Desire

Desire is hiding within a blank page,
near a mugger’s knife,
or a bowl of flowers.
Near the green shaded valleys of the unknown,
or the struggling alleys of the dark.

I traded my desire for love,
and got shot dead by a tiger posing as a butterfly.

Death of the Handwritten Letter

                                          Like blood trickling
                                          From an open wound
                                          The ink once determined
                                          Its journey through the nib

                                          Onto the paper.
                                          Forming words.
                                          Beautiful. Poignant.
                                          Each curve; dot; dash
                                          Every unnecessary linger
                                          Of the pen on the paper
                                          Betraying bits and pieces
                                          Of the writer’s secrets...
                                          It withers away now.

                                          Those insinuations.
                                          Near poetic allusions.
                                          Loving salutations,

                                          Made sweeter
                                          With dabs of perfume
                                          Kissed, with the hope
                                          That the ink would magically
                                          Invoke images…

                                          Forgotten.
                                          Unthought of for ages.
                                          Almost pristine
                                          Like life stealthily taken away
                                          At its prime.


                                          It’s over.
                                          All that is left is a blinking cursor
                                          A white screen
                                          And an unfeeling keyboard.

Lost words lack destination

Lost thoughts resurface
Lead us to old truths
Create ripples in today's reality
The past is no longer what it used to be
The future is a place of fear
Where madmen roam beyond their politics
Dreams and ambitions are not the same
It is the ambitious who weave their darkness into the fabric of this world and the next
The dreamers are content to exist in isolation traveling between the 4th and 5th dimensions
But never the first
There is a fine line between poetry and sermons
Although poetry seeks no worshipers
The words mean the same
It is the speaker that brings down the walls of insanity and defines their truth
These words have no destination
They meander through the tentacles of life seeking the words that have come before
And have long since faded into the libraries of time

Fading in the shade

Curves, Curls, Twists and Swirls
Of life...
Dewdrops fade as sunlight fills this valley.
Such heat-withered grass,
Rising and falling,
merging and then rising again majestically.
The Sand dunes are beautiful too,
lying abreast to the greenland.
A dry leaf,
Fresh, sharp, thin, kissed by a dew drop at the tip
They drop on earth at last..
as
dreams and reality merge, in the unbound realm of hearts.

Dark

It's 2 AM
I stay wide awake,
there are blinking lights in the dark.
I blink my eyes more.
Leaves me wondering whether the pace matches.
There is a bee's animated dance in my mind.
I thrash it into pulp to shut the hum in my ears.
Blood crawls out through my ears.
I wonder why?
I touch on my ears.
I can feel the sloshy liquid on my fingers,
But cannot see the wild red.

Blinking lights in the dark.
My eyes shutter repeatedly.
up and down.
Up and down.

I fix my sight into the air,
my eyes roll around.
Blank goes my thin memory

I can see shadows on the wall.
They are ghosts of my past.
They trail into my memory chip,
I magically try to block them away.

Sweat beads tremble on my forehead!
While i hear someone scream,
"Mad mind"!

Lettin Go

It's a miracle how people can let go of things they fond of - be it a relationship or things they really treasure. How life can be so ironic when they actually fell in love at first sight; and tomorrow it turns sour.
What could be the catalyst?
What is the reason behind the shift of events?
Nobody actually knows.
There could be millions of reasons behind a single event. Perhaps, it just happens to be a coincidence. Perhaps, it is the nature of human being. Or perhaps, it is fate.
The illogical sense of humanity just do not fit in the picture anymore.
What the reality brings is not about the truth but the feelings. "Within a soul, what matters is how you feel for them and not how they feel for you." As much as we are denying this fact, it slowly finds it way into the 'truth' for humanity. Contradicting but to be exact, it just happens.
People always say that, "Life is about letting go." But what is there to let go, when you already let go in the first place. There is no meaning to the phrase. If it is that easy to let go, then you can see how meaningless it could be. In fact, letting go is the hardest things in life. No matter how much I hold back, tears will always be there.

grammatical error

i was born a metaphor
incomplete, not quite whole
like august wind
like summer's heat
like a crooked street
like a butterfly in heat
like a heart off-beat
like a dream unlived
like lessons unlearned

i was born incomplete
like a metaphor without an end
like a random thought
like an error disrupted
like - like - like - like

i exist on the edge of a razor
standing on the outside
speechless, depleted
silently evicted

i hide myself behind cracked mirrors
my laughter echoes like a desert winds
undressing the trees
and stroking their limbs

I thirst like a hole in the ground
beyond the earth's crust is lava
crystals of unformed diamond
the grime of a dying planet
drains me of bodily fluids

i worship at the feet of druids
and priests and new age do-gooders with flowers in their hair
equal opportunity generation
misguided ancients
i am a manifestation of their nightmares
built on fading dreams

i am like a metaphor soon to be complete .........