From the diaries of dust

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Safe in the steep cliff

Some wild blue Irises

Sprinkled by moonlight 

Surely, it is there I seek

Some clues to your...

                       heartbeats

Tend in the braided river 

The round halite pebbles

Touched by fantasies

Thereof, may I just find

These allure of your...

                        glimpses

Mixed in the morning's dew

Memories of halcyon days

Manifest of prose

May be lies in night's rain

Moist secrets of your...

                         presence

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Sent from my iPhone

An obscure view of heart's end

A poem about joy
Expressed not to the youth
What is that is just imagery?
Till the obscure finds eloquence

An array of sunsets
Enshrouded in a drop of dew
What is that is just solitude?
Till the view from broken window

A song about letters
Written not to be sent
What is that is just love?
Till the heart knows unrequited

A book about characters
Unfolds not the last page
What is that is just story?
Till the end begins paroxysm

Mellow of Pont-Neuf

Pandemonium around

     and, exchange of glance

Three months

     since, my fateful utterance

Emphatic beginnings

     the smile, slight reluctance

     You

Visited the same cafe

     Where I, trifled with sunset

Maybe a serendipity?

     But, You

Had a practiced beauty

Dangers foretold

     even then, I tread the narrow

Lucid evenings

    where, sun melted in her glow

Light's colors 

     as if, unhinged from my shadow

        I

Saw Eiffel covered in rainbow

       And faith within Notre-Dame   

Delusion's play?

       But, I

Never wore now grey

Caustic impressions

       the evening, of last week's 19th

Memory impedes

       though sure, doubted her tears not once

Troubles unbound

       lost her work, soon her home in Montrouge

       You

Who walked in grace

       Now languished in strain

Certain maneuverings

       But, you

Then lacked no affirmation

Moment's note

       and I, had called a friend who owed

Indebted closure

       for I, helped him before with a loan

Gleaming eyes

      unaware, she told me of her new offer

       I

Conjured of a different ending

      Aloof from destiny's plundering

Unbound dreams

      But, I

Walked to her home with a ring

Heartbeats hurried

      as I, stepped near her window

Fading light

      of her's, in a man's embrace

Piffling raindrop

     unhinged, from window to no trace

        

      I

Dropped the ring 

     Sparkle of diamond

Or trick of night

     But, I

Had a smile for tragic

Three days

    then, the end of summer

Poetry! Careful

    for love, has just got over

Lonesome bridge

    of now, wistful Seine river

    You

Slithered pass me

    In little violets

Or just blue

   But, You!

For sure and true

Familiar fragrance

       musk with a hint of lilac

Stifled beats

       song of dove's cry

City lights

       and mellow of Pont-Neuf

     

A Day of Memories

When walking never needed any shoes

Such was the bed of comforting grass

A mystical flower-to bathe the valley blue

And I relied on summer rain to wash away 

Incompleteness, Impurity

When waking up was never a difficulty

Such were the soulful songs of sparrows 

A crescent moon-to tell us a story

And I relied on morning's dew to cast away

Tiredness, Travesty

When there were hardly any hint of insanity

Such were the lucid laughter of families

A fateful day-to leave behind all

And I relied on my next journey to discover 

Yearn, Youth

When what was my heart's only abode

Such a home is now plundered to dust 

A milieu lost- to some faithful undertones

And I relied on concrete's frailty to reflect

Serene, Simplicity

Let me if you may,

Find for it a sublime name

So you if I say,

Can recall it even after a decade

A Day of Memories 

(Painting- Tea Garden in Munnar by Vidyut Singhal)

far, near

There were smiles, there were tears
In all that were, there were also fears
Coupled with few insights that were not clear
Life's misgivings or dichotomy eternal?
For I walked on two roads-one far, one near

Revolving in circles that spawned centuries
Creating time and thoughts with each step
That vanished in thin air with the next
Hunting for soul or searching for pleasure?
For I was there everywhere-sometimes far, sometimes near

A day I happened to stare into Christ's eyes
A century ago had seen those before
Perhaps the eyes of Buddha in shadows of years
Man's affair or cosmic prayer?
For vague are these memories-several far, several near

In all possibilities there were certain dualities
Creating amalgamation of illusion and real
But then there have been prose written and songs made
Pure creation or random evolution?
As if all truths are just trickery- neither far, nor near

(painting-Harlequin's Death by Pablo Picasso)

New Ways to the Same Crossroad

That time when you met and left
Not a footstep, not a thought
Expanding vacuum in the depths of mind
I see from the hollowness of my eyes
A white light floating over in a spiral
Lost it after a flash, as if a peaceful lure of chaos

Like a rolling wheel I have traveled
Always at the same point-between past and future
But an event in this circle didn't repeat
When all my darkness collided with your white light
A second later, an eternity after
I was searching for it in the dark room of my heart's corner

On days it feels I am moving forward
Yet all they are but new ways to the same crossroad
Where you met and where you left, both are the same corner
None of your light now, just shadows replete with your moments
A different one walks by my side everyday
As if you live with me and yet never will I hold you anymore

(Paininting- Shadow of a Man in Paris by Warren Keating)

The woman, the homeless and the grave

A woman I met sitting by the waves
Pale blue eyes, magnetic smile hiding tears
Asked me to write few lines for her
On her unrequited love, unbearable betrayal
And then, I searched endlessly for that thought
One that got lost in the sea of agony

A homeless I met stranded in desert
Fog around his eyes, remains of tears
Asked me to write few lines for him
On his broken legs, unnoticed plea for a dollar
And then, I searched endlessly for that thought
One that got lost in the sands of destiny

A lonesome grave I met in heavy rain
No flowers or name, not a cry for it's pain
Asked me to write few lines for it
On it's singular existence,unknown burial
And then I searched endlessly for that thought
One that got lost in the flood of anonymity

A mirror I met that reflected shadows
The woman, the homeless, the grave and the others
Asked me to write few lines for it
On my several lives, multitudinous faces
And then I searched endlessly for that thought
One that got lost in the paradoxes of infinity

(Painting-Christ of Saint John of Cross by Salvador Dali)