You asked to have me too?

I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
You don’t believe, that until recently
I smelled and bloomed

Greedy hands were reaching out to me
They picked and tore, and took my bloom away
My odor… stolen by the wind

My leaves…
A mist desired them, eyes watering
And so I gave
But to a cloud she ran away
And built a nest from them
My branches…
Caressed by frost-bitten beggar
She too asked to have them
I gave again
She put them to the fire

You asked to have me too?

I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
Ever seen the aroma and the bloom of sin?

Your eyes perhaps caught too much light or tears?
Are you disappointed; maybe bored? Don’t go.
It seems there’s nothing left for you but you are wrong

Beneath your feet, buried deep within the soil
My root is dwelling waiting for the spring
The last and best of me
I hid and kept it just because
I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
If you’d like I’ll show you how I used to bloom

Where are you going

Wait

Don’t you want me anymore

On evenings when my blood runs thin
But my spirit aches for release,
I pull out my pen and paper
And begin to write
The words I cannot bring myself to say

My hand does not move
As the paper beneath it
Grows damp under my ducked head.

I am not a poet, I think.
Who is a poet other than one who captures
emotions inside words?
I am not a poet, I think,
Because emotion does not drive my pen.

I am a translator.
I translate regret into tears,
And the tears smudge the empty words I wrote in ink
To paint a portrait
Of myself:
the one who tried to feel but couldn't.

Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine
And our love
Must I remember them
How joy always came after the pain

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

Hand in hand, face to face, let us not change
While underneath
The bridge of our arms gives way
The waters’ endless look is grey

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

Love slips away like this running water
Love slips away
Just as life is so slow
And as hope is so violent

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

The days and the weeks pass by
Neither past time
Nor past loves will return
Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

I'm glad you're not bewitched by me
I'm glad I'm not bewitched by you
That never will Earth's heavy orb
Float out from underneath our feet.
I'm glad that we can be funny...
messy, and not play with words,
And not redden-- a stifling wave
Upon us lightly touching sleeves

I'm glad too that before me you
Will freely embrace another
That you won't **** me to hellflames
Upset by me not kissing you
That my tender name, my tender darling
You won't recall in day nor night...in vain
That never in the church's silence
Will they sing over us 'alleluia'

I thank you with my heart and with my hand
For the fact that you -- yourself not knowing
Loved me so; for all of my peaceful nights
For rarity of meeting sunset hours
For our not-walking underneath the moon
For the sun not there with us, overhead
For you not being - alas, bewitched by me
For me not being - alas bewitched by you

I need a little help
I took a little break
See I have to work, work, work!
Otherwise I'll be a lazy good for nothing!
Its ALL work and then SOME play.
But if its SOME work then surely its NOTHING at all.

Words, word, words!
I can think them just fine,
Some days I'll even speak them quietly, to myself.
But here lies the problem, I lose them in translation.

I am thinking, I am thinking
Such a good line, such a clever prose.
Open the pad and notebooks and not a word goes!
I am thinking, I am thinking
Such a good line, such a clever prose.
Open my mouth and its out the window!

I want my words back,
I want to write,
I want to write poetry
I want to just empty my mind
I want to leave out all the words
I want to be satisfied with these little things.

This was a start, I am sure it helped.
It had to.

Originally written on 26/05/2005.

Hum khud ko ek raat, phir yuhi ek baar, bhool gaye.
Aap nahin to aap ka yaad dilaana hi phir bhool gaye.

Ab to yeh bedaad-e-yaad waqt ke saath sehte sehte,
Khud se daad-e-dard ki umeed-e-intizaar bhool gaye.

Kabhi dhoond te the hum bhi ma'anee apni wajood me,
Lekin raat hui to wajood ka ma'ana hi ab bhool gaye.

Chale the hum na jaane kaha apni ehatimaam-e-yaad ko.
Is ehsaas ne humme roka ke hum gham-e-gharaz bhool gaye.

Humare baat karne par karte hain humare jeene ki tasali.
Koi toh samjhaye ke jeete jeete hum jeena bhool gaye.

------------------------------------

One night, once again, I’ve forgotten myself.
You’re not here so I’ve even forgotten your reminders.

Now after putting up with this injustice of memory, over time
I’ve forgotten to wait for the hope of a justice of sorrow, from myself.

Once I used to search for meanings within my identity
But now when night falls, I’ve forgotten the very meaning of my identity.

I don’t know where I was going to sort out my memories,
But this realisation stopped me that I’ve forgotten the very purpose of my sorrow.

By talking about me, they assure themselves that I am alive.
Somebody explain to them that even though I’m alive, I’ve forgotten how to live.

I found a new way
of being misunderstood
all the while
looking for the opposite;
arriving at the shores
of the wrong land,
so my discoverers
and your natives
immediately went to war;
thus worlds collide
at the hands of words