Ounce of Pain

So when you sway like that,

To the song you love, 

Like a snake with feathers 

I see you smirk.

And then some contagious wine,

Talks about your love.... 

That One.. This one... Everyone... 

But... No one.

Ridiculous riddles of the being, 

And then of what could be. 

Your brain in on a power machine,

Working record time, over drive.

You look at the world, 

Cryptic, So cryptic... 

Edge of being creepy

And then you realize,

Its all an illusion. 

You stand there, 

See people move. 

And you stand there, 

See moments passing, 

And you stand there, 

With everything to lose. 

                                 

  Just then,

Something gathers you, 

And you lose sight again. 

Of the beginning and the end. 

Its all moving so fast and so soon, 

You play catch-up in your cocoon.

And then you let go... 

Let go.... 

Let it go.... 

Only for it to stay,

A lit bit longer.

And to your tough luck,

It does, 

Forever. 

You belong.

You know the prick of barren is so inconsequential, inadequate...unassuming, yet alive.

Life embraces these in abundance. The feeling of everything on the outside and nothing on the inside. The sparse empty space that is hollow. Where there is life, without a hint of living. Where there are heaps of forgotten promises and dust accumulated in the tightly sealed cocoon. The existence of the otherwise dead.

And then one day you came along and it feels like barren is greeted by a touch of soft light, and rain and wind all at the same time. You bring in the seasons, the greens and reds, the smiles and treasures. Like the dew on the grass, like the chirp of the birds, like an innocent prayer in the heart like the rainbow in a nude sky, like the stars that gaze right back at you when you look at them. That sense of a conversation, a never-ending slumber, a peaceful aroma of the fresh brewing love.

There are eyes that can take you to places with unimaginable levels of passion. Of breaking open every wall of disguise and emit the real you. A vision so sharp to pierce through and know, just know even before it is expressed. Those are the eyes you adorn. That inspires a smile, shy and light. That takes one along and lets one rest in them, like they are forever.

Look at self again, every evaluation fails. Every understanding of self eludes. And suddenly like the rain, the heaven falls all over from the sky and one wonders and just wonders how? Like the feeling of being safe, protected and complete, in that one embrace. And that`s where we belong. Because of you I belong.

The sense of being away and being there. The unruly bond and an innate feeling of being consumed. Knowing the heart resides you proudly and shamelessly. And knowing that you are there. When all falls apart and things change, knowing you will not.

You know how dreams tell you stories and how the souls are connected beyond the physical self. Like how a soul recognizes another as their own, even without knowing. You are that soul. You bring in the peace and the comfort like sleeping on a swing under the sun. Like in a womb. Like old books and bookmarks with love notes. Like rain in a desert storm.

Now every whisper into the universe is throwing back abundance of love, happiness and dreams. Leaving nothing to be anxious about. And nothing else left to pray. For today I look at you and hold you in the eyes and heart, that`s where you belong anyway.

Yesterday was better.

He looked at the moon.     

As if it spoke,  

Silently of his emptiness.
He smiled.

And sighed.

The signals on the street,
Red yellow and green, 
All were the same.
He lost the sight of right or wrong.

 He was numb. 
And this wasn't the first time.
His soul toppled and turned,
In his body a hundred times.

A hundred times,
He felt incomplete.
Like his story has ended.
But he is alive.

He drove on an endless road. 
Off to a journey unknown.
He loved his state.
He loved being lost.

And He loved saying,
This over and over again,
Yesterday was better, 
When he was in love. 
In his thoughts,
He lived there, 

Forever.

Messages

She looks at those                                                  Exhibition of messages,
One better than the other.
Carefully seeded,
Intertwined & unique.
A confused puzzle of,
Identifying the real.

Living on the periphery
Of people and emotions.
Who could have,
Answered, expressed or understood?
And who could have...
Known.

 

Make belief the truth,
And all that it brings...
Temporary & transactional
Short lived feelings.

Those messages,
At display,
Qualify as gems
Of felt impact,
From people of another time,
From another day,
With perishing memories.



Just for that moment,     

That second,
May be it was
Magical.
Or may be
It never was!                                 

She looks at those,                                               
Messages again.
The lasting ones,
Were perhaps never written.
For the lasting ones,
Perhaps can never be.