I wonder, if nights are just holding grudges on me, or it's unforgiving to you, too. I always believe in philosophies and in grabbing positive drifts. I concur on being me, the better me to bliss. But, when it comes to you I lose that me, within me. My eyes keep revering those brown eyes which, evinces charm on your face. All the patterns and theories of letting go begins being so vague. You ain't here with me And, I guess You never will. Ahh, ofcourse that smile arc is constant with me, all the day. But this unsaid goodbye makes me sob. I sob harder, as nights still haunt me anyway. I try deflecting all the deplore out of me, by frantically craving sleep. As sleep is the only escape, Escape from the entire 'you'. Then morning sun arises, entailing novice hopes but I keep sleeping. Yes I do. I discern, souvenir won't set me free. Waking up will again bring 'you' to me.
Adrifting in eyeful dream I leer in your eyes. Ardent to walk with you, for my entire life. This life we two live, at same time Allbeit, disparate phases. Just like reading of same book But different pages. Solely if one could slow down, And the other could stride up Someday may be You never know, We could be together. Together, On the same text Escapading the same, Vivid elucidation and Wider panaroma Thereupon, We would read We would walk We would utter the identical line Utterly aligned. schriftsteller_sakshi #pod@writersnetwork@mirakee
When i say there's a ninety-degree gap between one's thumb and index finger, I mean there's only one way to pick aromatic mogras- bringing them together and pinching the stem in between. There's only one way god plucks people by the shoulders like blueberries from the petrichor-laden earth: softly, softly like i hold an undone eyelash that has detached itself from the seams of my lid.
God doesn't savour men and women walking down the path of his tongue. His oesophagus is stained with gasoline footsteps they bring, sticking to the underside of their shoes. God's throat is poison- studded like shiva's dilemma. God gulps one earth to save another.
The babies that couldn't make it to our blue planet have shielded lids like oyster shells that never opened their nameless fibres find identity in holy books that talk of them like blessings: You'd see them running carefree on the edge of god's lips like airplanes on a runway, only this time, death doesn't get in the way of life. "fly away & god will gulp you (a pill hard to swallow): your misery is far too flammable for स्वर्ग, भूमी and पाताल alike."
Women, God fears the Eve he created, he knew Eve will replace him- the very mother of mankind: bringing forth in her womb: the first daughters and sons of misery, of science, of skill, of deceit, of art: Children made of wax, Melting at cupid's warm fingertips, the daughters of Eve have scraped elbows and chains- they've fallen on faces quite a lot, and by a lot, I mean gazillion. Far too many hands grasping at her eclipse face but little do they know these eclipses can pull men's blood against gravity till their mouths are full of it. Eve's daughters walk straight when their bodies are hollowed out of their skeletons & filled instead with unsolicited pills in bar-counter drinks.
Eve's daughters fight anorexia and bulimia by offering themselves to a god whose head bows down to them. God's embrace is a safe haven to girls who couldn't see their glory in male gaze, mirrors & phone cameras alike.
Men are an interrupted apocalypse announcement in a peaceful dargah. They seep through the crevices of a broken glass plate, careful, careful- if a man bruises himself, he has no hands to clean septic wounds but his own, so he curls up into himself like an armadillo, tough shell armadillo. Too many men with defence mechanisms, yet too many men in wars attacking more, too little time for a boy to turn in to a man.
He counts nights to sleep, nights to weep, promises to keep, bullying, harassment, depression: everyone has thought bubbles, but you have thought clouds- zeus-laid thunder-clad clouds. God will gently hold you onto his palms and let you weep. Weep into the arms of people you love, who you are petrified to hurt. Dear queer boy, God doesn't hate you, God doesn't know how to. God is dreadful taking you along, He knows a man's might- God read ernest hemingway old man and the sea and he knows: a man can be destroyed but not defeated.
Lovers, God will take you in pairs, like cashew nuts- he dare not disrupt the union he made for god fears plato's symposium that told the entire cosmos how humans were made with 4 limbs, 2 heads, 2 hearts. Powerful enough to defy the gods. Zeus split you into half to make you tread and wander the stretches of earth to find each other, God dares not, to disintegrate divinity like his own.
Lovers, lovers in tarot. Lovers, Lovers watching the notebook, god will kiss your foreheads goodnight again, for we deserve peace. When nuclear wars, heartbreaks, fistfights and mobs tread the entire planet, god will come to save us but after all this, will he give us another earth?
This is not me who is scribbling 'bout bloodstained heart, heartbreaks, 'bout that loneliness and depression. That is not me. She is a rapturous soul who enters into me everynight when the aurora betides, when the stars enter into the canopy of azure sky, when the beatific moon shows his bewitching stardust, she scribbles poetries.
She always says me "I'm a soul made up of ravishing metaphors but the so- called modern society didn't understand me and did kill me in a night. They threw me away near that graveyard. I was afraid and I was screaming but they didn't listen to me. They said me a mad girl. Am I mad ? No, neve'. I was a poet, I am a poet and I'll be a poet. I'll enter into you every night to scrawl verses and to satisfy this soul. They can not stop me to write, they can kill a body but not a soul. Body can decay but soul can't."
Yes, she is a empyrean soul. I never see her but can feel her with each of her words. She wears the necklace of sonnets and anklets of haikus. And I am stunned after seeing her earrings which are made up of bewitching elegies. And in her hand I see plethora of lexicons to adorn her fingers as rings. She should write, she should express herself through me, because I'm in love with her.
/POETS NEVER DIE, BODIES CAN DECAY BUT SOUL IS IMMORTAL/
don't ask me, how I know her or how she looks like. I'm just like you, looking at the starlit sky, only to see her passing through spaces between the stars. unbounded by gravity away she goes. we are nothing but bones and dust chained by the mundane ways staring at the sky and watching her in awe never to touch her never to see her again.