They Never Tell You

They tell you it will hurt,
The void, the churn, the silence,
The hoping and the deafening drumming of your heart,

They tell you what you will miss,
The hugging, the kissing, the whispering,
The bed that smells of quiet lovemaking and wine,
Warm bodies intertwined in the morning,
So you hide your tears till the sun turns black,
And then cry silently into your pillow,
Praying sleep will end this dastardly dream,

You miss the kiss before you start the day,
the phone calls on lazy afternoons,
surfing channels on the tele before bed,
knowing exactly where her head will rest and,
Where your hands will talk to her skin,
They never tell you, you will miss the routine,
The predictability, the careless monotony,
No! They never tell you that.
Bastards!

Source - Grist

Silence

My words,
Are so many things,
Agents of chaos,
Acerbic, despondent, a river,
Of tranquility,
Comforting, reflective, a murmuration
Of starlings, wild and impulsive,
Or like wet paint,
On a thirsty canvas, longing to be,
Touched, to be ordained,
And yet when I stare at the stars,
In your eyes,
I'm parched and,
Heady from their light,
Words can never hope to substitute,
The volumes that we will speak tonight.

Image Courtesy - The Conscious Process

A Cup of Dissonance

What did I leave behind,
In the aftermath of our demise?,
The whistling of the rain,
Ginger-tea in the balcony,
The warmth of your breath on my back,
Those gut wrenching dove eyes,
Bloodshot full lips,
My love of your mind, my lust for your hips,
A chill down my spine,
Your sweet gentle kiss,
My insatiable desire,
Your perfectly timed quips,

The rain comes down now,
As copious as can be,
I can't seem to replicate,
that damned heavenly cup of tea.

Image courtesy - Ellie Hickey

The Edge

When the shackled words were finally free,
They sounded so much like tragedy,
For something beautiful had wilted and died,

Silence descended like the night,
Heavy and distinct,
Like a fortress built of things unsaid,

I never felt the drop,
As the ground beneath me surrendered,
Descending into the bottomless moat,
Nothing to collide with and break the fall,

Those words have etched their memory,
Like sleep wrinkles across my porcelain skin,
A memento,
Of what might have been,

You were the edge I slipped over,
The edge of reason,
The edge of hope,
The fortress that protects me no more.

Moonshine

My love, don't let anyone treat you like a shadow,
You're the spectacular full moon,
You're the pride of the night sky,
The oceans sway to your gracious biddance,
Brush your forgiving light in gentle strokes,
Carving ravines through the gloom,

Keep the lovers awake,
Bring their doubts crashing down,
Reveal the contrite,
And cure their guilt,
If it's not too much trouble,
Find my lonely heart before dawn,
It could do with a pint of your company.

Find A Way

The rules of love,
By design,
Some corrosive, some benign,
Our naked chapter in its perennial tale,
Hugs and kisses, passion and pain,
Bruises and scars, memories so frail,
Spilled meticulously across its pages,
In crimson ink,
Bleeding from my skin, my veins,
There is no regret, there is no blame,
Our memories, I will forever claim,
The lights of the world will shine through our souls,
Time will resurrect by some measure,
And our hearts eventually will find a way.

Picture courtesy - Forever Young Adult 

Euphony and the rain - a short story

It was early evening on a warm and humid August day with a now patchy, now clear confused sky – typical of the Delhi monsoon. The sun was tugging at the remaining day much like an old man tamely pulling along his load. Everything about this day reiterated a sense of drabness, as if the day had camaraderie with all things boring - even the rain clouds seemed to be reluctant to give away the water drops they held in their bosom. It would rain though, at the least opportune time. The weather had that strange reassuring air about it.

It was Ramzaan and like every year, I was fasting. This day seemed merely a mirror of my state of abstinence. I was going to the Dargah of Nizamuddin Aulia, later, or so I hoped. We had carelessly and rather spontaneously planned it last week.

"Thursday Qawaali and you can open your fast there. It will be fun, na?" she had said trying to unnecessarily convince an already eager me.

"Yes it will be", I had nodded in agreement.

"I went so often during college, almost every Thursday. This friend and me." she said keeping things vague, still.

"Is it as dreamy as they say it is? I’ve probably been there as a kid but have only a very fleeting memory left. So haan, we could go and hopefully it will be worth the trouble," I replied.

"Brilliant! We are going then, YAY!!" Her face lit up like the nargis flower she loved so much and she looked at me with a child like exuberance. "It will totally be worth it, I promise!" she added. I believed her. I don’t think I had an option.

I did have a few reservations about our plan. I have as much a penchant for cultural hobnobbing as the next guy, and you can barely believe Delhi’s vision of Sufi Qawwali being sung in a quaint courtyard against the moonlit Tomb of Hazrat Nizamuddiln. Celluloid has always been the hyperbole for the breeze drunk on soulful Sufi couplets; all of it could turn out to be a little less enchanting. The template can never live up to such subjective glorification.

I was sure it would be an experience, maybe even fun, but Dargahs, mandirs, churches and crowded places always make me edgy. I questioned my initial eagerness about the plan. I didn’t know why I was obsessing about this so much. Then I remembered.

Nothing mattered, the crowd, the unpredictability of the weather, my latent agoraphobia …. What mattered was meeting her, spending a few solitary moments with her. I seemed to have found a little bit of myself in her. Pieces I had left far behind on the way to “growing up”, unable to understand them and shoulder the responsibility of everything they wanted me to be. I had rebelled against them as some sort of poetic self destruction. They all came sweeping back to me like wild blossoms bursting forth in the spring. I didn't know if what I felt was love or platonic affection, but seeing that smile on her face made me gush like a little child inside. It was gratifying.

At that point of time she could have asked me to sit with her in a park and listen to crows croaking and I would have, very happily and willingly.

I floated back to my office workstation, I returned to the document I had been working on. I needed to get this done. As things stood, the plan was still on and I did not want to be late.

I answered some mail and then again let my mind wander a bit. The world in my head made so much more sense, it was my refuge, my place to withdraw from this one. Its complexities, its severities and my own existential angst.

Half an hour later, I was almost done. Almost Five!! Why hadn't she called?

Would it happen? Had she changed her mind? Had something come up? Had she forgotten her cellphone? Was it out of battery? Had the entire communications infrastructure in Delhi been annihilated by some aberration of nature and chosen this very moment to manifest itself!?? Why was the world so against me?? Why was this happening?

As I silently obsessed about the grave injustice being meted out to me, my phone rang...

I saw her name flicker on the screen; broke out of my self-indulgence and picked up my phone.

“Hey”, I said in an almost whimper. I left half my voice in my epiglottis. I cleared my throat and repeated, “Hey…wassup?” Louder this time.

“We’re still on, na? Or should we chuck it?”, she inquired.

“Yes…Yes…we are on”, I blurted out in a hurry lest I give her time to change her mind.

“So you come to my office and park there. We’ll take an auto rickshaw. Parking at Nizamuddin will be hell,” she said.

“We could just drive there. I’m sure we’ll find a parking spot,” I tried to negotiate. I wasn't trying to be a snob, but the chance of rain was still on my mind, and I thought the car would be a more viable option if it did start pouring. Auto rickshaws are a menace to deal with when it rains.

But she would have none of it.

“Have you been to Nizamuddin recently??” she asked.

“No,” I replied. I knew where this argument was going.

“Trust me…stick with my idea. Don’t be such a bore. Get out of your car for once and see the world, bhayee” she retorted.

“OK! Don’t give me unnecessary grief over this. We will stick to your plan,” I responded.

“Great! Get here and call me when you’re close. I will get out of office accordingly”

“Cool,” I replied as I ended the conversation.

---------

I got into my car, and backed out of the office parking. I was calmer, only slightly; maybe it was the surety of seeing her or just the tranquility that came from hearing her voice. Maybe it was both. She never complained that I was late, but she made it her duty to subtly hint to me that I was. Maybe I would reach on time, and make a statement for a change.

I made my way through the evening office traffic, snaking and maneuvering, praying for as many green lights as possible. Not many came. Damn! I was late again.

I called her as soon I was close enough to her office and picked her up.

‘Heyyyy!’ she said stretching the last vowel as she sat herself next to me.

“Park your car at Mehar Chand or behind Habitat Centre. Both places are safe. Will be easier to get an auto from there too. You know where they are na?” she suggested.

“I love Habitat. In the evenings these days it’s so green and the contrast with the brick walls…sooooooo pretty, haina? she added, more as notes to herself ,than anything else.

I readily followed her instructions and parked the car. Soon enough we found an auto and made our way towards Nizamuddin. I don’t usually find myself in an auto, and this did seem very novel in a reminiscent of college kind of way. It was if nothing else - liberating. I was so used to driving, that being driven was somewhat of a relief.

Sitting in the auto, we finally got time to exchange pleasantries. She talked about her day and asked me about mine and if I was feeling hungry. I told her I was used to fasting, so I wasn’t hungry. In half an hour, I probably would be but for now, it was okay.

I looked at her and I realized how uplifting it was to see her face. She was speaking to me and the auto driver intermittently, giving him directions. She was rarely quiet. Even when she was, she was half in conversation and half in thought. I listened to her intently, savoring the moment and wishing it would last a little bit longer.

“Sorry I got late”, I said in a bid to seem relevant.

“That’s ok. I just hope we can get there before sundown, I want to be there at Gowdhuli – it’s magical” she replied.

“I think we should be able to, not much further now,” I said.

“Hmmm…” her voice trailed off with the passing breeze.

We reached Nizamuddin with the sun stealing away behind the façade of the Delhi skyline. The time was perfect – gowdhuli – when beasts of burden came home. The sky was an echoing tangerine halo softly caressing the fluffs of floating clouds. The riot of colors only slightly disturbed by streaks of grey.

We stopped near the Nizamuddin Police Station and began walking into the abyss of narrow alleys that led into the Dargah.

The alley was bustling - children, burqa clad beggars, hawkers, devotees, huge ‘degs’ full of biryani, tandoori chicken hanging in droves and then us, adding to this carnival. The Ghalib Academy was another 50-80 meters ahead, ironically thronged by Ghalib ignoramuses. I rubbed my fingers into my palms, nervous energy flowing through them and wiped their moistness against my trousers. Nothing more repelling than damp hands!

We continued down our path, and the lane gradually started narrowing even further. We walked past a slew of shops selling everything from garments, ittr, dry fruits and sweets to sundry grocery items, beaded jewelry, and books. The entrance to the Dargah was lined with mongers and shops selling flowers, miniature Qurans and chaadars. We negotiated with one of the shopkeepers to leave our shoes for a nominal fee and proceeded to enter the Dargah.

The Dargah courtyard was a sea of human bodies, characteristic of a headless beast. Moving in no particular direction, sometimes forward, sometimes back, but always moving. We stood there helpless, swaying as currents of people passed around us. It was then that my worst fear materialized. It began to rain, a slight drizzle at first that burst into a full-fledged shower. This lasted for a few minutes, that was all that was needed.

She stood slightly behind me, more to avoid being swept away by the incoming mob. I decided we needed to get out of this herd and find a quiet corner to sit. We could wait there till the Qawwali began. I stretched out my hand and led her towards Amir Khusrau’s tomb; I could see it was less crowded there. Our feet by now were trampling over what I could only believe was a squishy mash of banana skin, rice, maybe even some gravy and general muck. Our squelching feet and wriggling toes finally got out. We found a vacant spot right behind the tomb and sat down. We both looked at each other and sighed. I smiled and she giggled, half embarrassed at the filth she had just subjected both of us to. It was the first time that evening my eyes found hers.

And there it was…that look! Her almond shaped, kohl lined eyes, benign yet haunting, discreet yet so unapologetically intrusive. Like nothing about me was hidden from her. I was laid bare. As disconcerting as that was, it was also captivating. No pretences, no masks, I could just be. She used her dupatta to wipe the rain drops from her face and I sat there watching her like a dumb struck idiot. The way her hands moved, her ear rings gleaming against her dusky cheeks, the black chikan kurta, the gold nose ring all came together as effortlessly as the diamonds that adore the dark night. I forgot entirely that I had to break my fast. In my head I think I also grimaced at the thought of how filmy all of this seemed.

We sat there for a while as I tried to come to terms with the consortium of emotions that I was experiencing.

“Here eat these and open your fast,” she said breaking the silence.

She had carried dates with her and a bottle of drinking water. It was extremely thoughtful and I might have even deemed it unnecessary, but I didn’t argue. I recited the dua for breaking my fast, ate the dates and drank some water.

“Some food in my system should do me good and maybe stop this throbbing in my chest,” I thought as I chuckled to myself.

“What? What’s so funny?” She interrogated.

“Nothing…it was really sweet of you to do this. Thank you!” I replied trying to deflect her question.

“Hmmm…ismay thank you waali kya baat hai? Nahi karte kya? Bhooke rehne dete?” she answered back.

“Tum bhi gadhe ho” And that was that.

“This is not so bad,” she said.

“True, it could have been a lot worse!” I replied matter of factly, smiling a little because of the evident humor.

We sat that for a while, waiting for the Qawwali to begin, making small talk about the weather and other sundry interests. It was as if our eyes were speaking another language and our words another. Both of us wanting to say the same thing, but neither really being able to.

To top this state of confusion, there was an elderly man sitting next to me who after fighting with one of the senile occupants of some living quarters within the Dargah, began talking to me. He began narrating his journey that had begun from Bhopal and would end in Ajmer. He apparently thought my pockets were overflowing with money. He said he had run out of money and requested if I could give him some so that he could continue his journey to Ajmer. I promptly said ‘No’. Like I would be that gullible! I decided it was better to move from this spot before any more peddlers found their way to me.

“Will we remember all of this…as in today…will we remember it or will it be just another random incident that gets archived to some isolated corner of our mind??” She asked, catching my totally off-guard.

I didn’t know what to say. There was silence for a while as I just stared at her searching for my tongue.

Then slowly the words came out and as they did, they also gave me the clarity I had been searching for all this while.

“I can only speak for myself but I will always remember today.” I said.

“Not because of the obvious nostalgic quality of where we are and the hassles of the evening, but because somehow and without provocation, you have come to mean more to me than I can possibly begin to describe. I know this may sound clichéd, but we are not here by accident, I would like to believe that we have a connection that is higher than our physical self. What that is has been left for us to define and validate.” I caught my breath as I finished.

I was surprised by what I said, not only because it was so deceptively sublime but also because it was so true. The words had been thrashing against the gates for so long that once they broke through they flowed out like a fierce, gushing stream.

“What if we are not? What if we are just random people in each other’s lives? What if all this importance is misplaced? Maybe we are just passengers meeting on a train going to a destination that neither of us is meant to reach. Will I just be another story you tell your friends?” she replied a little agitated.

“I don’t think we are random and I don’t believe in accidents. There are no accidents. We are here because we are meant to be here. And NO! You will not be another story I tell my friends,” I replied.

“I’m not you’re type.” She interjected.

“And what is my type,” I inquired a little amused.

“Not me!” she replied instantly.

“Well that’s why it makes so much more sense to me. It’s not planned or arranged or contrived. It just, is,” I said.

“You don’t even know me. You like me for the person you think I am. I might not be that person. I could be someone completely different. I am way too complicated for you to handle,” she added.

I smiled at her. “Well no one can really figure someone out in such a short time. I don’t have any misconceptions. I accept and respect you for the person you are. If we turn out to be a mistake, then I can take that. But I am not going to waste today thinking about what will happen tomorrow. I can’t plan for every contingency. It’s like walking into a movie and knowing every twist in the plot. Mostly pointless don’t you think? That’s why it’s called a leap of faith.”

“Well that would be a mighty huge leap Mister. One I don’t know if I’m willing to take. I am just not built that way,” she countered.

“Then why are you here?” I questioned. “You seem to have it all figured out in your head. Why invest in something that you know isn’t going to reap any dividend?”

She looked at me with now gullible - ready to believe me, now ready to believe the world - eyes and then softly said, “I don’t know. Does that mean you will leave?”

Before I could answer, the Maghrib (evening) Azaan began to be delivered. It bound us together in its invisible threads. And then there was silence. I knew what she meant and I think she knew I understood. Nothing more needed to be said.

The Qawwali normally begins after the Magrib prayer has been offered. We would have to return to the main courtyard of the Dargah if we wanted to give audience. From where we sat it seemed like the frenetic activity from a while ago had subsided, just like the rain. I suggested we move now and get a nice sitting spot before the best ones were taken.

By the time we arrived a modest crowd had gathered. One of the custodians directed her to sit next to a group of girls on the left side and asked me to sit in a group to the right of the performers. We faced each other but we hadn’t been that distant all evening.

As the Qawwali started all we did was look at each other, trying to say what could not be said. I never felt closer to her than I did then.

We got out half n hour later. A brief stop for dinner, an auto ride and we were back in my car heading home.

As I pulled up near the gate that led into her housing society, I felt my heart sink.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said.

“I did as well.” I replied.

“I hope you understand how much you mean to me. How right this feels. I know what ever I said today sounded like I am rushing it but if I hadn’t said what I felt, I don’t think I would have ever been able to.”

She held my hand, earnestly, for the first time that night. Gave it a soft squeeze and smiled at me. Then she opened the door to leave.

“I won’t forget today, you know that!” I said trying to assure her.

“I know. I won’t let you!” She said as she got out.

I watched her walk away till she was nothing but a blur. It began to drizzle and the rain drops splattered against the car’s wind shield in euphonic harmony. I closed my eyes, sat back, breathed it all in and savoured it. I remembered John Steinbeck’s famous lines – “Don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens. The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”

(Image courtesy - Natalia Jeshoa)

This short story is an entry to the Platinum Day of Love contest

Black Magic Woman

Her eye lids rise and fall again,
like petals floating against a murmuring flame,
lips that accentuate her tear drop eyes, 
a silence that speaks more than words could claim,

Pernicious like opium is her spell,
like a candle against an inferno, I wither away,
You may think you have her figured out,
but she's the puppet master and the play,

her hair riveting, like a black lagoon,
her soft caramel skin, glistening against the crystalline moon,
her eyes find mine in between these empty faces,
I'm a chord lost between the bars of this tune,

she's a masterpiece, I'm her blind aesthete,
chimes in the breeze sing, as she moves her feet,
She's not simply my darkest desire,
she is my most ineffable need,

Where did she come from? Where does she go?
Where from does all her sorcery flow?
Like Ganymede without question I must play my part,
For this sorceress and her black magic show.

(Image courtesy - Photo Forum)

My Home

Collecting pebbles from the forsaken shores,
of so many stories left untold,

to where I built my house of stone,
a humble place to call my own,

by some twist of fate or enchanted lure,
you found its inconspicuous door,

and walked in, forever to change,
this inscrutable fort into a home,

let the windows breathe life in,
intoxicated the air with the aroma of your skin,

lined each wall with an unforgettable memory,
Oh! what poisonous alchemy,

silence found a voice in its corridors,
the light surged in and cured my soul,

somewhere in its heart, you planted the seed,
of a love that fulfilled my greed,

in the comfort of your embrace it slowly grew,
into something that neither really knew,

but like all good things that come undone,
the battles were lost that should have been won,

and the shadows slowly crept back in,
all that was noble was now a sin,

now the house sits lonely, empty inside,
the stones echo, a laughter that's died,

but the will to strive is still alive,
nurtured by the life you left behind,

what was once a thing of beauty, now can't be seen,
but I hold it close, like you once held me,

I know your spirit will return in time,
for I can't lose, what's already mine,

I come back to these desolate shambles still,
the house holds a part of me within,

It's the one place I don't feel alone,
It's the only place I call my home.

Image courtesy - PhotoGraphik

Tiny Catastrophe

They talk of dark alleys and exotic cuisines,
of sliced wrists and smut magazines,
of bastard children and mothers demeaned,
of love stories and androgenies,

They listen from behind their blinded eyes,
some mysterious whispers, some beautiful lies,
rising against the setting sun,
young lovers and their tragic goodbyes,

They fondle with their plastic skin,
a love expressed, both curse and shrine,
and spit their renditions upon my face,
scars with no name or crime,

The sun rises, they run and disguise,
put on their shirts, jackets and ties,
unshackle my chains and mend my cries,
clean their faces, put on their smiles,

But they speak not that, what my heart decrees,
nor hear what my pungent soul pleads,
this magnanimous world it seems, is just too big,
I'm but its tiny catastrophe.

(Image courtesy - Granny Annie)

Safe

I remember the promises we made,
said we'd love and together we'd stay,
no matter how we resurrect each other,
the cracks will never go away,

Its not like I don't miss you,
or the love just faded away,
it's just more painful to stay together,
than it is to stay away,

Those tears glistening down your face,
breaking my defence, alluring me to sway,
I've been a slave to your charm,
please don't look at me that way,

Let the silence in harmony play,
savor this moment for as long as we may,
I'll keep you safe inside me till the end of time,
no matter what happens after today.

(Image courtesy - So Take My Hand)

Strangers Like That

The evening has started to fade,
my bed is still a mess unmade,
I hold your picture against my heart,
we are still strangers like that,

Every glimmer of beauty reminds me of you,
maybe I'm crazy, maybe it's deja-vu,
you're still my muse, I won't deny that,
we are still strangers like that,

They say love fades and goes away,
but I love you more than I did yesterday,
my feelings won't sway, but it's just that,
we are still strangers like that,

I should have found a way to let you go,
but the more I tried, the more it would grow,
so I embraced my fate, make what you would of that,
we are still strangers like that,

Every woman I have loved has been your reflection,
I'm pathetic, obsessed, lost in transition,
why do you still wear your hair like that?,
we are still strangers like that,

We're strangers and maybe we will always be,
just a mid-summer dream, a love song, a distant memory,
still you shed a tear or two, when this symphony plays like that,
and yet we remain, strangers like that.

Image courtesy: Marc and Angel

Exception

When I was a little boy,
I dreamed of someone like you,
as I grew older I think I tried,
too hard to make you come true,

As the years vapidly toil on,
the dream's still alive unborn,
but I'm beginning to believe,
you're nothing more than an illusion,

For a few chance moments I felt,
my heart in consternation,
but it was just coincidence disguised,
as a divine premonition,

I shudder, shrink, gather, move on,
familiar faces mocking in unison,
reality slips slowly from my crippled grasp,
still miles away from my destination,

The whispers now have stopped and I pretend,
I am under the Lord's protection,
the dream audaciously lingers on,
despite my blatant rejection,

I am a fool and I'll always be,
beguiled by this infatuation,
if you don't intend to show up,
at least point me in the right direction,

When love ceases to exist and I finally surrender,
to fate and all its abberations,
all the world will go dark in search of salvation,
you will still be the only exception.

Wherever You Are

It's in every waking dream and in my every sigh,
in the soft tickle on my finger tips, in every goodbye,

in the genial warmth of the morning sun,
in the ferocious gusting of the storm,

in every half spoken word and every half uttered thought,
in every goofy smile and in every carefree laugh,

it's in the hope that rises after every failure,
it's in the strength I find in every humbling defeat,

in the ecstasy of every laborious victory,
in the assurance of every milestone achieved,

in every prayer that I utter before I go to bed,
in every wish I pronounce silently in my head,

in the silence of every lonely night,
in the cacophony of the maddening light,

in the anguish of every abandoned tear,
in the affection of every touch that's near,

in the beauty of every blooming spring,
in the pensiveness that every frost brings,

in the innocence of every baby born,
in the serenity of every departed soul,

in every antidote that time rubs into my scars,
in every beat of my fervid heart,

the only thing I remember,
no matter how much I try to forget,

Love is wherever you are,
and you are everywhere.

A Thousand Years

Can I say that I could live,
a thousand years without seeing your face,
yet every living moment my soul,
your resonating life, it would chase,

I know I tried so hard to fill,
the emptiness from our demise,
and as my dreams were poached I realized,
the nuptial rings were never our size,

I'd like to think that I could be,
complete without your presence here,
yet every starry night my eyes,
hope to find your shadow near,

I wanted so much to become,
the one you thought I always was,
a thousand years I must now repent,
a thousand years' worth of flaws.

(Picture Credited to: David Richler) 

Rising Tide

I'm a worried man caught in the rising tide,
empty silence lies ahead of me, darkness behind,
as I float purposeless with long heaving sighs,
all I recall are those benign hazel eyes,

Hope is a strange vessel sailing the lonely sea,
gives you what you need, but not what you seek,
it's an irony then, what life predicts for me,
to find happiness in places, I never thought it would be,

She's sitting across to me with mirrors in her eyes,
trying to sell me the past, re-live my lies,
but I'm dressed in my best and her appeal has died,
I'm taking the last train, to hell with goodbyes,

I'm a buccaneer on the oceans of despair,
I'll steal your heart when I so choose and care,
to you it may seem unpleasant, unfair,
but I'm the one who sat all night, talking to an empty chair,

Lots of water under the bridge, memories to forsake,
you can't count on me to change my ways,
don't build dreams from memories, where you have lost your stake,
coz I'm not as eager as I once was, to make a mistake.

(Image courtesy: My Studios)

Steps

I know these are just our first few steps,
but my feelings for you, I can't measure their depth,
your love sneaked into me, and my heart it leapt,
I think I dreamed you into life as I slept,

Where this road will lead me I can only suspect,
where ever it may be, I will never regret,
finding you has been my life's eternal quest,
perhaps retribution for all my tears unwept,

As I move down this winding road,
I am not afraid and I am not perturbed,
all I need is you to be by my side,
No road is too long and no mountain too high,

I can't remember the last time I felt so strong,
and as my love grows, this wait seems so long,
I try to find the perfect word, the perfect line, the perfect song,
even when the words are right, somehow the tune's all wrong,

Still these words spill out of me,
sometimes in prayer, sometimes in symphony,
and if we are damned to be forsaken in the pages of destiny,
each dream would still have been worth its penalty,

And as I take each step, I know I'm closer than before,
I've stumbled, I've fallen, I've been abandoned and forlorn,
my spirit will not relent, till you're mine once more,
but until then as always, I will walk alone.

Wonderland

Tipper Tapper the raindrops sing,
an earthly croon, an elvish hymn,

Outside my window, against the glass pane,
slipping, sliding, invisible stains,

I stretch my hand out as if to catch a tune or two,
so I can write her a song, wipe away the blue,

As the drops make silent puddles on my arid palm,
eyes shut I dream, silence the storm,

I dare not open them, for the wonder I see,
the morning sun bathed in her serenity,

She's Venus personified, I bow to her command,
as she hands me the keys to wonderland,

I open my eyes, the dream has broken free,
she's so close yet so far away from me.

(Photo attributed to Arman Zhenikeyev) 

No Turning Back

I try to hide the fears now,
nurse them with hope,
Don't you test my will now,
my spirit's almost broke,
I was just about to drown now,
if not for your support,
why keep me alive now,
if not to hold me close,
I'm learning to breathe again now,
your life in every stroke,
There's no turning back now,
my ship has set its course.

Alone with you

I look back down the years and wonder, how did we reach where we are today? I know things have never been simple for us, I know there have always been variables that have been beyond our control and circumstances that have mostly gone against us. I can even go to the length of saying that whatever could have gone wrong for us...has! But even in moments of utter chaos...even when everything around us was falling apart...when even hope seemed to be an impossible possibility...even then...the world that existed between you and me was one of unspoken devotion, unbridled love, a calm warm place that existed when we were together in any form. A safe place where we could escape to and find the will and resolve to keep going. I thought that would never change, no matter what happened and how far away we drifted. I always lived with the divine belief that no one could take away the one place in the world that truly belonged to me. Maybe my belief was a state of being in a prolonged drunken stupor. Now when this delusion has faded, I find myself distraught and alone in a way I have never felt before.

I know I cannot complain, and I cannot blame anyone for what I am experiencing, not even you. I know we all change with time, we all experience things that leave permanent scars on our life. My pain, anguish and struggle is mediocre when compared to what you have gone through. I still hold myself responsible for not being there, for not being able to share your burden or even to hold your hand. I can blame fate by saying that it was all part of the Lord's written word and I could have done nothing to prevent what happened, but the truth is that I had a choice, to stay or leave, I took the latter. I think that was the first moment in my life when I actually thought of us at two separate people, two distinct individuals, two disparate souls with their own destinies. Before that moment I never believed we would ever be apart. I never let the thought even crawl into my head. Now the realization that this alternate reality could even exist left me cold, callous and disillusioned. I don't think I have ever completely recovered. I know people can argue that I didn't really have a choice and you had taken your stand and I did the right  thing by setting you free. Maybe I did what was best for the both of us. I guess I took the best choice, but the best choice is not always the right one!

I may never be able to completely empathize with what you went through and how much it changed you. At one level, I think it's because I have never experienced the trauma and agony that comes from what you have lost, and on another level, because I no longer figure as a confidante, someone who you can turn to, someone who you believe will always catch you when you fall. No matter how much you say that is untrue, what my heart feels when I close my eyes, no amount of words or pretentiousness can ever prove wrong. I know you may not believe me, but I do understand. If you have lived in a prison, then I have been in the darkest most murkiest corners of it with you. I have taken every step and caught every tear that has trickled down you face. I may never be able to completely express to you what it feels like to see someone you love in pain, and not be able to help, to touch, to share...to abandon them almost...because life gives you no other choice.

I don't know how much of what you have gone through has changed you, and what bruises you carry with you. I will never know if you never let me in. Yet, I can see the change, I can feel the change. I remember a time when being in your embrace was the most intense, most exalted, most overwhelming feeling I had ever experienced. It became an addiction and I have never experienced such a moment of raw, unrestrained emotion with another living being. It was forbidden, maybe even sinful. Now as I lie next to you, I can see the body, I can touch the flesh, but I cannot feel the heart. I cannot find the soul. Maybe the girl I loved has been left behind somewhere. I just want you to know, that if you put your trust in me one last time, I will go back into the darkness, I will find her again and I will bring her back...I will bring you back! Because as far as I know, if you don't exist, neither do I and nothing else in the world matters. I don't want to live like this, even when you are by my side, I don't want to be alone...even when I am with you!