Five

Three in the front.
Two at the back.
Always passing back,
never returned forward.
Stuck there,
where the buck ends.
Make space, you bum!

A walk in unison

Like the pen tip that scratches the paper surface,
you’ve left bleeding marks of an emotional romance,
an embrace that filled the voids in a naive mind,
with subtle perceptions of delightful possibilities.

Seeking the solitude of nostalgic conversations,
those memories carved into exquisite sculptures,
vividly dramatized by crafty chisels of fondness,
I wander along the paved paths of cosy thought.

Stuck in this cuddling illusion of enormous comfort,
my throat slowly drains off all that is wetting it,
while continuing to hum with an unerring precision,
seeking strength and shelter in gloves of our bonding.

Faced with the proposition of distance separating us,
all the veils and mirages so painstakingly constructed,
count to null in the haughty onslaught of lonely echoes,
haunting relentlessly to pierce a delicate peace of self.

That beautiful dawn, glory magnified by horrid nightmares,
unseen by the blind-folded night forever in denial,
I await for with a thousand words of all that you mean,
that will reach your conscience without ever being spoken.

Hoping to read beyond the horizon on a starless sky,
from the sight of light through your presence brought about,
I wish to journey again, as no time has ever dared to pass,
caressing the dew drops of friendship that never passed,
as my soul environs itself with you, like walk of our yore.

Tender Truth

The relentless heart, a lively soul,
many a dreams, there within the fears,
hope inextinguishable, smiles plenty, tears,
corners of guilt, moments of pleasures,
harbouring feelings, evolving thoughts.
All that it holds, all that it bears.
Forgetful and rude, yet honestly in love.
Noises abounds, only to be masked by confusions,
questions of what and why,
simplified to when, where and how.
Does it really know? Memories past mould thus.
Being a fool that is, in love and thought,
all it knows, flies like the beautiful dove,
pretending to know its home,
yet conflicts itself to a dark abyss.
A tumbler of paradoxes, continuously learning,
shocking truths and mundane facts,
impressions indelible, of fury and anger,
and apathy unlike any.
Truly revealing itself, tentatively, surely.
Will the valued mates hold?
In the moment it cares nought, trusts in love.
Truly in love, it lets itself go.
It cares not to show nor say, all left
to something never seen nor known.
While the sun rises, it hears chimes of delight,
illuminating only the best feelings.
It is truly itself, like a sonata on strings,
the tender heart, open to be hurt and hurt.
Believing naively, in the magic of love.

I also felt like thanking a few people for a few of the things they have blessed me with,
punch for all the love he gives to everyone around him in a way that only he can. Also for teaching the beauty of writing something for oneself.
uc for making me feel better about myself whenever I am down in the darkest dungeons. Also for understanding me without me having to ever explain myself.
ringo for making me laugh without fail and sharing wonderful music which sometimes is the only thing that makes me feel alive.
manu aka Manohar Reddy for always encouraging me to do whatever I feel like, for understanding, supporting and defending me amidst hostile people.
Devika and Deepika for teaching me so much about life even while they are just little kids to me.
phodu aka Nitin Sen for inspiring me in ways, which I hope to tell the world someday.
budhia aka Shantanu Maheshwari for the simple talks we’ve had and for listening me crib, the only time I remember cribbing since my school days.
uncle for the excitement, which he generously infects everyone around him with.
9 for just being here.
Gayatri akka for showing the power of love, persuasion and persistence by continuing to try to talk to me despite my refusal to talk to her for 5 years.
Pranesh for showing me through example to look beyond what is on the surface and that listening to your heart is not universally applicable.

PS: These are just acknowledging a fraction of the people for a fraction of what they mean to me. I cannot be exhaustive, I am afraid.

Cavern of my conscience

As all those thoughts come to the fore,
with baited impressions I wait,
to weed out the inexplicable doubts
masking my horizon.
The dreams of my perceived bliss splash
against the desired drifter, a lie that
is as still as a turbulent gush
on a breathless soul.
There is more that my unrelenting heart speaks
than my emotional mind can comprehend,
a story of eternal deception woven
by a nexus of romantics.
With the towers of my reason drowned
by tides nonexistent, I sit on the edge
of the sea of my innocent wonder,
suffocated by the flooding.
The unspoken understanding of solitude,
in silence I seek.

Pucks two in time

This is a tale of pucks, pucks two in time.
Evil and Sinister, were their last and middle names.
Vroodlepuck and Ugeepuck, lived by the lakeside.
Oh! they loved the lake, or was it really the sea.
For all we can see, not rhyming with a lake.
Tumbling a tiny mumble, swooning to one song.
Stuff of the stuffed toys, all hidden in the hind.
The soft arse of Ugee, as said by the English.
Vulgar sounding prick-sters, picked on all the douches.
Then they smiled and they went, without even a twitch.
In thought and in feet, laziness abound thus.
The two scoundrels leaped, but they be only in dreams.
Hogging and ogling always, distressing cute damsels away.
Vroodle that lanky jackass, evil grinning he overdone.
Jesters at common deeds, even so in so rarities.
They watched the sun rise, and watched it set too.
Yet they would sit on, idle over doing doodle do.
They both wait and stare, all blurred in a period.
When the birds did return, count they did till dark.
Dragging their limp along, there they went around.
Pucks they were we said, but they had done no evil.
Pucks parked by the lake, lost in keeping to their name.
Yeah they were happy and gay, snuggling and sleeping.
Ugee wanted to remember, Vroodle diseased to forget.
They lived on and loved on, all by that same lakeside.
Or was it actually the seaside, that the two really loved?

PS: Does it have to be mentioned that I love to blabber?

The wasted lemon

Ah! That scent of a lemon
away it drives all the follies
will ebb with time
but still haunting my olfactories

Ah! That gorgeous little lemon
nought of any-kind of discourse
will weep
but alls round and sound in a lemon

Ah! That sour labelled lemon
definitely by the truest vermin
will splotch
but remains the tinge of tangy lemon

One lemon, since ever,
once as fresh as morn mist.
How long will ya be there?
So unjust has fate been
Yet service ya’ll continue
to a tyrant worse than ever.

Rest, lemon, rest.
Wasted, are you lemon, wasted?

PS: A tribute to a lemon lying on my desk for a long long time ..

lets..

[This was written by 9, but I just could not stop myself from posting it after reading it]

y being rude on those ruddy cheeks, at the rudiments of their life..

lets not give ‘em pain..

y being devilish, devouring ruthlessly, the ultimate joys one cud ever experience..

lets not held ‘em back..

y being ghost like, gnawing away the little souls’ peace into pieces..

lets not put ‘em down..

being kind is human kind..

we r few from the mankind.. are we.. ??!!

lets check it out.. lets take up a task.. lets give it a try.. n lets succeed..

the world at its evening..

the sun set to fall..

the sons yet to crash..

a little soul prayd..

• brother..

hope u can help me..

help me to hope..

that morrow kills the night..

n adds the worlds to light..

the world is at its evening..

needs some evening..

Infact, a few there are ..

There are those who stop and ask,
And the ones who glance and walk.
While others wonder aloud,
A journey but the norm accepted.

The spirit of caravan halts not,
Flesh begging rest out of bounds.
Legs tired, continue unabated,
With the master of will ebbing them on.

The deeds are minor, in the vastness of verse,
More so in the minds, rather than the miles.
Need they say not, constrained they were,
All in the name of a glorious bond.

Awaiting the tide of tides, soul power at helm,
Where all hands on deck, a dream alive.
Yet these are the few who started it all,
The journey of lore in a step small but sure.

Voodoo’s missing radium-……

You have been more than friends, you have been more than brothers. I cannot find a word in English apt enough to describe the kind of emotions I have for you. The natural feeling of comfort that I got in that room is something which can be hardly expressed by an ordinary soul. I discovered myself .. truly myself in your company. I and what was inside me became one. I found a bunch of fellow Rahman worshipers. I would be going into endless rants if I go into the talents each of you possess. That is not what makes my relationship with you special. It is just what I feel for you. Sitting here, this moment, I am sure that this feeling will never wane despite what history and skeptics say. I know, I somehow know. I have never known any group which shared such a special relationship. In-fact I find most people find it difficult to comprehend our relation. It harbours around obsession in my case. The love that I received is something which I never deserved. The umpteen times you carried me on your backs when I had no strength of mine. For all the things I have learnt, it would be foolish on my part to mention them here, I am forever grateful. The smile your very presence brings and the extraordinarily high inertia it gains .. I can sleep ‘peacefully’ and I keep smiling .. enough for me for this lifetime. I thank God for landing me amidst such special people. I wish to see all of us doing things we love, enjoying, making infinitesimal differences to each other as well as to this wonderful world.

love
voodoo

Dilemma

Not knowing what to say,
I thought of a way.
To remain was nearly fatal,
But leaving seemed like rebuttal!

Away from all the buzz,
I scratched my nascent fuzz.
To dream was so obvious,
Difficult t’was to remain oblivious.

There went on like forever,
I dare not be clever.
Losing would leave me bare,
Waiting well I did fare.

Hope is one thing ample,
I will use no sample.
Someday gut would mean more,
When issue became the fore.

Original would be the proposal,
I hope not the refusal.
Brave am I in loss,
Definitely miss I will gloss.

Neatly managed keeping it tucked,
I should’ve gone and bucked.
Has the time come yet?
Will my eyes be wet ….