Welcome to my world of dreams where imagination and reality, fancy and truth, laughter and tears move hand in hand. I will let you have a glimpse at the share of my own sky, sometimes sunshine bright, and sometimes with rainstorm.
I will take you to memories that are like a serene glow of moonlight, a whisper of mountain breeze, and a rushing gushing brook.
They loved each otherand they loved so well! Yesterday, the raindrops fluttered shyly and kissed the waiting ground. The deep magenta dome of the sky was carrying the hidden Sun in its bosom; the moss green leaf quivered like a bride as the errant breeze caressed its cheeks. The morning, as pretty as the melody
of an unsung poem, craved to be one with the mysterious songs of nature, being soaked in its velvet soft layers.
I frantically longed to be a part of them too, for all I wanted was, to be called as beloved on this Earth.
I had already swallowed your sorrow and consumed your loneliness. They had trickled down within me, slow yet smooth, droplet by droplet, making a malignant lump in my heart!
You are going to be all mine!
I wish to imprison you in my soul,
keep you fettered and never let go.
I want to sting you, hurt you
so that you bear me all over.
I will smear your skin,
and stamp the moments of mine on you;
I will crush your being and squeeze your essence
I will keep you caged in my heart
and molest your freedom.
I would maintain you in a temple
where only I can worship.
I will make you my God
whom only I can pay homage to.
My love for you is a roaring fire
running ferocious in my veins.
The thoght of possessing you
keep numbing my mind, drop by drop.
Knitted into my every fibre
igniting an all consuming flame
is an urge to feast upon your love
so that I can live.
I want to bite a morsel off you and swallow
so that I be you.
I would sear your flesh,
so that no one would want you ever again;
no one would dare to have you;
and you would be all mine and only mine!
and that alone can be my redemption.
Note: The above poem is not about love but a depiction of possessiveness which is almost an obsession, a sickness; with reference to a real life situation. Do take it in the garb of humor.
We can never be separated;
my tears and I.
She is a stubborn, wilful little girl
always accompanying me.
Sometimes, she is sombre and quiet,
caressing my cheek gently yet persistently.
But at times, she would prefer
to play hide and seek
and teasingly be veiled in the
rhythm of the rainfall or
behind the layers of a vast lonely sky.
Often, she will peep mischievously
from my tea cup or
among the pages of my book,
occassionally, even from behind
the newspaper sheets.
Salty tears often would slip,
drop on my cheek and
plop on the pillow,
unnoticed and unidentified,
and will remain
in dreams and in nightmares.
On certain days, I get disturbed
with her nonstop company
and try to send her away
luring her with promises of happiness,
on days barren, I would desperately blink her away
or at dark velvet nights, I would just stare into oblivion
hoping her to just drop and go away.
But she keeps coming back,
stealthily, without any footfalls
into unpretentious poems,
naive thoughts or
unassuming moist memories.
I keep building facets of life,
doing and undoing
shaping and reshaping
the sides and the contours.
and suddenly, she appears again,
in all my efforts,
ransacking like a wild sand storm,
a naughty little girl,
breaking noisily, into splintered glass pieces.
next moment, sobering down,
she will whisper into my ears:
it is dark and lonely,
why don't you say something?
And I realise, she would always be my friend,
unlike the colorful butterfly's fleeting
or the transience of ephemeral happiness of the humans
she will stay with me yesterday and tomorrow,
till death does us apart;
we can never be separated
my tears and I.
So, my teardrop, I write a poem for you,
weave you into a small, delicate verse of mine
and I will sprinkle this poesy on all our open wounds,
soothing them with your comforting dense dampness.
I wanted to weave a fairy tale
capturing thousand dreams
in a few fleeting fragile moments.
But I made a mistake of knitting
my own need into it;
a need like a dark bottomless pit
and I lost my ways inside.
Unconsciously, I tried to fasten
my own desire within, too,
piece by piece, creating a patchwork,
without knowing that the knots and tangles
would keep jutting out
and I faltered and staggered being caught
into those snarling jeering protrusions.
Now, the story is just a few torn strips, nameless and faceless, without a beginning and devoid of an end.
Will you come and help me gather all the lose contours? You, who's an old longing that still runs deep in my chore; a thwarted desire that is the genesis of my grief;
an aching need that flows along my crying arms!
Since how many decades have I been waiting for you?
I wish to collect a drop of your voice
and a speck of your laughter,
the depth of your magnetic eyes
and that tiny grove of your dimple;
I would collect all of you in my palm
and pour them into my fairy tale.
Only then would the numb ends of my tale be enlivened,
Only then life would be breathed into my story
that was locked under a sombre silence for years now.
That unfinished story is still drifting in my breath.
Will you take it in your arms,
clasp it to your bosom
and kiss it alive?
I am waiting .....
I will keep waiting ....
till you come!