The Mirrors and the Reflections,
this fresh breeze and the sunlight,
these inanimate realities
and their oxymoronic existence
amazes inner child within me.

I am not a painter,
I am just a man
with a taste for colors.

I delve into them,
till the hues whisper words
that fly like butterflies.

I am not a lepidopterist(butterfly scientist)
I am just a man
with a thirst for writing.

I collect and nurture them,
till they look like a beautiful painting
made out of unseen words.

I am not a poet,
I am just a man,
with a love for beauty.

I just let the beauty flow,
like the never-ending seas
for purposes unknown.

sea’s clandestine love-
this calling, so desperate
yes, step now slowly

for the somber hues-
and an unforgiving storm :
seek abyss within.

We are like the universe and the stars,
visible only at the night,
Inside one another,
Burning bright
Without shame.
Without tiring.

Poseidon's hellhound
slithers in remorseless seas
bloodbaths are just feast

black coffee on the table,
clean cold steel-chiselled Glock

loaded and placed in the bed-drawer.
The sharp wire that smells of the skins

and flesh it has strangulated. A black pair
of gumboots, a black overcoat, a black void

of past. A distant daughter who loves strawberries,
cats with abhorrence for your existence.

Cadillac, a pair to tan gloves, a love for silence,
love for the sight of eyes turning red, pleading

A packet of cigarettes, a bottle of Miller’s
An emptiness that spreads, a death that patiently lives.

How hard would it be
to be made of flesh and be mortal,
to dream of all the tastes,
and go wet uncontrollably.

To lick your mirror image
in her mouth slowly,
and be satisfied in sometime,
but still, lack a dearth of reason,

to entwine
into a thousand unseen motions,
to caress the nothingness in air
and become understood in front
of all the living.

to be a tongue,
and be a language
and exist
but not noticed
ever.

It begins with
a melodious blur
as a taste of forgetfulness slithers
over my humble skin.

A yearning evolves slowly,
to disappear away
from this meaningless pursuit of flesh,
we are trapped by our existence
and nothing else.

I trespass within myself,
in search of a purpose,
in the hidden sanctums of my delusion,
where blues waves greet my feet,
and the sky made of ice
howls with terrible winds, at my timidity.

It never rains,
But I always forget to stride aimlessly,
these hungry eyes are served
with sumptuous visions,
and till my hands bleed
this hallucination copulates
with my reality.
I finally learn to float
within myself.

I pen all of it down,
in the night
and call them as Art
in the morning.

I was cuddled up in a sheet that day,
watching the raindrops trace on my reflection,
on the dusty window.
A sound of a drop reverberated more
than the ghastly silence.
In a few minutes, the dust melted away.
The sky wasn’t bright, neither was it dark.
It was an essential gray, promising of a tempting void
that smelled of a fresh petrichor
and a floor made of broken glasses
that has forgotten to bleed the flesh.

I fed my everlasting reflections
to these broken mirrors
till the floor smelled of my debauchery
of selling facades of appeasement

I made a tryst with myself,
to be brutally honest
to my purpose on this planet.

And so, here am I,
abiding the tryst,
It’s the mellow beginning.
A warm end awaits, I believe.

It happens sometimes
between winter and the sultry summer,
my words and visions refuse to mate,
no amount of alcohol urges them
to this universal transfixion
on a piece of a patient paper

I have no choice left,
I visit the dusted mirror
in my inhospitable washroom again
the vortex of time swallows me inherently,
as I fall through the voiceless oceans
and painstaking cheap bars
that are out of beer.

I walk through the autumnal rains
where the birds have learned to hide
and the leaves refuse to be touched.
The maidens are no longer beautiful,
Houses full of Japanese crockery
and European paintings
are half submerged in filthy ponds
to be admired by filthy fishes
with filthy brains.

The kids are running and laughing
on the roads but I can’t see their faces.
The dogs no longer bark, but they have
tears of joy and my hands have forgotten to
pet these loyal creatures. Their tails don’t wag now.
They refuse to acknowledge my existence.

I see my twin somewhere.
The only one who smiles back at me.
Contented but not happy,
his eyes are his stories,
his soft hands; devoid of typing
are his unwritten poems.
I have to **** him.

Before he swims out of this vortex.
Before he swims into me.
Before he falls in love with himself.

My myopic eyes
in the whitewashed veins
dissolved a Solar Eclipse once,
sprinkled slowly in the transparent ponds
of vision,
through a negative film of ours.

Call it now, The fate’s cruel jape.
A sky long-awaited
and devoid of sunlight
is forgotten forever.

I do remember though, the universe we created
in silence, while we lent our voices
to an air that couldn’t speak.

The negative is now a mere vicissitude of colors,
for a time that went lost in translation.

Let us wake up someday
in the shadow of the dreams
where your lips are the only light
and I am inured to blindness.

Guide me to them
but not by touch
for this heart
shall memorize the curves
and you will be lost forever.

A smell shall suffice,
transverse me through your body slowly.
Till it is the light only that I can smell.
The light only, I can feel.

Let me be the mirage
in the deserts of your loneliness.
You will be the river that flows within me.
We will forget the thirst at least.

Till these dreams are sublimated
and the shadows vanish,
Come, walk on the dark side
of these fragile dreams
where the music fades
as the dark green leaves
welcome our toes.

I shall teach you someday
to seek darkness in the fire
and we shall make a home out of it.
I promise.

Let me douse a fire
that dissolves in water
by mixing it with my blood
in small sips of uncontrollable desire.

The insides shall burn, I know,
I have been there
as the brain blazes up slowly
in the incipient flames inducing
a stupor of warming numbness.

Is this how you erase memories?
Is this is how you conjure them?

The valiant bout
of drunken madness ends
as now the red-blooded eyes
seek the cold white embrace
of A Moon, hidden in clouds.

Chalices have grown cold.
Snow fondles the dark greenery outside
in a cold choking blanket of doom
that leaves behind a lullaby of silence.

The jeweled decanter
whispers to me
at the dead of the night,
as the fire, it holds
now craves for the decaying fire
within me.

I am not myself now,
I am a shadow used to the
****** actions of a decaying body.
I am submissive and weak tonight
to this body that dances in the fire,

Incomplete scribbles still remain desolated
praying for a bloom
in the wake of the terrible hangover.
to be remembered somehow.
Someday.

Is this how you become a poet?
Is this how you forget poetry?

Days worsen
as men leap onto me
bodies riddled
with bullets
smelling of blood
shrieking mutely
eyes white
with a fear unfelt
the whole life
tongues desperate
for comforting lies
pleads for redemption
never comes out
of their mouths
I silently pass on prayers
closing their eyes
to avoid seeing
the holy/unholy
gates they will
end up on in their
afterlives.

unhook your bra now
and melt slowly in my arms
lets sleep till winter.

Dark hues deliquesce
in the warmth of the burning stars,
the black cosmic sea now floats:
but still an abomination in eyes
of people spoon-fed with light.

Coiling and encircling the unseen ends
on the horizon; like Jörmungandr, the mighty serpent,
while winds hymn odes for the people
who drank in chalices sprinkled with stardust

The language of Aeolian is now have forgotten.
the constrictions of the serpent shall bleed
morning light in a few hours.

I will wait for the revolutions to complete
while caressing its skin through the desire
in eyes.

Red lights devour the earthly silence,
crushed bits of half scribbled lyrics
lie all over the floor consumed by the unseen darkness.

the smell of the warm untouched beer disappears
as I hear someone scream with an agony and a common distaste
for this sinking society, for wars, for people,
on my speakers.

It is a gift sometimes
when after a ****** tiring day
you don’t have to scream your lungs
out, you don’t have to thrash things,
you don’t have to think of death:
someone records and does it for you.
You just have to listen.

I believe there is no god,
just a few men and women
who show us the death, without the fear
tickling our spine through their dark
melodies and works.

I live another new day,
I hide another terrible scream,
I switch to the next song.
I am a Metal-Head.

Hymn those verses
as the eyes dive into this
seminal darkness,
the ones I always hear
and forget at the end of the dreams.

Build a Crown of wood,
and lit it up for those
eager to taste it.

Split this fire
into two parallel mirrors:
Power and Desire.
let me see the anatomy of it
and the invisible bones.

For they will keep burning each other
till they forget their purpose,
as the mind and the soul often forget
when awaken by the rain of blood.

It is that time of week,
when our meaningless pursuits
drown in beer and single malts.

Our shadows retire besides us
tired of walking on overdoses of caffeine
and monotony.

The tires rest while the toes
breathe.

Even in this restless summer,
you somehow remember the fire hearth,
within your heart when you were young.

Exit Doors closed with regrets.
The waves are not beautiful.
The fear of death tastes nothing like ice.

A miserable mixture of cheap gin and tonic, that is a straight gulp of unending silence would feel like.

You are in the stagnant waters now,
don't forget to swim.

I feel the weight of summer
arching my back
with droplets of its love.

My t-shirts hate summer,
It makes them nauseous.

The night burns in dark,
the stars left us long ago.

It is they who hid the warm winds
in unseen alleys of the sky.

I wait for an answer that never
comes.
I wait for a voice never heard.

The night silently leaves.

a breeze of guilt,
smells like remorse
in the morning

the descending fog camouflages
the slaying of the whispers

in a city this big,
everybody is a slave

skies watch patiently
to choose their meals:
the unfortunate and weaklings.

they are all up from sleep:
nature’s most intelligent creature.

the madness shall now float.

Dreams breathe in slumber,
terrorized by the dying light.

A peninsula of thoughts,
floats in the sea of night.

The sheets wrestled
with the aching limbs.

The flesh entangled together,
breathing a melodious hymn.

Don't you want to sleep?
You must be tired.

We had our fun now,
you must retire.

Go now into an abyss,
to be dissolved unseen.

Heal your fractured memories,
from the blood of my peeled skin.

We shall meet again in summer,
when this air smells of rain.

as strangers, as lovers
but with our faces changed.

They tell me
I write okayish.

I smile and greet them
as the sun greets
the minarets in the desert,
without a purpose.

Why don't you write something on love,
they say,
something about a terrible broken past,
it sells,they love it.
they relate to it.

I tell him,
I don't get the vibes out of it,
love sometimes feels like
eating leftover chips at
a mediocre burger joint.

I prefer watching dogs
playing in the rain.

atleast they never pretend.

Another day goes by
as my temple of verses rests desolated,
with her laments succinct.

this curfew of imagination,
keeps the pilgrims (of thoughts)
sobering behind closed doors.

The valley is being robbed
of its flowers and fervor.

We both are dying slowly
but not as we once dreamed,
In winter,when it rains saffron
instead of snow.

Sometimes while sleeping
I greet the twin sisters.

Subtle faceless apparitions,
that love to giggle
while skipping the ropes to reality.

coalesced dreams, some call them
Without an end or beginning.

in a state of drunken stupor,
set by feasting on the flesh of stars
they drive me back to the black lake
where we once buried the moon

effigies of time, burn on the shores,
the lake soaking its ashes.
does the time ever weep?
for what it has lost,
even in the interconnected dreams

an undecipherable hymn now,
colludes with my stupor
as the faceless twin sisters smile.

I shall remember nothing
except for their holy unison
and the figments of thread
sewing their thumbs together

Come here,
sit next to me,
don't leave me tonight.

watch, as the emeralds melt
in the turquoise rich sky
and the winds of winter
dry the sky’s wounds,
through mellow howlings.

this cold is neither bright or dark.
like our love, it is mysterious and tasteless.
come raise a glass of wine to our love,
let it spill and purify the snow,
let it drown us, till we become reflections,
aligning perfectly in infinite dusted mirrors.

don't leave me tonight,
come here,
sit next to me.

He lives through his sketches,
surviving on frugal meals,
mostly bread and wine.

Night and day,
are melancholic mirrors,
for him.

He trespasses them,
ignoring the sense of time,
to create a vortex of visions.

Countless albino butterflies,
now bathe in his color palette,

Color-Soaked wings,
now seek the blank canvas,

A Kamikaze of hues is imminent,
for this art to strive
and for the artist to escape,
the meddling reality.

even the benevolent breeze,
spares the scattered ashes,
of what was once an asylum
for flesh and bones trapped
within wandering souls,

they told me in school
that red and green fuses to yellow
but all I can see and smell are dark ashes,
the remains of the magnificent tree,

the birds have nowhere to go now,
the dogs are dying of heat,
and I can't write poems now,
for I was a patient of that asylum

it caressed my sanity every evening
my poems have nowhere to go,
they don't hide in the branches now,
they hide within me,
and I hide inside them.

it comes with slithering steps,
a quiet wave thirsty for shores,

the collapse of senses,
the reckoning of misery,

when dreams melt and flow,
reality devours with small venomous fangs,
the air stinks of a beautiful past,

shattering of glasses,
is all you hear,

a sapphire burning red,
is all you see,

regretting your choices
and your existence,
is all you want,

but a heartbreak is not that cruel,
it is a mercy,
an indemnity,
from what lies ahead.

a sky full of loneliness.

As waves wrestle playfully,
I revel like a nonchalant dreamer near the shores,
watching the sun disappear,
while the sounds of sea,
calm its disappearance

I waited all night,
to see the golden coronation
of the bluish waters,
as the horizons brightened up
in the morning

a thousand faces,
a million visions,
now stay within me,

meanwhile the city of dreams,
sleeps somewhere.

sun bathes in snow,
a few hues melt
to eventually freeze
in the sky
a crepuscular light,
a white grave of memories,
that smells like burnt wood
and fresh dark wine
by the fireplace

a white sheet of blindness,
over a glass of silenced darkness
fire devours
the aching coldness,
the melody,
appeases even gods,

the fangs of frost
***** the petals of the flowers,
some of them will die this winter.
intertwining beauty and death
both of which we seek,
but at different times of life

lightness descends
in the head,

as brief visions of yours,
reincarnate within myself

you were not just a beauty
last night,
you were a poetic illusion,

an art made of small verses,
brewing sinful temptations

and I read you very slowly,
like one of my own written creations,

for I have been a starving reader
all my life,

and you were finally
an end to my starvation.

bring me a slice of the sky,
a bucket full of sea water,
a handful of the earth's soil,
and a breath full of hope,

for I would pray to unseen powers,
to fuse and mold,
humanity with nature again,
rinsing the sins of both,

and we shall learn to respect,
the age-old tryst,
which existed,
between the gods, we don't remember,
and the humans we once were.

a multiverse existence,
where realities slip through
the hourglasses of time,

memory is a sweet drizzle,
originating from the clouds of conscience,

an atmosphere made of nostalgia,
and we are the floating planet.

the galaxies are unknown and untouched,
we bloom and wither in this cataclysm of life

but I recollect all this,
from a beautiful dream with eyes open,

so was it a deja vu?
or my hands just slipped of this typewriter.

long ago,
I used to devour the darkness,
the prisoned tiny lights,
behind those glass walls,
were never tempting for me,
I was a cold wall of fickle illusions
and darkened ambitions,

a caricature of bright blurred dreams,
intervened and poisoned my memories,
everything once dissolved,
just to resurface and mold again,
in an array of unknown light,

but I knew it was you,
for you came,
and you were,
brighter than a thousand suns

I pursue the night,
while the snow quaffs the coldness
although treaded with footsteps,
they are still insanely bright,

our shadows retired early that day,
like a jotted desolated house,
my body aches and cracks into a million voices
when the past steps foot, slowly within myself,

In a quilt near the fireplace,
I retraced back to the autumn,
brewing like a golden ale,
somewhere within me,

I still remember that magnanimous deer,
who eyes poked my soul for an answer,
sometimes it haunts my dreams,
staring in nights like this,
through the window.

the strings and threads,
that binded my sanity
and this earth,
is breaking now,

a well lived life,
question's it's existence,
it's a manual override,
in a place where wires refuse to mate,
it all ends like this,
I am sure it would.
I pray it should,
while I pursue the night.

caress the playful waves,
breathe the snowflakes of this breeze,
stroll the unseen paths carelessly,
in the dreams within your dream,

kiss the dying horizon,
feel the sand below your feet,
embrace the horses that once rode
the beaches,
just like your old memories

besmirch the nightmares slowly,
wake up alone in these hallowed nights,
comfort all what is left within yourself,
feel this earth again without the lights

when it all comes back to you,
and I know it will,
write something beautiful about it,
let those waiting pages finally fill.

Time lapse of
sublimation of melodies,
blurred caffeinated visions,
the smell of breeze,
with a tinge of petrichor,
cold wet grass,
the bare feet,
an impulse strikes the heart,
asynchronously,
capillaries dosed
with sugary love,
eyelids popping,
drooling,
turning like red sprinkles
of kesar,
in a cold icy lake,

this never-ending dream,
defeats an unpredictable life,
or maybe we are dreaming only,
unable to see the tombstone
of reality,

waiting to wake up,
away from the monotony,
from barren heartless lands,
to ourselves,
to create,
a life destined to
eclipse these dreams.

a deep abyss awaits,
with hues of blue and red above,
as the horizon devours the sun,
amidst the salt and sand,

a fisherman
melts into the stupor,
of this serenity toxified,
by smell of the exuberant waves

while the red sun,
slits the blue skies throat,
the fisherman dreams of drowning,
of kissing the waiting abyss,

of floating lifelessly,
in the ocean full of life,
he dreams to return to his friend,
to his father, to his deities,

just to be reborn again,
as a wave,
as a kraken,
as a breeze,
that never dies.

green feeble breathing leaves,
under a blanket of light and thunder
with every passing tremor
from the abode of divinities,
they bathe unapologetically,

a melody cracks the humongous earth
into the notes of a lost symphony,
the rain is just a clairvoyant dancer,
foreseeing the smiles of all equals,

the petrichor transverses
the past,present and the future
in the spaces between space,

even my cold rusted heart,
breathes like a cancer dying patient,
for the last smoke in this petrichor,

and I am a child again, brisking through mud,
searching something that I do not even remember,
maybe I will find it in sometime,
in a place,where childhood went

an amicable smell
from the dried grasses
after the evening drizzle
and the turmeric laden idols,
that fuses into memories,
like reopening dust laden book,
in the house that greets waves
with eyes closed and an absence
of discord

even souls here burn
and wash away like a dried
incense stick on voyage
to nowhere and everywhere

the cows ring bells
in harmony and unison
there are no beds
but the dogs and humans
sleep alike
in comforts of a ground
that caresses unequivocally
in life and eternal death.

the smell has gone now
now concrete, glasses and woods
stink of success and fervor,
something terrible happened
really terrible.

drops are torturing my patience,
slowly traversing the spine,

In a frozen lake,
incensed with the dead past,
hymns and chants,
the mist and howls of winds,
kiss and dispose me,
a flesh impure for offering,
I believe

I lie on the ice naked with you,
seeking the last ounce of warmth,
through your curves,
I traced every inch,
in the dying moonlight,
till you slithered my neck,
and kiss me one last time,

with fear in my eyes,
an ocean of ecstacy in my heart,
and a smell of incense hemorrhaging my brain,
I sleep for eternity.

In an envelope of void,
I have come to my temple of verses,
across the lands misted of thoughts
to the mountains that rains pleasant dreams

the rivers drown your past
in a melodious blur of coldness,
the skies smell like a unforgetten
future in hues of parallel mirrors

and this is my chanting
my shangri la,in the temple of verses,
a dream within a dream,sleeping unapologetically,
would you stop staring and join?

In muddy splashes and
closed shops with smells of lament,

the coconut trees with ghastly shadows
and the shores eager with lust,

in children devouring air and absence
of laughter,
separated lovers ******* someone else
without a guilt,

I slept through timelines
of remorse,guilt,happiness and
nothingness watching them,
remembering them,
understanding them,

to conjure an image
worth hallucination,
worth a wonder,
worth a moment,

today is the day,
I lessen my burden,
to you.

in the dark dusted corners,
and the fading faraway skylines,

in the books never opened,
and some never finished,

in the winds that annihilates the sense of time,
and the dogs that sometimes barks out for fun,

in the celestial beauties cursed to hide,
and the boredom in counting wings of the useless fans,

I have lied,searched and crawled
for words to define this crisis of emptiness,

I sense words and meanings lurking around
in places and hotels I left in dismay

in the ash-trays and coaster less tables,
some of the burned memories with words of comfort still lie,

though they are cold and full of despair,
I shall cast the spring through them

for your all eves to see
and your heart to drink,tonight.

there is something
about those wooden chairs
at the Jameson's Bar.

the way they consume the
yellow brights, I believe
they could have consumed the
sultry nights,the spilled whisky,
the cheap tips and the unspoken
stories.

it's like a polished reflective
demon,that asks me to sit on it
and begin the satanic act of
dissolution of liver.

the way it does so,
I might have lost a hundred stories
to it in the most painful nights
I saw and swallowed within, with only ice.

but I never regretted.
nor shall ever be,
for they have read my stories,
when no one ever could.

If the gods do will,
I shall create my own universe
my own earth for everyone

all your anguish and pains,
the cries and the vain,
shall be the red hot core,
that would burn from within,
untouched and unseen
forever for everyone

all the smiles and dreams of everyone
shall be the skies and stars
bright as ever be,
for we all shall fly once
to hold them close,
to embrace them in nights alone
no matter how far,

the memories and voices
of all our beautiful times
shall be the trees and the oceans
whose smells shall come to us,
when the breeze blows,
taking us to a time, we always wanted

and we shall live and die
within ourselves,with memories
with everyone and their lives
like we used to do,
and become memories or oceans,
stars or smiles
and be alive even after death
on this planet.

the fiery sun,
that sets the dichotomy
of the light and the darkness
has been veiled by the clouds
floating murderously grey
in the sky

In a final hope,
to embrace this winter
once again,
I wish for an end
for this bleakness,
for this monotonous silence,

the credulous hearts of people
are dying slowly in absence
of the lacking divinity in the sky
even the cracks in my windows
are thirsty to devour the lights,

as I lie within the blankets
staring the grey abode of the gods
in silence,
my dog comes and sleeps next to me,
and I wait more seeing outside one last time,

it is beautiful though I realize
like all ends are,in the very beginning.