I didn't enter art In the aftermath of a Fall Or on its onset, Nor during the in-between Events , Trying to draw butterflies In the pages And nodding to the like minds That yes, it feels good indeed To have wings In autumn and not to Have the fate, Of being just a tree- son. *** I remember the times When, Conspiracy used to have my ears And its hypnotic spells Used to slip off my earlobes . *** And those every time I was tempted, On how, Metaphors can be beautiful murderers, Without being caught, And arrested, I listened to my finger gaps writing prayers And my eyes reading them aloud I repeated in my mind What my childhood has taught me about poetry, That it's not killing But living without a single culprit clue In ink doused hands. Nor playing the victim , too. *** I am nowhere near words But I observe lines with most of my eyes, And what I see is poetic justice Has been turning slowly into Being poetic in -Justice. Nothing else. And no one cares , I don't raise a voice, for don't know where is what What is what. But I write ,in the hope if Someday , somewhere, I'll meet words . And they'll be my masters , mentors, To the pursuit of an anonymity I've nothing to talk on. *** But then there's this You. You came. Really came. And when they say a man , a muse ,a love All same, now I understand, What it is like, To Have your papers follow another name, Your pen , another scent , And Hyperbole seems less Than the number Of words you get on one meet Of eyes or hands or Memory. And you know you'll stop Half way writing this 'You' Cause Some beauties need no amount Of nothing to be anything else Than what they Are. For they can't be anything else. Art doesn't fail in such places. More like, art surrenders here. A 'You' Which some artists can't start , The others can't end! And that's what exactly the world feasts on.
But I as a non- residence Of neither of these Above groups, What I'll do with You now!
The moon sighed! As he looked into his hidden dark side. And wondered, why it was black Why does it look so flawed? Every night he will slowly Creep into oblivion And one night he will finally disappear.
In the moonless night Humans will raise their eyes, Towards the motionless sky. How dull it seems, How lifelessly it lie. Where is our moon, That makes it look bright?
The cry of their heart, The stillness of the sky Will make the moon realize How important it is for him To stand by.
He peeped into the souls He had inspired for years. He looked into those eyes Which stared into the empty sky And silently shedded tears.
He knew, he have to shine, And let his beams flow. To warm the souls And dreams to soar. But ones in a while again he will hide, Just for the human race to know That even when you are smeared with scars, You should know how to glow.