I have never seen such a star before!

It shines
by and to
the sides of my eyes
but only until I’d look up
to see it Fully

It has never been there maybe!

or is it its nature to just disappear
when
and because I look up ?

or are we
playing a game of
kika boo
to test
a rhyming faith?

which could
become a melody
to the lines of darkness
uncloaking us

once or thrice
does not seem matter
to the form of my observation

sheltering in a multicolored ice

Catch this subtle point of luminosity
Now ! - If you can

and once you have it
Set it free
or Stay there
as if meditating on headstand
and clear your mind

before night diffuses into light
and shines through a crystal
with a hidden star inside

I cannot prove If eyes are not be made of its
material
and only a deluded mind  -Alas !
questions

such useless
doubt of difference
of the other
by the other
about the other

And the other
always and only
drowning
in the corridors of beliefs
and thought-constructs

but
Is it not pointless
Trying to catch
a star
Camouflaged
in daylight ?
...
and sometimes recklessly
at the tip of my nose
makes me giggle just
as if a **** tickle
at a mystic corner
on a lover’s lip
longing for its kiss variant

then
I look down again
Tired of the silly mind game
Just to feel it by my side
A sweet friend
A sweet love
Made of my trust
Only appears
to the side of my eyes
So what!
A needle tip sized glitter
sourceless
Living only
in the reflection of the reflection
of a night sky
Shining on my window
behind which I hide now

The mirror of Dorian Gray, deceiving -
his portrait lies buried that tells the truth.
The wandering heart, self-excusing, believing
it never will face the end of its youth.

But darkness will fill the heart of the canvas
And bloodstains seep through to mar beauty’s face
The countenance hardens, the mirror won’t show this
Until retribution has found her place.

Then sheets torn away to the horror of all
reveal the true nature of Dorian’s sin
No veil can now hide his consummate fall,
Nor repentance be found to begin again.

Only flames and torment, for this one must die.
His sins have dragged many, unwitting to hell.
Yet there, but for God’s grace, go I
Uncloaking my portrait, I know this well.

by choice, i heard a beautiful voice
angel lips anointed me
gentle as a winding shroud
what i imagine them to be

blind in sight, i heard aloud
a beautiful voice

my coarse complex intruded by
a speaker bringing solace high
carried my away
on the wings of a beautiful voice

a beautiful voice endorses my youth
i can hear it fill the halls
''forgive your past and run with me''
beckoning, it calls

the concluding velvet curtain
it lifts, uncloaking shutters
flowing through their crevices
comes soothing cadence from none other
than a beautiful voice

for my voice is unaccompanied
it lacks a counterpart
this voice is one i cannot see
yet completes my work of art

Let’s not name it,
not that it doesn’t deserve a name. Only that
it yearns not to be labeled. Let’s not judge it
for what it isn’t or what we think

its supposed to be. Let’s be open to
its interpretation. Let each one of us bring
something to it, something personal,
something of ourselves. Let us share in

the intimacy of revealing, uncloaking,
unmasking this. Let’s read it on a different day,
a different month and year. Let’s see how it can
change, how it can weather time.