A tapestry of a life lived
Depicting memories and victories;
A tapestry that is gold,
A tapestry that is frayed.

Hangs on the wall this tapestry
And before it sits a Paragon,
Musing, reminiscing and wilting,
Her little world ever shrinking.

Does a Paragon lose her quality
If she can no longer act?
Would her love and patience be forgotten
Or would her past glories suffice?

Illness demands a levy,
Exacts a crushing toll.
Its every touch a withering stroke,
Its very cure leaving another wound.

The curve of a changed smile
Is like a scythe to the heart.
The mutated sound of a voice
Cuts you with its familiarity.

I sit beside the Paragon, unworthy.
Unable to heal, unable to help.
Ill equipped to fulfill her smallest dreams
I sit beside her and weep.

I see now through the veil of the past
Where lives a life I loved.
Over my shoulders I drape a tapestry,
Frayed by the dead hopes of the future.

I hear your name in the whispers of the ocean;
The winds from the heavens carry it to me.
I hear it as a lullaby sung by the night,
But I do not understand it.

I smell your perfume in wistful memories.
I imagine the gentleness in your eyes.
I desire the warmth of your naked embrace,
But you are not real...yet.

My aching heart calls out your name.
My lips declare my love for you.
My soul livens up thinking of you,
And I understand without understanding

That though you are not here yet,
Though I cannot hold you close to me,
Though i cannot press my face into your tresses,
You are real to me.

As real as the rainbow is to the parched earth,
As real as heaven is to the broken sinner.
As the embrace is to the lonely heart,
As the hearth to the bedraggled soul.

As the dreams of romance lay dying
Among the embers of my youth,
I grasp at the will-o'-the-wisps in the night
And wait for you.

Will you come to me as I have imagined,
Clad in a beauty glorified by my dreams?
Or will you come as a soft caress,
Unnoticed at first, but lasting till the end?

Forgive me if I remain silent when you stand before me;
For the unspoken words of a lifetime are like an ocean within me,
And looking upon you, they will seep through my eyes
Or evaporate in the furnace of my heart's anguish.

Unitl then, I will keep thinking of you
Clutching close to my breast a pain that feels real.
I whisper with longing, your nameless name
Hoping the winds will carry it back to you.

The pregnant clouds rumble overhead,
The atmosphere as heavy as my heart.
The meagre light has long given up.
Bracing against the fierce icy winds,
I walk across the rocky plain.

A moment of stark stillness
As lightning forks across the sky;
And I see the ground gently dipping
Leading to a circular green depression
With black boulders strewn across

As thunder shakes the world
I take shelter under a rocky promontory
Jutting up from an edge of the circle
And wonder at the perfectly round boulders
Hewn by some giant in ages past.

As the dusk deepens,
And the winds die down,
And the world waits with bated breath,
The weariness of my mind takes me
And I slip into a restless sleep.

I wake to the sound of rain and music.
The night is as pitch.
But there is light swirling in the rocks,
Gold, red, blue and green,
Whirling around inside the hard blackness.

And as the colours dance,
I hear the sound of lutes and lyres,
Of harps and flutes and violas,
And of instruments whose beauty
Is not meant for the newer ages.

Thoughts come unbidden into my mind.
The music dredges up forgotten faces.
Lost voices rise up in my memory.
Futures wilt and dead pasts resurface,
And Regrets take root and flourish.

Vanquished by this wicked magic,
I bow my heavy head,
Hide my tears in my drawn up knees,
Hug myself against the onslaught
And drown in the deluge of that cruel symphony.

I wake up in a dream,
Without fear, without doubt.
Without a desire to divine its meaning.
Shedding the stupor of existence,
I wake up in a dream.

~~~~~~~

Gloomy skies and silence
Greet me as I cross the dead fields.
I see a mountain in the distance,
Its peak shrouded in mists.
I walk through a drab world.

As I draw near to the mountain,
I see sparks of colour.
I am drawn to them
Uncaring if they are an illusion -
Like the Lonely towards Love.

I see butterflies flitting to and fro
Between flying petals of every colour.
I see the ground littered with fruits
And blue puddles on the lifeless earth.
I see rodents scurrying into the distance.

I see colours everywhere,
Of every hue and shade.
Here a golden moth,
There a mauve lamp.
Rainbows springing from the ground.

A golden rain falls to my right
As if the sun has melted.
And in that patch of deluge,
I see formless faceless children
Shedding black tears.

I look to my left
And see the air wriggling -
Many moving dots of no colour.
And looking into its expanding mass
I feel as if adrift in a void, weightless.

I force myself to walk forwards.
I see birds of many wings,
And red flowers dripping honey.
All whirling as if caught in a tornado
And at its vortex, a man.

I see him standing infront of a canvas,
Moving his arms and moving around.
He is painting but not only on the canvas.
His brush moves even on thin air,
The paint changing colour as he moves.

He is drawing a multitude,
He is drawing them everywhere,
And he is drawing them into being.
His eyes closed, his head bent,
Bringing his paintings into life.

He stops after a while.
His hands fall to his sides.
All the space around him
Is filled with his living paintings,
And yet there is silence all about.

He notices me and seems puzzled
As if wondering when he has painted me.
He beckons me to come closer
And I go to him without fear.
There is only trust in his eyes.

He tells me that he is a painter.
I look around and nod.
He shows me an inkpot
And tells me that it has magical ink.
I believe him.

He asks me to try painting with the ink.
Anxious about the formless anamolies
That might come out of my artless hands
I politely refuse.
He looks baffled.

He draws a pen in mid air, catches it,
Fills it up with the magic ink
And offers it to me.
'Write, if you can't draw,
Life, one way or the other', he says.

He points to the dead lands all around,
Asks me to help him bring them to life.
Others before me have accepted the Ink.
He tells me he never saw them again.
And yet he trusts another.

Or if I'd rather return to the world I'd come from
He advises to take the pen with me.
I tell him I can't carry anything
From Dreams into my Reality,
Except for things untangible.

I tell him where I come from
Hope is a dangerous currency;
That Rivers of blood would flow
Long after Rivers of Ink dry up
Magic or no.

I tell him where I come from
We don't need a pen
That can bring to life everything it writes.
More a pen that can
Write Life into others.

Come soon,
with your smile
prettier than I've imagined
in my musings.

Come soon,
with your voice
more melodious
than the cherubims I may never see.

Come soon,
to take my hand in yours
and pull me
from this quagmire of mine.

Come soon,
to breathe into me
a life I've been too afraid
to hope for.

Beloved Beloved,
born in my dreams,
born of the desperate longing
brought by loneliness.

Come soon -
walk through the veils
of my fantasy into a reality
where I wait for you.

Let me hug you from behind
and weep into your shoulder,
so you may not see
the ugliness of my sorrow.

Let me savour the beauty
of your name on my lips,
as I call out to you;
Your name is a succour, a solace.

Let me kiss you
on your brow,
and tell you wordlessly
how precious you are.

Let me love you
naively, nobly,
forgetting my fears and pains,
forgetting everything.

Let me love you Beloved,
let me become yours,
losing myself in your embrace,
like a tear in an ocean.

I was sitting at my desk, gloomy,
I  had sent out my CV.
I wanted to be Santa's apprentice, you see;
's long as I remember, that's what I yearned to be,
And unintentionally, my words have come out all rhyme-y.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a clang
And I toppled off my chair.
I  whipped around expecting to see
Father Christmas or at least his deputy
Come to take me up on my offer.

Instead of the gold, red and green glow,
I saw black and grey smoke curling
around my room; and out of it
Rose a sinister scythe and holding it
was the last person you'd want to see.

"Ah, the last person you'd want to see, eh?"
He said, reading my mind.
"For most I'm also the last person they would see."
He stood there, his head cocked
as if expecting me to get the joke.

"Am I going to die? Is it my time?"
I asked, all the things I've yet to do
rushing through my mind.
Especially all the swear words
left unsaid to some special people.

"Nope," he said in a dead tone,
"I'm here on official business.
North Pole is overstaffed,
So they forwarded your CV to me.
I've come to take you as my apprentice."

I stood gaping at him, my eyelid twitching.
He looked at me and I looked at him
And there was a grave silence.
"Well, giddy up," he said, "say your goodbyes,
Pack your things. Chop Chop!"

"But why you?" I asked morosely,
"Why not the Easter bunny?
Why not the Tooth Fairy?"
He snorted in derision
And looked around my room as he said,

"The Bunny doesn't take on help,
Doesn't want his precious eggs smashed.
And the Fairy has pixies to help her.
Cheer up, you'll see more action with me.
My previous helpers used to die for more."

He gave me an ominous smile.
Not entirely reassured, I packed my stuff,
Went down to bid adieu to my parents,
Left a letter to my friends,
And posted a spring punching fist to my ex.

He was sitting on my chair, one leg crossed,
his foot jangling to the death metal
blaring from my stereo,
smoking a cigar while
reading 'The Book Thief', when I returned.

"Alrighty then, let's leave," he said.
Thick smoke whirled around us
And the next thing I knew, there was another
Bang! and a curious Clang!
and we were standing in a town square.

"I get the bang, but what's with the clang?"
I asked, curious, following as he strode off.
"I pulled a prank on Santa once,
popped up behind him much as I did in your room.
Thought we'd have a laugh," he said sourly.

"The fat guy didn't like it at all,
And ever since then, every time I travel,
This bang and clang follow me.
Ruins my style, it does.
I'm usually all for silence and smoke."

"Where're we going?" I asked as we
turned into a deserted street.
"We're going to ***** out a tough old idiot.
He's escaped me for too long.
I'll have him this time for sure."

And from the folds of his robes he drew
A black saucepan and handed it to me.
I looked at him perplexed and he explained,
"We don't give out scythes to newbies.
This is the standard Reaper's 'pprentice's weapon."

Armed thus, he with the scythe and
I with the oddly reassuring saucepan,
We passed like vapour through a closed door
and floated to a bedroom upstairs.
Pretty impressed so far, I took a look at our prey.

He was a bald, thin, old man,
sleeping in this chintz armchair,
hands clasped around a rifle on his lap.
He was snoring, oblivious to the terror
that was us - the fearsome death dealers.

The Reaper's robes slithered over the carpet,
His step soft and graceful,
His eyes glinting with power.
And suddenly, the old man woke up
and started firing blindly.

I rushed for cover while the bullets
went straight through the Reaper
and got lodged in the wall.
I crept up behind the old guy
and banged him on the head with my weapon.

He crumpled, his body falling prone.
His spirit started floating up
and yet it tried to get back into its vessel.
The Reaper stepped forward and swung
the scythe, cleaving the spirit from the body.

He caught hold of that phantom
and brought out a large pouch.
Promptly stuffing the spirit into it,
he said, "A portal to Purgatory,
Hassle free way to deal with reluctant spirits."

We left the house and walked on.
We looked at each other and shared a smile.
Acknowledging with a nod the head rush,
the thrill, the coolness of our job,
We set off into the night for more.

Night : black, cold and still.
Screams of silence so shrill
Ringing in my ears,
I walk beneath a starless sky.
Nary a breeze, whiff, or sigh.

I walk alone unseeing,
A weariness upon my being;
Each step a leaden weight.
I stumble and *****
For a path and a hope.

I descry afar a faint shimmer.
On the black canvass a red glimmer.
I set off, falling and rising.
The light multiplies as I draw near
And soft, strange whispers reach my ear.

A sea of flowers? A sea of fire?
Both. A sea of flowers of fire.
And a path in their midst leading
To an unearthly glow
Whence come the whispers low.

Delicate and terrible is the Fire Blossom.
It is beauty made fearsome,
Death wrought into the hem of life.
I walk along the path with care
Lest I end up in a fiery snare.

The whispers turn into voices,
whoops and laughs as people seem to rejoice.
Starved for company, I go tearing down the path
And seeing what lay before as in a waking sleep
I fall to my knees to bless the night and weep.

It is a market, inimitable in its splendour
With golden winged angels as vendors.
Not selling but bestowing.
Miracles and wonders as their wares,
there's joy, hope and life to spare.

People dancing with glee all around,
singing and making a merry sound.
The healed, the resurrected and the rejoined.
Their happiness and radiance beckons me,
And radiant I want to be.

Yet something stops me entering.
An unyielding, invisible screen barring
my path to those heavenly promises.
I cannot move forth into that light;
Behind and beside me, the quietus of the night.

Tears streaming down my face
I stand there, removed from that grace.
And as I stand and my heart aches
An angel looks at me, his head cocked.
And I know, I understand; I raise my fist and I knock.

Never noticed Time fly
Beautiful springs and autumns passed me by,
Fooling and goofing around with naive eyes
I didn't know how to whistle at twenty-five.

Life greeted me in a suit and a tie
And introduced you with a hue and a cry.
As lightning struck my heart, I swear I died.
And you were me and I was you till thirty-five.

You used to be beautiful as the sky.
Your fount of allure has run dry.
Your nagging has sapped my strength to be nigh.
You smothered my song at forty-five.

To mourn your demise I did try.
To be happy, I learned to live and let die.
Not giving a **** about wives and wifis,
I started whistling at fifty-five.

A dream to be everlasting
A love for the stars.
To be seen as spectacular
Above the ground,high and far.

So people may say
With awe and wonder,
A mortal and a mere man
Now resides above clouds and thunder.

Impatiently I search for a way
To be off this pulling earth.
To fly away into the ether,
Far from the cloying dearth.

No elegant fire balloons for me,
Too cumbrous, too slow.
I will plummet up like a rocket
As trumpets blare and bugles blow.

But only so far, only so far
Never to reach the stars.
Spectacular as the fireworks
And then as failed embers falling apart.

The night descends
draping a blanket of calm
over the cares of the day.
I lounge amidst those earthly stars-
the deciduous,flickering fireflies.

The wind meekly blows,
the night lies silent,expectant
like a child for a story
before it sinks its head in the pillow.
And so I bring out my flute.

And no mere flute,this of mine.
Carved of the finest ivory,
enchanted in the ages bygone,
this flute that can sway the heavens
acquiesces to be touched by my lips.

Touched by a whiff of melancholy,
the flute guides me to play.
It lends me one of its memories.
As my fingers dance nimbly,
the flute and I bring back a forgotten lay.

The song floats higher
and the Moon leans in to hear.
Memories take shape,music takes forms
and the people long past
walk and sing and live once more.

Among them shines one the brightest-
A boy of low birth,
a boy loving and shy,
tender-hearted and frail
yet a boy who never cried.

Many sorrows he has known
and even more deaths seen.
His father killed,sisters ravaged,
his mother and home lifeless.
Yet never a tear did he shed.

No living soul knew his pain;
no pitying glance thrown his way,
this little boy of innocent age
carried his heavy heart
till his hope-bereft eyes fell upon a flute.

This very same that I now hold
had become a companion to him
and cried in his stead.
All his torments poured out
like a flood into a tune.

The boy went on playing
while his mother's life ebbed.
The flute went on singing
even when the little fingers went cold,
Lamenting;drawing air from his very last breath.

Memories dissolve into the night
The people walk back to the past.
The flute and I play the lament still.
Serenity prevails within me,notwithstanding.
A curious serenity,with a touch of sorrow.

The Moon starts weeping
and sheds tears of twinkling stars.
I catch them in a crystal phial
and stopper it with a dewdrop;
a talisman to dispel my nights.

******

I spill a few drops every now and then.
Where they touch the earth,flowers bloom
that are tender and white and star-like,
that shine their radiance in the night.
People call them Elinthé,'Tears of the Moon'.

You stand there
On the verge of the cliff,
Hands clasped in supplication,
Forever looking to the horizon.

The cool breeze from the sea,
The warmth of the sun,
The music of the waves
Mean nought to you, young maiden.

Not to you the ostentation of the sun
In the morn and the even.
To you only the emerald star
That guides him home;

The star beneath which you grew,
Which saw you blossoming,
Which looked upon your love,
Which saw him departing.

Which has now become your hope,
Your beacon to guide him back.
Fuelled by your ardent love,
It now burns for you.

Of all the worthy men,
You chose one destined to roam,
Whose fate is greater than you twain,
Whose path leads beyond this Age.

He has gone whence he mayn't return,
Cursing his doom and his heart for her pain.
Even the good that will come should he succeed,
Would be vain to him without her.

But you do not fathom his plight,flower!
You do not understand why he needs do what he must.
You only know that he must and that he does
And that he has left for the unknown.

Oh!to bear in that tender *****
A burden greater than her wisdom!!
But you,oh simple maiden of white faith,
You will keep vigil through the Ages akin to a star.

Oh,these thoughts,these dreams!
flying every which way!
Taken in by the illusion of the horizon,
they try to lift us up,
To take us from our lowly abode
to touch the ever far sky,
believing it is possible.
The heart throbs in ignorance
with foolish optimism.
Sleep shies away from us not daring
to hinder those wild thoughts;
thoughts that whisper seductively,
thoughts that whisper treacherously,
That the stars are there for the taking
the moment we stretch out our hands,
That the sky is there waiting
to be painted upon with our names,
That the world is there eager
to lay down at our feet...
Foolish,arrogant,unruly thoughts.
No,better to curb them
before they take deeper root.
'Twould be better to rein them in
before they run loose.
Or would it?

Sitting,waiting in the bus shelter,
the mind is led by roving thoughts
from the now and here
into fields often not explored
whereto the feet hesitate to stray.

I sit there seeing the world hurry on,
not really looking at the people all around
but thinking back;thinking about those
who used to walk these same streets
who used to hurry off just so.

The roads may have forgotten their tread,
their faces blurred by time,
their voice masked by life's din,
soon to be faded into memory;
our love glossing over their faults.

But what of their stories?
What of the things left unsaid?
What of the questions unanswered?
What of their talents not passed down?
What of the bonds,the people undone?

Are their stories lost?
Never meant to be finished?
Small and unimportant enough
to be cut off,be discarded?
Lives destined for the void?

But what of those left behind?
Stories tainted by that void?
Hearts burdened b their absence?
Eyes wearied of waiting?
Dreams filled with longing?

The bus arrives with that sureness
of the things that come and go.
Boarding it,I sit next to a window
and let it carry me away like I've let
those things that come and go.

Gazing out the window,
I see life rushing past me.
And a desire takes hold of me
for this journey to go on,
to keep moving while immobile.

I think of those stories unfinished,
stories seen through a man's eyes,
read with a man's wisdom.
But what if that is not all?
What if there is more?

What if some questions are
never meant to be answered?
Some things be left unsaid?
Some talents never to be passed on
but define the person lost and him alone?

What if the stories left behind
are meant to be tainted that way?
To bear a fragrance like no other,
the void marking them for perfection.
What if people are meant to be undone?

What if the stories are not lost
but merged with the living ones?
To fuel them,to further them,
to be a muse to spur them,
be a core in their shaping?

Wistful thinking all,devised to soothe.
The mind awash with torrential thoughts
still hears a small voice of hope,
holding on to it while hanging
above a chasm of decadence.

Every night we go to bed
trusting the angels guarding us
to let happen what is right;
slipping into peaceful oblivion,unsure
whether we will wake from it again.

All these thoughts,these stories float
as leaves on that river called Life.
Whether we be afloat or under,
it flows;the grand story goes on
crafted by The Great Writer.

After all the broken hopes
dare we still hope on
as did Abraham of old,
hoping where there is none,
seeing life where there is death?

Dare we still dream on?
Dare we hope our stories
will not be left unfinished
thinking,wanting to believe that
Life is Hope is Life?

For this night to never end
please let there be a charm.
Let there be a magic spell
for this night to never end.

For this night holds secrets,
this night conceals mysteries
that I would love to unravel
but for the Time that rushes it away.

Not for the conquests in the dark.
Not for a veil to hide behind.
But for the canopy of diamonds
for these eyes to feast upon.

For the tender breeze it brings
to lift back that strand of hair
from the face of my sleeping dear;
that fills me with her fragrance

For the quietude that portends
the greatness the morrow will bring;
For the expectant stillness
that spawns the desire to create-

-to create worlds of wonders
fueled by our ardent dreams.
To stand on the verge of Fantasy
bridging the gap into Reality.

Oh!Please let there be a way!
Lest these fervid thoughts fly away!
Lest this fleeting night in a fleeting life
be chased away by another Day!

The storm of the night has abated.
Only a drizzle of a rain falls
from the now weary clouds.
Atop a mountain tall,
I stand gazing out to the sea.

The rage of the waves subsides
soothed by the warming Sun.
Grey clouds and dark waters
dabbed with gold and crimson;
a sight glorious to see.

Emerges from the flaming rays
a lone flying spectre;
a bird birthed from fire,
borne on wings of ancient splendour,
traversing the timeless sky solemnly.

High above it starts singing:
a musical cry echoing across time,
of death and end and ashes;
A lament painfully sublime
carrying a hint of a plea.

The bird changes it's note.
It's cry now the only sound,
it sings of fire,life and hope
to the stillness all around;
a music that sets free.

So singing and freeing it flies away
spreading dawn in it's wake.
I climb down to the shore.
Cold spray hits me as waves break
and water laps at my feet.

I hold in my hand a feather,
golden and fringed with red;
warm with life and fire
to resurrect all that is dead;
A quill of hope it be...

From the lips of a still night
comes forth a silent song
bearing the tale of the souls
borne away from under it's cover
to a far away Dawn.

The joyful blooming of a flower
shouts out to the soaring bird
in a silent song that there is
splendour in being still and radiant
no less than there is in flight.

The lofty trees touching the sky
sing a solemn silent song
of their patience,of their resolve.
Their greatest victory in shooting
up through the resisting earth.

It is a silent song
that passes between lovers' eyes
singing the desire of one
to be a part of the other..
to become lost in the other.

A silent song rises from the Earth
carrying the prayers of souls;
rises like an incense
through the starry ether
to the Creator;Breather of life.

Without wings it flies
Without words it speaks.
Mystically beautiful it is
as it envelops the world,
this Silent Song.

What would it be like?
To wake up to a day
Not filled with troubles and worries..?

What would it be like?
To escape the scorching heat
and feel a cool,caressing breeze?

What would it be like?
To shout aloud for joy,
laughing out a sweet song?

What would it be like?
To be child enough to run..
Run in the rain far and long?

What would it be like?
To live in a blessed utopia..
In a place not run by pelf?

What would it be like?
To look in the mirror and see
Not an image but yourself?

What would it be like?
To feel this heart beating
Not to survive but to live?

What would it be like?
To know that these eyes see
Not to take but to give?

What would it be like?
To breathe-in Peace..
To need nothing more,nothing less?

And what would it be like?
To see the stars in the vast infinity
And feel not small but endless?

There was a time when I was sane
when I used to walk among daffodils.
When they used to open up and sing
their unadorned song from hill to hill.

There was a time when I was sane
when the trees used to sway
and the leaves used to rustle
just to lay their flowers in my way.

When I was sane,the eagles
from their eyries,used to fly high
and block the sun with their wings.
Just so it wouldn't be in my eyes.

The clouds would come at my call.
And the rain would fall only for me.
The diamond drops would break
and bedeck the ground at my feet.

Looking at the night sky,
at the star studded lanes,
I would see the moon smile at me
and know that I was sane.

I used to create new worlds
with living words from my pen.
Full of marvels they used to be.
But that was all then...

Wrapt I was in fantasy
while the world moved on.
It has moved away from me
while,impassive,I looked on.

People said I was not sane,
told me that where I lived
there were no daffodils;
No promise in how I lived.

Now that I'm cured,I see
that I'd been but a fool
who believed Horton really lived
in the Jungle of Nool.

No magic rings in reality.
No wonderland or wicked witches.
No Elves nor dragons.
Not even Quidditch and snitches.

Now cured,I see reason.
The flowers never did sing.
Nor did any eagle fly for me.
Reason came but relief did not bring.

All those words I created,
All those worlds I cherished,
All too soon yea all too soon
All have but perished.

Now I see people toiling away
in richness,poverty and ignorance.
I see children bent with age;
In their eyes,everything but innocence.

Reluctantly now moves my pen
as I try to make new worlds.
Stringing letters together it desponds.
As lacking life,they are but words.

Everything used to be wonderful
when I knew I was sane.
Now that I've seen reality,
I know I must be insane.

I stroll into the bathroom
newspaper tucked under my arm.
The silent morning ambience
holds for me a special charm.

Whistling,I lift the toilet seat
to take my morning leak.
I'm stopped up short
when I hear someone speak.

"Morning bro,what's up?",
came the voice from below.
I stared in utter disbelief
at the toilet saying hello.

"Don't freak out",it said.
"Just do your thing,I'll do mine.
We can be the best of mates
till the end of ***** time."

"Oh well",I thought
and started where I left off.
Aiming into a talking ***..
Isn't easy..Hey!Don't you scoff!

"Wow!You've got a lot stored up"
quipped the rude toilet.
"No wonder they're saying there's
a drought in the nearby hamlet"

On-off,on-off came the flow
as the seat moved up and down.
Only later did I come to know
I own the most loquacious loo in town.

Irritated I told it to shut up.
"Bro,what will you p### into?",
it laughed,splashing water around.
No arguing that,it speaks true..

"Hey did you hear?
Old Loo-pin next drain
got married to Pottyara.
I hate her,she's too vain!"

"Work on your technique mate,
I've seen toddlers do better...
My,my!Seriously?!Still got more?!
I'm getting wetter and wetter!"

"Will you hold still!"I shouted.
"Hey don't take that tone with me.
Being watered in the maw ain't fun.
Swap places and then we'll see!"

"It'd be a lot more easier",I reasoned
"if you would stop yapping.
Who cares about super toilets?!
Now just start lapping!"

"Okay sheesh,someone's grumpy.
What?!show some pity on the loo!
Hey!Wait!Stop right there!!
Sh##,now I've to take poo too?!"

"Okay get this over with quickly.
You're choking me!!Aaaahhh!!!
Okay,never ever again take
chilly sauce with pizza!"

As I flush and leave,it cries
"Oh the horror!the horror!!!
All the perfumes of Arabia
cannot wash away this odour!"

I have kept it safe,
locked in my safe.
Preserved it with care.
Not a speck of dust,
no evidence of a fungus.

Yet I'm uneasy.
You see,I can't sleep.
They'll come for it.
They'll come after me.
I've got to hide it.

I take it in a casket,
cushioned and conditioned.
I wear a hood to cover my face.
I run through the masses,
through the cleaning robots.

In the future,a lot has changed.
They've stopped making them
saying they're bad for health.
But people still crave them.
And I have the last one.

I run into a dark alley,
open the lid to make sure.
A whiff escapes out.
The man in the corner catches it.
He starts coming towards me.

I walk away fast...
"He's got it",he yells.
People stare at me.
Start coming at me.
I take to my heels.

They're behind me.
Come from the side streets.
They're everywhere!!!!
I run through the trees,
run up a mountain.

They've cornered me.
No place to run.
Guns in their hands.
I take a step back and
I trip on a stone.

The casket opens and
it comes flying out...
and falls down into the abyss..
NOOOOO!!!!My precious!!!!
The last brownie!!!!!

I sit leaning against a tree
on the edge of a grove
under a star strewn sky
regarding a stream close by.
Waters glimmering,it softly flows
running to the river with glee.

Curious,I approach on my knees.
I see little lights in the water,
not of stars yet not within reach.
Phantasmagoria of images in each.
The stream runs to wider waters
thus carrying dreams to set free.

Now following the stream,
I walk beneath a dark leafy canopy,
the twinkling water the only light.
Like as in the darkest of nights
when the eyes can't see,
the heart being led by dreams.

Coming out into the open
I see the river stretching away
and a crescent moon rising afar.
I descry to my right a pale star
gliding near with a gentle sway.
Enthralled,I stand as one frozen.

Out of the night looms a ship
gloriously and delicately wrought,
silent oars dipping and rising,
smooth waters before it parting.
Truly a star it has brought
casting on the rest an eclipse.

She stands on the deck,alone.
Clad in white and in radiance,
slender yet not frail,
wearing a diaphanous veil.
Her gaze transcends transience,
Her beauty belittles beauty known.

Her eyes linger upon mine.
It seems but for a fleeting time,
a fleeting moment of eternity.
A moment of serendipity.
The vessel with a grace sublime
sails away,hallowed by her shine.

Topping a rise comes a knight,
armour soiled and stained;
weary yet elated
riding his black steed.

The Princess in her tower sees
and gives a delighted cry.
She leans out her window
and hails the knight:

"**!Brave knight!
Whence comest thou?
Tell me thou seeketh me
for I wait for thee."

"Truly",answered the knight
"It is for thee I am come
my fair lady
and to take thine hand."

"I've sailed the seven seas,
toiled through forests and mires,
traversed deserts and dunes
looking for thee".

"Oh the joy!"whispered the lady
and cried,"My brave knight,
glad am I to hear thee but
Didst thou slay the dragon?"

Answered the knight,
"My dearest lady,
I have fought the giants,
conquered the orcs
and tamed the lions."

"Oh brave art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the mighty dragon?"

"I have escaped from dungeons,
caverns with unnamed fears.
Scorpions and serpents
I have crushed to the earth."

"Wonderful art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the fearsome dragon?"

"I have ridden the behemoth,
subdued the depths,
searched the clouds and
fiddled with thunderbolts"

"Magnificent art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the red dragon?"

"Lady,you are besot
with the dumb worm!",he said.
"I wonder if she",he thought
"has been crazed in that tower"

Sighing forlornly,
said the princess
"I canst not leave here
till the dragon is dead."

As the knight turned away
to ride back,she asked
"Whither goest thou?
To slay the beast?"

"Nay lady,nay
I go to slay the dunce
who wrote you
into that tower."

"What meanest thou
my dear knight?!
There is another knight
who dabbles in magic?!"

"Nay lady,nay.
He is not a knight.
He uses his quill
to weave his musings."

Cried the princess
"Oh mighty sir,
Oh Weaver with the quill!
Canst  thou hear me?"

"Yes dear lady,"said I,
"What do you desire?
What can I do
that will please you?"

"My dearest Sir!
Oh my bravest hope.
Slay the dragon
and make me thine."

"But my lady
as much as I desire to,
you should know there is
No dragon in the story"

(Silence pervades)

"Oh my dear knight!!"
cried the lady to the rider,
"Slay this goon
and we shall be one."

Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.

Into ethereal realms I glide;
places far removed from reality
yet closer to my heart.
Places of mystique and impossibility,
conjured by the dreamer's art.
Escaping reality,into dreams I slide,
Wishing here forever I could abide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ambling idly along an ill-kept path,
breathing in scent suffused air,
I top a rise in the terrain.
White flowers frail and fair
hiding the scorched ground in vain,
stretch towards a victim of fiery wrath,
A city in ruins in war's aftermath.


Great walls now lay crumbling,
beautiful houses now are charred.
The marble palace famed for it's splendour,
the song of many a bard,
now lay torn asunder.
Once magnificent,now lay wasting.
Once beautiful,now not existing.


Nature now reclaiming the city,
vines creep on broken towers,
moss adorns the facades.
Before elements it now cowers,
it's strength before time thawed.
Defiant once in it's grandiosity,
now quivering with fragility.


What riches must have been there!
And how elegant the royalty!
The halls filled with songs,
hearts with bravery and fealty.
Of people wise and strong,
of Wonders beyond compare
the ruins tell and despair.


As golden red rays shine upon it
from the slowly sinking sun,
Lo!Behold a wondrous thing!
The city as if by magic spun
restored by illusions mocking.
Like a tapestry gold-knit
depicting tales blood-writ.


For though there stand
the towers and palace once more,
though the beauty seems rewoken,
the city is empty and sore.
The beauty is broken.
By cruel touch of illusions' hand,
blood now stains the walls grand.


The sun finally went down
and the vision faded.
The city no more before me,
ruins again in it's stead.
Wishing no more to see
I turned away with a frown
and walked back down.

Soft plush cuddly warm,
you are tucked under my arm;
Friend exuding calm.

The shepherd boy sits in his home,
his little sister by his side.
Forbidden to play and roam,
A battle is brewing outside.

The city is quiet and still
holding it's breath.
Afraid,yet with a will
prepared to face the coming death.

On the battlements stands the King
armoured in gold.
His kingdom covered in Spring,
His soldiers singing bold:

"We go to war!we go to war!
On fields near and shores far.
For home and honour
Our love our armour.

We fight through fire and snow.
Our fates we do not know.
To return to wife and child
Or on to the stars mild."

The enemy blows the horn
and marches forward.
The King's trumpets reply in scorn
and his army moves onward.

Amidst them rides a knight,
the bravest of them all.
Honoured for unsurpassing might,
inspires them with his call.

Hearing the clamour and the cries,
the little girl trembles with fear.
Her brother with tears in his eyes,
plays on his flute a tune so dear.

The song rises clear and beautiful
speaking of fields green.
It soothes the weak and the sorrowful,
reminding the happy times they have seen.

Despite their might and will,
the enemy proved stronger.
On white flowers does their blood spill.
The foe can wait no longer.

The setting sun finds the King
sprawled on the ground,
His crown now just a golden thing
stained by the blood all around.

The knight lies on the red grass
looking up at the darkening skies.
His eyes glazed like glass,
he leaves his honour and dies.

The enemy sets the city on fire,
the flames feeding on the gore.
The silence rises higher,
for the flute sings no more.

What the hey!what the **!!
Take it a little slow,
a pinch at a time,
else it'll blow.

Eye on the glass!
Not on that lass!!
Careful if you want to
make it to next class!!

Keep it away from your face.
The reagent's in that case.
Ok,now tell me
What happened to all the base?!

A little less,a little less,
That's called H2S,
Don't drop it!
Oh,God bless!!

Out!out!Get out!!
Now there's no doubt.
I'm going to retire
and go catch some trout.

Looking back I see,
strewn across the years,
parts of me
that I've left behind.

Parts of me that've
been torn from me.
Scattered they lie behind.

For every wound,
Every death of a dream,
For every loved one lost,

a part of me stopped
moving with time,
refusing to go on.

Looking back I see
they've ceased to exist,
staying with what ceased to be.

But still I go on
because I have to,
knowing what I've left behind.

Knowing that I've to
leave behind many such,
still I go on.

And when I reach the end,
What will I be?
There will only be left,
A part of me...

As little Ben lay down to sleep,
sinking into his soft bed,
The night air brought with it
a sweet fragrance on it's wings
to lull him into sweet dreams.

His father coming to tuck him in,
Said Ben:"Daddy,why is it
that the sweet Night with
the pretty Moon and little Stars
does not last long?"

Replied his dad:"Because Ben,
then the Day would be sad.
And the Sun would pout.
And the Night only comes to help
the Nature prepare for Tomorrow"

Thinking about it,said Ben:
"But what if Day gets sick?
And the Sun takes a holiday?
What would happen then,
If Tomorrow never comes?"

Ponderously,said his dad:
"If Tomorrow comes,
there would be no end
to the Dark and his secrets,
No stopping Cold's mischiefs.

The Moon will walk away,
and Stars may be shrouded,
No more will there be Light
to show us the way
and drive away the fears.

No more will the Mist flee
but will snare us into her net,
to get us lost in her depths.
No end to the bad dreams,
No more warm rays of comfort.

No more Dew's pearls on leaves,
No more the sweet chirping
of the silly birds in the trees.
No Sun for the flowers to greet,
No Dawn to make them sing.

No more the frenzy of the bees,
No more the races of butterflies.
Nor the games of the rabbits.
No more prancing of the does.
Only the hooting of the owls.

Never again will the rain seem fiery,
Or the rivers golden.
No more rainbows in the sky.
No more the dancing of colours.
No beauty in the Nature to see.

No Joy to look forward to,
No Hope to wake up to,
Relinquishing hold on our dreams,
Desires and wishes unfulfilled,
We will slip into Death's slumber."

Realising Ben had fallen asleep,
his father got up from the bed,
turned off the light
and silently went to his room,
thinking all the way.

Unaware of the grave thoughts
his question aroused in his father,
Little Ben slept on,dreaming:
"If Tomorrow never comes,
There won't be no school no more."

In a village overlooking the sea,
so beautiful and so serene,
with fine cottages and finer folk,
there is,as in any other place,
A Memorial Park housing the dead and beloved.

I stand in a corner of the Yard,
upon my plinth frozen forever.
I,the stony likeness of a fairy
long gone and forgotten;
A cold guardian of the cold beds.

Like to a fair girl with sweet smile I am
tender hands clasped gently,
resting against my flowing silver dress.
A blue bow adorns my tresses,
A pair of graceful wings,my frame.

Many a person I saw buried here
and many a eulogy I've heard.
Many regrets and tears.
Cries of loneliness and fear.
Year after year after year.

At my feet lie two graves,
Of a man and of his wife.
Young they departed life,
Parted from their darling child,
giving her their memories to live by.

The girl used to sit on the turf
beside their tombs
gazing out over the sea at the sunset,
Me keeping her company
and the Wind wiping her tears.

Every day of every season
she used to come and see them.
To sit by them and talk to them.
To tell them everything in her life.
And I used to listen to her.

I listened to her speak of her friends.
Of their many mischiefs
and adventures in the village,
of their jokes and laughs.
And I used to laugh with her.

She spoke to them of her being alone
amidst all these joys.
Of her fears and toils.
Her wish to have them both back.
And I used to pity her.

New graves were dug,
New tenants came,
And new tombs were built.
Still the girl came
Never missing a day.

She talked to me,the only thing there
with a semblance of life.
"Oh,you are so beautiful!"
she used to tell me,
And I wanted to tell her the same.

"If only I'd wings like yours",she said,
"I would fly over the fields
gliding lightly over the grass.
I would fly above the trees,
chasing the happy birds.

I'd race the dolphins in the sea,
Skim over the fluffy clouds in the sky,
Touch the stars in the night
And reach my parents in the Light.
And I would be free."

The cemetery knew no familiar voice but hers.
The path,no familiar step but hers.
She used to walk among the tombs,
laying wreaths upon those forgotten
And praying for those who forgot them.

She used to say to me,
"How sad it is for them
Who are forgotten and have
None to remember them
And nothing to be remembered by!"

Then came a day when I didn't see her.
And another day went by.
Now I see a grave being dug
By the side of her parents' and I knew,
That she has gotten her wings at last.

I see them carrying her hither,
No faithful friend to weep for her.
No heart breaking to see her
go in her death to where
she used to be in life.

If only I had tears,
I would have shed them.
Shed them for all her pain.
For all the fears she went through.
For all the loneliness she had to endure.

If only my heart weren't frozen,
I would have wanted it to beat,
To feel heavy with sorrow.
For her,I want to come to life,
If only to lament her death and freeze again.

They fill her grave with dirt.
They build a tomb on it and leave.
No wreaths wasted upon it..
No wreaths will there be.
No familiar voice or step.

New graves are dug,
New tenants have come,
And new tombs are built.
Still I stand here over her's...
It is not sad,for I will remember her.

As far as the eye can see,
stretch on the Sky and the Sea,
hoping to meet and merge as one,
maybe..Beyond The Horizon.

I stand upon the shore,
hearing the waters roar,
feeling the wind ruffle my hair,
and seeing the Sun return to his lair.

But my thoughts were elsewhere,
With those for whom I did care,
Gone never to return.
To forget them,I have yet to learn.

All those laughs and smiles,where did they go?
Where is the peace and the warm glow?
More silent seems the world now,
as age tells it's tale upon my brow.

A mother's kiss,a father's shoulder,
forgotten and replaced as I grew older,
by a wife's loving embrace,
and a daughter's beauteous face.

Love leaves behind a smoldering pain,
as memories alone bring them to life again.
But where now is their love for me?
No more tangible,where did it flee?

Just beyond reach or maybe not?
Could reach it if I sought,
Maybe,beyond the setting sun..
Maybe,Beyond The Horizon...

On a dull day...
With the sun hidden behind dark shrouds,
his light unable to find a way
through the rain-laden clouds,

As I lay on the bed,
staring out through my window,
Into bright alleys my memory led
my wearied gaze which that dreary picture does endow.

I was walking down the street,
on a pleasant Winter morning.
And quick did trod my feet,
For,for one special company was my heart yearning.

I came to the Fountain,
For me,a dear site.
A place I would dream of,time and again,
till my eyes can see no more the light.

As I came nearer to the place,
I descried my friend,waving at me
to come,with a smile on his face,
to where became friends we.

We talked and talked,
On and on and on,
even of the grass on which we walked.
The end of the dialogue was never anon.

The Fountain would find us there,
on a serene Summer even.
Having escaped from the sun's glare,
lying on the grass and gazing up at the heaven.

On a Rainy afternoon,
he would welcome us with an 'overflowing' joy.
He would leap and fall,gay as a goon,
And would drown us twain with this playful ploy.

We grew,
and with us grew our friendship.
The Time with his webs drew,
our hearts into brotherly companionship...

Then came a day of Spring.
And at the fountain were we yet again.
With the gurgling sound the glade did ring,
but numb were our souls with pain.

The time came for us to part,
to pursue each,his own dream.
We were afraid lest we be torn apart,
tossed by Life's fateful stream.

We vowed never to forget,one the other.
And carved our names on the heart of our weeping 'friend'.
With a heavy heart I embraced my brother
and we walked away,hoping our paths would again together blend...

A clap of thunder,
startled me into the present.
Hoping for another clap to rent the grief asunder,
got up and to the window I went.

I saw a downpour,which promised not soon to wane,
fall out of skies bleak.
Saw drops of water trickling down the window pane,
Felt the tears running down my cheek...

A beautiful Autumn day with a tranquil breeze,
found the Fountain,silent and lonesome now,
waiting for his friends without cease,
preserving the carvings in his heart with love...

Unknown to his friends,the second of the twain
is where one could never weep.
The friends do wait in vain,
for,blanketed is he,from mortal pain,by the golden flowers,warming him in his last sleep...

Crawls by another lonely night,
as I endure each painful second,
crushed by despair's might,
fearing how it would end.

Daunted by the life ahead,
Haunted by the memories etched deep,
I lay tossing on the bed,
too afraid to go to sleep.

Bleak are my days,
bleary are my eyes,
No warmth from the sun's rays,
heavy feel the skies.

Silence rules my world,
no words to break it.
Upon me,has darkness a hold.
To drive it away are no fires lit.

No tears to wash this pain with.
With no one to allay my fear,
in agony does my body writhe.
And I cry out to the One who will hear.

I beseech the mighty Lord,
of bountiful mercy and love,
A Never forsaking God,
for His peace from above.

I keep my faith in Thee,
who will efface my sorrow.
With hope,then,I will be....
be waiting for tomorrow.

The wind howled in the night,
Below the moon was a wondrous sight.
We were marching,my friends and I,
to the battle drawing nigh.

I was the lord,I was the king.
On my finger was the royal ring.
After me,went my captain,the hare,
My knights,the cat,the bat and the bear.

Our host was great.
Before us,our enemy would abate.
With spear,shield,bow and sword,
went the sloth,moth,leopard and bird.

Under the silver glow,
we beheld our dark and cunning foe.
His fortress filled with gloom and dread,
could not hinder our brave tread.

Our eagle archers sought their prey,
and the war began when the sky was grey.
Our soldiers were fierce and bold.
But the enemy was fearless and cold.

I entered the fray alongside my captain and friend.
Together,we fought till the end.
The air was rent with the clash and the clamour.
And the enemy fled before the hare's giant hammer.

I found my rival and challenged his might,
to deliver my princess from her evil plight.
I hewed his sword and hacked his shield.
Before my valour,he had to yield.

We returned with the princess,victorious.
The greeting in our kingdom was glorious.
The princess turned to me to kiss
and to take me into that moment of bliss...

SLAP!!!sounded my teacher's hand.
On my cheek was left a brand.
Gone with the reverie was my ecstasy.
As the reality shattered my Fantasy.

'Twas night.
The moon,full,in the skies,
with his soothing eyes,
cloaks shrouds of peace
sends dreams with ease.

On the shore below,
near the frothy flow,
listening to the ocean's lull,
stood a little white gull.

Seeing the waves fly high,
It wondered why
the orb with his charm
couldn't keep the sea calm?

It flew with this thought
to the elder it sought,
posed it's query,
not thinking if it was weary.

The elder upon reflection,chose
to answer the dear and rose.
Shook the slumber from it's feathers,
contemplating some rare heathers.

And it spoke thus:

Hearken!with all your ears,
for Iam wise with years.
Hearken to this lore
passed on of yore:

When the Earth was young,
with the trees new sprung,
When the skies were clear,
with the stars so near,

When our shore was new,
and we were but few,
When there was much laughter,
with not yet known slaughter,

The Moon,in all his splendour,
looking over yonder,
chanced to see the ocean in her beauty
and thought of her as a deity.

Spake the Moon:

"O!Daughter of Earth!
Fairest is thee
to me,the ruler of the night.
Of all the things mine eyes should see,
forever shalt thou be the beautiful of sight."

His praise making her shy,
the Princess peeked up at the sky.
Blue and grey,as their eyes met,
On her heart was cast a net.

Into her eyes he looked
and into her eyes he looked.
Unable to tear his gaze away,
spoke to her in this way:

"At thine feet
shall I lay the world.
Thou shalt hold the beat
of my heart till it goes cold.

To thee,
Love shall I give,
take thine hand in mine.
By thee shall I live,
Truly,Iam thine."

Seeing his love,before her,thus laid,
the Princess in her heart was swayed.
She rose to the heights with grace
and ran into his embrace.

Talking,they went hand in hand
wandering upto the farthest land.
In the woods their laughter rang.
The birds for their happiness,sang.

Word of their love,on the tide,
went far and wide.
Of it,the King being made known,
He summoned them to his throne.

Spake the Moon:

"O!High king in halls grand,
fairest is thine daughter of all I have seen.
With thy blessing shall I take her hand
and take her to be my queen"

Spake the Sea:

"O Father!Dearest of all!
Word I gave him never to part.
Betroth me to him in thine hall
and bless us with glad a heart."

Spake the Earth:

"Never shall I be glad at heart
for from thine love,shall woe betide.
Unless thine love shall part,
on land,shalt death stride.

For on thou all life depends.
With thee,peace shall you take
from me,unless thine love ends.
Loath am I to cause thine heart this ache."

Hearing this,

Sad was the Moon
to part with her so soon.
Sad was the Sea
to be apart from he.

Sad was the Earth
and all on his hearth,
to see their tears
for the coming empty years.

From that day
the Moon would never stay
at a place for long
for his will was not strong.

He moved hither
and he moved thither,
sometimes full,sometimes not,
with his own desire he fought.

When he moves near,
the Sea,to greet her dear,
to feel  his ray,
leaps up in splendid array.

Ending this story,his heart weeping,
the elder found the little one,in the breeze,sleeping.
Smiling,he kissed it's brow
and kept on looking at the Dance Of Love.