.
The branches of the trees bend and sway
as the breeze plays its tickling games.
Sitting beneath the mighty Oak
he closes his eyes and drifts back home.
His thoughts, like his arrows, true,
finding its destination with consummate ease.
A figure, a face, a smile, he sees.
The portrait of Her.
Burning a cold image in his mind.
An alien sound he hears, and startles,
intruding on his moment of reverie.
A bird lands on a tree, close,
giving him the eye, akin to the intelligent
stare of the capricious corvid.
It whistles and takes flight
calling him to follow.
Thoughts of Her portrait, now wisps of smoke,
disappear as intrigue beckons.
Insistent chirping, the clever eye,
leads him hither and thither,
ever away from home.
Caught in the enchantment, of following the Never bird.....

The mist crawls and curdles and climbs
in a rising, coalescing film of fog.
To befuddle the unwary, alone in the Trees.
His nerves, his eyes, captivated
as the Never bird commands attention.
Leading him on, deeper.
Home is but a distant sigh in his heart,
ignored with intensity, unloved.
The journey steps take him far, wayward
with no direction, no destination.
Singing sweet, swooping swift
the bird stops. Disappears into the gloom,
not once looking back, abandoning he who followed.
Lost. So very lost. So very lost.
Moments fly, rustling, footfalls, an apparition.
A Goddess of beauty unveils herself,
and steps, soft and gentle into the light.
Enraptured he takes her into his arms,
they sink and rut like animals, primal,
on the cool mossy carpet.
Banished are the thoughts and portraits.
Caught in the enchantment, of loving the Never bird.....

The cobalt sky in a haze of heat
swirls about before his eyes.
Laying beneath a Mighty Oak.
Goose-bumped skin. Alone.
He wakes. The forest still and silent.
His thoughts like drunken dogs
blurred by memories that excite and disturb.
The Portrait of Her.
Awakening a fuzzy, picture in his mind.
Scanning the trees, the lady is gone,
and missing is the Never bird.
Unknown magiks have been worked on him,
he felt, rather than observed.
The sigh in his heart for home, broke forth,
strange noises burst the mood.
The ache in his heart,
constrained within by abnormal form,
teetered on the edge of pain, sorrow.
A song of hope escapes, a decision made,
as wisps of smoke form a Portrait.
He spreads his wings,
caught in the enchantment, of being the Never bird.



© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

I met a stranger in the bus..a man in the black suit..and I seemed to know him since ages..took the same route as mine..
Ours was a unique acquaintance, it was of smiles and stares, words hardly spared..

But today, today was different..he, with a diminished smile, seemed like he had a taxing day to cuss..in his eyes, he had the world locked like the pandora..
To open it was calamity, and to keep it all in was fatality.. but he was brave, went on burning his soul in the fire of the heist..
I always wanted to ask him about his pursuit, but I was scared of the explosion, he might endure his own Big Bang..

This stranger in the bus, the man in the black suit, who I seemed to know since ages now, was unordinarily restless today. And I couldn’t guess why..
Flicking his fingers, frantic, hasty and teary eyes, who was once my persona for strength, he left me drowning into the depths of my thoughts..
Oh how could I have even resisted, I was falling short of smiles..
Deciding to trade a word today, this harmless stranger extends a clumpsy mind, just like mine.. the troubles were little too wild, and I was compelled to listen..
They said talking helped, but we shared more smiles, words lesser spared..remember ?
The lump in his throat did most of the work.. While I got lost in his unshared troubles, i learnt something tonight..

Melting cold nights and rumbling leaves at the height. The swaying trees and the smooth slow breeze..These are the flaws of nature that are meant to make us feel right. But the evil, vicious ones, loneliness and anxiety, are our unborn progenies, and we nurture them with will and pride..they tell us of our existence, of the blood and flesh and the emotions running through our veins.. they make us pop and bleed, through our ears and eyes.. like the dictators back in time.. they eat through us, mummify us for the rest of our lives..
And this stranger in the bus, the man in the black suit..
I finally sense him.. He held my hand, asked me one simple question.
Why do we weep when we lose control ? Why are there storms and tempests inside our tiny hearts? Why do we feel wounded by the ******* loneliness that we create with our own flesh and blood, our own nurturing ? Why are we possessive about this poison that is freezing our blood, one cell at a time..? Yes, anxiety.. why do we let it turn us blue, **** us ?

I could only wonder, how smoothly he filled all the blanks. The blanks inside my gut. The blanks inside my head, the questions that he slapped in my face left red marks, but the ringing in my ears gave me the answer..

How easily could I let this venom out of my nose, with each exhale, I could sense the fumes of the blue escaping, leaving me with the spectrum of all colours but the one..

I see this stranger in the black suit everyday now. Everyday, In my bed, embracing me into sound sleep, in the mirror telling me that I was the prettiest of all, in my thoughts, in my walks, talks and mindful tirades.
The stranger now is a part of me, he camps inside me.. he replaced my poisons and demons..
And now we look out the window together, and smile more often.. the storms seem sorted now and ****** anxiety sits beside me, not inside me..

metamorphosis:

chew me up, spit me out
break me into bits
shred me into scraps
do whatever it takes
to make me fall apart.

i'll rise from ashes
i'll glue myself together
piece by tiny piece
every little microbe
every drop of blood.

like kintsugi art
there is beauty
where the cracks are
there is gold in my veins
there is stitchwork in my cells
there is inferno in my heart.

metamorphosis:

break me down, build me up
transform, rebirth, rearrange me
make me resilient
make me relentless
make me right

make me new

a hand
to hold
fingers, neatly nestled
grasping
solid touch

warm syrup
honey spilling
mouths overflowing
with sugar

wounds
salt inflicted
poked a bit
now healing
coaxed to fit

blind of sight
deaf of sound
sticky sweet leaves
falling to the ground

delighted you'll run
hollow inside
the man in the moon
laughing, the lies
whispered truths
behind phases of light
narrow windows
buckets of light

no rhyme to follow
or reason to bend
time its worst enemy
also best friend

run through the trees
follow the footfalls
but watch for the thistles
and momentary recalls

names won't be remembered
and the earth will change
but the forest longest living
will remember her frame