Rumblings in the forest

In the silent shadows of your great, great towers –
your missions and truths of endless powers,
lie a race of my most humble men.
Weak and fragile, we cower and we run,
we do whatever it is that you want to be done.
We speak simple things and we stay low
like we should.
and We nod our heads like we understood.
And so it has been for many a thousand year.
But...
even in the deep forests, do sometimes giant trees are fallen.
And the deafening roar of a maddening tidal wave
is preceded by the utter silence.
A quiet for a thousand years now,
I shudder to imagine how devastatingly loud
the madness now will be.

5: 45 PM
14th September, 2010

Anay

An insipid afternoon wasted by a red table,
the continuing vagaries of urban fables.
Here, the television speaks
here the computer croaks.
All the while, a jaded Anay watches listlessly -
the human sponge, he soaks.

6:38 PM
27th December, 2009

On a lonely night, by a glass of bourbon

The tired sea stretches on and on,
so lost and forlorn – without a song or a rhyme,
and no conception of geography or time.
Round the world it goes on for ages to return
to this still window of mine.
And by this window, I have been sitting for so long,
that now this still window too begins to whine.

1:58 AM
8th October, 2010

Song of the Little Princess

Little Princess, this is a wish
to see you grow & run
in an age where innocence is not undone.
To see you run, unfettered and wild and free
as only a soaring bird can be.
I wish upon you the solitude and silence
of big mountains green.
So you may walk in their shadows
and uncover all that is now, and has ever been.
And I wish upon you the grace and the romance
of the dark, hill cat.
The one who melts in with the night,
walks where she pleases and owns what she wants,
with memories that remain incomplete
and desires that forever haunt.
And lastly, my dear little princess,
the child and the angel of a million promises of dawn.
I wish upon you, the eyes of your mom.
The ones which hold the secrets
of that strange soliloquy of women
that look the happiest when they are the most forlorn.

2:12 AM
1st October, 2010

PS: Dedicated to a little princess on her first birthday, whose mother once had eyes I once loved too much for my own good

It is good to come back as a ghost

It is good to come back as a ghost
for you have been forgotten by the living.
It is good to come back as a ghost
and to lie on the grass and see the world spinning.
Drifting along some strange, lonely summer breeze
wafting by the fragrance of a lonely flower,
you stand in the vacuum of the universe
and contemplate time under the light of blue stars.
And there is time.
More time than you thought was ever there.
Dare if you will, for it will fill
all that you ever can remember and share.
And only in the emptiness of everlasting time
can you really find what you wanted the most.
& so it is, after the nostalgia of a million lost loves & tears
it is really good, to come back as a ghost.

*

9:53 AM
28th September, 2010

Dead loves

You and I, we move through time,

barely taking note of the days and nights that we pass

like the phantom lights of cars travelling in an opposite direction

on a long, desolate highway.

Everything revolves and is stationary, a strange tapestry of time.

I can see everything all at once

You and I, we come together like separate disconnected verses

locked in a strange symmetry of an inexplicable rhyme.

The moon slows down, and the darkness becomes eternal.

The world fades away.

You and I, we look deep into our eyes and grieve

for the magic that is now lost.

Yet we remain intertwined in this longest of nights,

in each other’s embrace

as we slowly fade away

from the consciousness of history and the meaning of time.

As I watch Tiyaasha sleep

Through a crack in the window,

an old window, a decrepit and dirty window,

a hazy beam of sunlight peeps in cautiously.

It keeps a slow and steady time

devoid of mystery and rhyme

and flows languidly between forgotten particles of dust

suspended in the rust of a million random Brownian acrobatics.

Ships, like lost little ships, rudderless on an angry ocean

the dust is moves through time

devoid of mystery and rhyme,

and nothing changes in the dark room.

Croon, hear the silence croon,

in this lost and forgotten room.

Where sunlight peeps in cautiously

to consume all that has ever been

and all that will ever remain.

An insane freedom fills out the dark and heavy air.

Floating without a care for history or time,

devoid of any mystery or rhyme,

Tiyaasha lies stretched supinely on a bed

that rocks in the darkness like a lost little ship.

In an age before creation, did the Gods too feel as restless

as I do now, watching Tiyaasha sleep in a world devoid of time,

full of mystery and rhyme,

and envelop in her slow and steady breathing

the very secret of the universe unfolding

and holding its scattered thoughts for a moment

before all is lost to the swirling dust in the beam of sunlight.

*

1: 18 AM

19^th March, 2010