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)

A note to the daytime delusional

Collision, nauseous commotions
A note to the daytime delusional 
Who runs with tangential emotions

Minding the matter
Made you hate Mondays
Ramble, fumble, crumble, grumble
While the day is then just a gamble
Implosive introversions
Prohibitive perversions
How will you be a pretty waste?
If you don't be a little insane
And move round and round in circles
To try and catch hold of your own tail

Collision, nauseous commotions
A note to the daytime delusional 
Who runs with tangential emotions

Cornered by street side bullies
Crushed by suit and tie
Riding to and from work every day
While a boy fired his first in Zimbabwe
Insightful interjections
Political pollutions
How will you be a glorious prey?
If you don't be a total slave
And work hours and hours in continuum
To move the big wheels of a small world

Collision, nauseous commotions
A note to the daytime delusional 
Who runs with tangential emotions

This is the morning sun
Worn by the dust and quite done
Time to tick and let the heart run
Around, a few old voles rush in to dig a dollar
Tenuous ties
Mundane meanderings
How will you be an aiming gun?
If you don't let all just burn
And walk miles and miles in all the hurry
To snatch your family bread in a hungry world

Finding the face of familiarity

This day today

The one that's like yesterday

Reminds me of that little joy

Of watching the endless green fields

From the window of that train

That time of ageless innocence

When puddles in the rain

Was all and enough

For the paper boat to sail

This monument today

The one like the debris of yesterday

Two hidden stories of a century

One not quite told, another incomplete

Nights of rain, days of thunder

And the finest stones, rarest words

Yet they failed to say

The beauty of a hundred years

For the clear sky above gave it away

This woman today

The one like I had met yesterday

Both of the dark, moist eyes

That peeled every warmth of winter

Yet not finding within the joys of summer

Could have drawn you in my paintings

If you had absorbed the white's reflection

And we could have left the grey altogether

Like a lonely thought in the tiresome desert

This poem today

The one that has lines like yours

A bit lost when stumbling on a noisy street

In peace when looking from the room's window

Though I may not find all the verses today

Let me just give you some metaphors

So that when today is a bygone

Will fill the missing lines in the morning

From our dreams

Some from yours and rest from mine

(Painting- Not to be Reproduced by Rene Magritte)

Far and wide, I longed for green

Abyss, cold mountains
Wilderness, scorching deserts
Far and wide, I longed for green
On the way, wrote a poem or two

A boy I met, he smiled often
Another one, he cried the  other's share
Together we played till the breeze lasted
Then came the rain, and the two kites sank

Shook hands with a man named Peace
Laughed with a woman named Happiness
Searched in her persuasive dark eyes
That moment, when evening sun melts in moon

At sea, picked up a solitary white feather
In each other, we found a friend lost
Walked, relived those days we used to fly
Then that wave, and feather said goodbye

Traveling, lot of years went by
Outside my window, found the green under a white sky
Had finally found, could now lie down and spend the rest
Movement had all been the life, thought I
Smiling, I set out again, in search of the magenta sky

(Painting- Impression, Sunrise by Claude Monet in 1872 depicting Le Havre in France)

Many times I ask You...

My dear Soul

Many times I ask you- who are you, indeed?

Yesterday’s dream was of serenity and calmness

Today’s reality was of commotion and wilderness, you know

Yet even though when I was lost, you were still steady

That moment today when I tripped on the busy street

Was it because you had to stay and gaze the orange sky?

My dear Krishna

Many times I ask you- where are you, indeed?

Some children are dying of hunger, you know

Some men are still fighting over strips after a century

Yet you say you believe in humanity and not in its penury

That moment today when I saw the homeless man dying

Was it you who said that Karma is always in perpetuity?

My dear Music

Many times I ask you- how do you do it, indeed?

Cars shouted, trains whistled and that carcass from the street

Someone even fired a gun somewhere, you know

Yet you somehow found your way into my dull room

That moment today when I simply sat and watched the trees

Was it you who said that silence is my true beauty?

My dear Poem

Many times I ask you- why do you do it, indeed?

You felt what I feel, saw what I see, dreamed what I dream

Somehow, you even found an obscure rhythm, you know

Yet you remained in anonymity and perplexity

That moment today when I wrote you meaninglessly

Was it you who said that to mean is to simply be?

(Image- Boy with Pipe by Pablo Picasso)

The Man from hundred years ago

As this night moved towards dawn

And I heard rain splattering on the window
I remembered that man from 100 years ago

Every morning he walked on the streets of London
And thought of all the heartbreaks he stored within
Lovers and friends, all had betrayed
Some for money, others for pleasure
A clerk, he earned a little
Just enough for some bread and a bottle
Factories soared all around him
And tall buildings had gone taller

As this night moved towards dawn
And I heard rain splattering on the window
I remembered that man from 100 years ago

Sitting in the chair he felt the nausea
As he watched the men in his office

Wildly chasing the day around him
Is this the advent of a new man?
The kind who thinks, multiplies but not feel?
Or the man was and has been
The fly that swirled in the garden
Thrust into an indifferent cosmos

As this night moved towards dawn
And I heard rain splattering on the window
I remembered that man from 100 years ago

Evening came and he walked home

Climbed three floors and thought some more
Another day entirely insignificant
Was his living a point at all?
When Mother had long gone
And wife had deserted for a richer man
Even the birds that used to sit at the parapet
Had migrated to a happier land
What was there was nowhere
All around just desolation and despair

As this night moved towards dawn
And I heard rain splattering on the window
I remembered that man from 100 years ago

The night had fallen
And he had drank more than his usual
What was and is and shall be
Thought he who is and pledged not to be
This end is an end, better than the beginning
For what started only stagnated

The decision was made and not in haste

All that remained was the final play

As this night moved towards dawn
And I heard rain splattering on the window
I remembered that man from 100 years ago

In a moment’s worth he was at the terrace

Desires and difficulties all had disappeared

God and Devil had dissolved in his soul

And no questions now remained

Stuttering he finally reached and climbed the edge

The last two breaths were not a complete waste

For the cold wind had now wrapped his face

Startled and scared I woke up with a shriek

With a pounding heart and sweat covered face

What I could have brushed as a mere nightmare

Struck me with horror as I rushed to the mirror

A hundred years had just condensed

Face of the man or the man with the face

As the night had reached the dawn

And sun rays had pierced the window

I thought of myself in the present

Heaven and hell, joys and sorrows

Nights and days, springs and falls

This one beautiful life has it all!

(Painting- Wanderer above the sea of fog by Caspar David Friedrich, 1818)