Yellow Pictures

Yellowish pictures, dark spots
unruly hair, rustic clothes
holding hands, running away
stopping somewhere, in the way
to catch some breadth
sitting down, sipping coffee
reading books with yellow pages
crying hard, smiling gently
stargazing, dreaming profoundly
riding a bike, passing the trees
Glistening river water
in the morning breeze
and from the trees plucking apples
sleeping in shade, heads on the shoulder.

Beauty and the Unbeautiful

Going on the same road everyday 

Looking at the same things.

Same regular banal scenes

Dirty roads, dusty pavements.

Heaps of garbage, filled with litters.

My eyes wander in search of beauty,

but unable to find any. 

In such a miserable world,

my only solace is you,

The only beauty, only source of peace.

The calmness of my eyes, after witnessing

the savagery of the people. 

Remain same, my love, through all times,

inspire me and my incipient rhymes.

If I stand up and walk

So, what if I stand up and walk right now,

What's stopping me?

Am I a chained gladiator bound to fight and suffer,

And be a means of amusement to others?

Am I cursed to push a boulder

To the top of a mountain?

No, I am free, free as high flying falcon

Free as the king of the jungle 

Ready to rush on my own will.

I'll not sit here anymore,

Holding my head in my hands, sobbing.

I will not bother to think how I look,

In the thoughts of somebody.

So if I just stand up and walk

Nobody would stop me.

I just have to walk.

in the corner of the room

I sit in the corner of a café room

Like an obscure little thing

Which has no use in this crippled world.

A room full of worthy and elite people

Has me in its corner like a tumor

In Ares' mighty body, making it

Adverse to fight more wars,

Or like the weakness in Achilles' foot

Which got him killed.

I sit there meaningless as ever 

Staring into melancholic void,

Thinking about ways to get me away

From the age long suffering of this world.

While the God of Death

Sees me from sky and smile

On the futility of my thought.

rain is not my enemy

Rain is not my enemy,

it is not my friend either.

Rain is like that long forgotten memory,

which scathe my wounds even deep.

Its like that old friend that tells you,

what happened to your girl back home,

and you sink in deep trenches of dolor.

No, rain is not my friend or foe,

Its just that the sound of each falling 

perfectly round shaped water droplets,

reminds of a piece of me which, 

I left at home.

 

So, I pray it to rain,

Not because I have disdain for the sun

But I like to scratch my wounds more

So that I keep myself mindful

Of what I once had and now I have not.

But still rain is not my friend 

But I don't hate it either.

turning sides in lonely night

Turning sides in bed is a new normal

I don't force myself to sleep now

Had done it million times already

Efforts of sleeping get wasted

Night by night in the black nothingness.

Of course this was not like this,

When we used to sleep side by side.

But it started after your going away that

My chest misses the tickle of your fingers

My hair miss the strokes

Of your sweet hands.

My cheeks and lips miss 

The soft kisses if your lips.

Laying in bed, thinking of you

The night walks all way with me,

And my thoughts of you.

In morning I beg forgiveness to your reminisce,

I preserve the eternal requiem of yours

For the coming night.

blazing loneliness

Something at me stares fast,

which leaves me in fear and aghast

It tends to harm me,

it sometimes threatens me

I live in my life in terror.

It follows me wherever I go,

It imitates whatever I do,

It often looks at my body,

with eyes red and glance shady.

I run back home with fear

it shoots me with whetted spear.

I fall down and I scream,

waking up I realise, it was my dream.

I contemplate what had me chasing,

it was nothing but my loneliness blazing.