In the darkest hour the sliver of light pierces through,
Illuminating the bones of our truth,
Rearranged and remoulded by the sands of time,
Revealing its raw crevices for the world to see

They say it's darkest before dawn,
In the still of the night, they danced in unison,
Intertwining individuals intercepting fate,
Setting forth a fiery flame for all the pawns in this game

Carnal desire madly racing through their veins,
Pulsing the minutes as if life depended on it,
Passion enveloping the world only they could bear witness to,
As the crack of the moon dragged her blacks across the Jungian skies

They fight for the other like no other,
They will wait out stormy seas and torrents of trouble,
Where does faith lie but if not in their hearts that had been glued back?
For the bonds of love can weather through any matter.

~Vijaya Balan and Shalini Nayar
21.10.14
(c) 2014

They fall inconspicuously, these fleeting memories,
Racing against one another piercing the electric air,
Reaching the earth only to marry each other like a perfect jigsaw,
As they meander through the burgeoning of their beating hearts.

Where do beating hearts reside but in our guarded rib cages?
Vibrations tremble through them as our minds recall past ages,
A twinkle in their eyes, indicators of a point in time,
Where their memories converge and haughty hearts beat furiously.

It never came easy this journey, the path once strewn with things they wish they can take back,
Now strewn with things they never want to let go,
Found in one another as though they've always been there to be discovered
By the one that braves a thousand thunders as they clap through the cardiac waves, beating as one;

Fluidly shifting through dreams of despair and profoundly yearning for hope,
Embracing many potential endings ravenously, onto resilience,
Having eternally reached memories, infesting them
Planting new seeds of faith, erasing all that is dark and cold, but maintaining an authority of importance.

~Shalini Nayar & Vijaya Balan
5.11.14
(c) 2014

All that glitters never meant much to me,
Petals fall & fade, withering along with time like its temporary immortality,
Money joining suit in its temporary fervour, but never buying love as the Beatles crooned.

So let me tell you what does:

The look on your face when I've made you happy with a surprise or two;
The sound of your laughter reverberating through the air as I cowl in my witty silly remarks;
The mental connection that pleasantly astounds me with every thought-stealing line and mirrored gestures-humour-reaction-action;
How your words has awaken the inner dormant writer/poet and inspired to put my venomous quill to paper again;
How you make me feel beautiful, appreciated and respected, just the way I am;
Your empathy and understanding that chase the dark clouds away and silence my demons;
The way we make love with the glances we exchange in public like there's no one around;
The way we make love with our bodies, explorative archaeologists tracing each other's landscapes gently-sweetly-devilishly;
How you claim my arm across, intertwining with yours, caressing it as if it's a part of you;
When your palm holds my face lovingly while we exchange sweet kisses, nibbles and all;
Blowing soft breaths onto our goosebumpy skins, whispering how much we love each other;
Cheekily stealing smooches at traffic light stops which never seem to be long enough;
Resting your head on my sturdy shoulder as I cushion mine into yours, christening it with my lips,
As we serenade that BSB song transporting me back to 14 again.

And the realization pierces me through like truth always does:

That I would not trade any moment, any era, any wish, any desire
Than the one right now with you that has headily grasped me so:
A dizzying cocktail of drugs that is you.

Shalini Nayar
31.10.14
(c) 2014

The walls can be brought down,
Rivers can be crossed and oceans sailed,
Mountains hiked and conquered,
The skies, blazed through with vengeance,

But to have you understand me,
Understand my humour and my fears,
There's no bigger conquest done.

Dream had a glass of wine with me,
Faltered through my reality,
Disrupted my slumber,
Caressed my wandering thoughts

He picked a book, old faded cover,
He turned a musty yellowish page,
Picked out a line and read,

"You, my own creator,abhor me.
What hope do I have? Shall I not
hate those who hate me? Shall I not
lash out at those who wish me ill?
You accuse me of the worst,
yet do not yourself shrink,
from inducing far greater violence on me!"

I woke up. The tale of the lonely monster lay next to me.
The pages were turned but I had turned too.
I need to love my creations. I am a creator of my own.
I can be a classic tale after all.

My demons danced at the gates as I walked into the temple,
She looked peaceful and glimmered in the sunlight,

She asked me "Why do you look calmer today? Is it this place? "
"No" I replied. "I left my baggage at the door,but I'll need them back when I go out into the world "

"You need some company with that, mine are making friends with yours right now", she smirked and her eyes twinkled.

Spin a little lie, poke this needle into your eye,
You see what you want and give what you don't,
Spin a little tale, of deceit and contempt, in a fable,
This is not your story, it's history.