Twilight is pastel,
grey grief gripping the soul,
wrapping in a pall of thickened mist
with a sickening shade of
At the horizon,
you wait for the homing birds
to fly on its wings
like a dream glued to my life’s script.
Many times I wondered,
why you come back to this land
where the scary hand of the butcher
scuttles every dream;
where humanity drowns
in its own anguished cries.
The smell of blood is
intoxicating when its grasp
tightens like a noose
on my consciousness.
A Dragonfly once flew up
on its whispery wings
to the azure sky
that caught in the emptiness of time
after a crazy rainstorm disillusioned it,
to greet the Sun
peeking through scraps of ebony clouds.
A euphoric Sun mixed gold dust
to an ethereal orange on its palette, and
blew the sibyllic mist on the giggly,
gossamer wings of the Dragonfly.
And lo, tiny sparkling rainbow drops
on the dreaming consciousness of the
Mind benumbed with a dreary monotony;
thoughts rambling like the black and gloomy clouds
trying to break the boredom of the winter sky.
Dark dust of melancholy
clouding the senses to a hazy opaqueness.
with shoots of life
sleeping inside me
waiting for the knock of Spring
on the frozen shell of my consciousness.
Latent I lie,
with hues of magic trancing in my soul.
Latent I’ll lie,
till the soft brush of springtime
paints my world in a
flurry of psychedelic colours.
a blinding sandstorm!
Grits of gold
inebriated with a haunted hurricane
danced with a fiendish fervour
in its search for identity.
Glare of gold blinds,
grip of greed delirates.
Like a marauding butcher,
slivers of gold
gouged out your saneness.
like a possessed,
with the yellow glister
holding your hand to the funeral pyre of your created destiny.
The grief that broods in your soul
gushes as a fiery deluge
in the flames of a sulphurous agony.
Between the layers of consciousness,
like a brutal cleaver,
it tears up the umbilical cord
that knots you up with your life's script.
On the wings of a melancholic sigh,
you glide to a land of psychedelic dreams
where the hypnotic beat of conga drums
carry you to a world
beyond the dreary beats
of a mundane chore.
The ecstasy of your steps
creates a mystical rhythm
for your Galala dance!
Even the shadow of your dreams
has a sapphire blue
woven into its consciousness!
When the river flows
to the cliff for its deadly plunge
into the maelstrom of nothingness
that defines the soul of the netherworld,
you enter into the nirvana
that rests in the stillness of your consciousness.
Oh! Heaven's gravity holds you up
to glide over the mundane!
A queer breed of ostriches we're!
Scared of reality,
we bury our senses
in the barren sands of illusion,
live in an oasis of fantasy!
Does the glare of daylight scare us?