Now i know why the sculptor built this..,
not to e left lonely y the anks of the foggy river
for the ones who are left lonely
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