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.

can't we go to the village

I don't like it here 

can't we go to the village?

Its too noisy here

can't we go to the village?

Gusts of crowd everywhere

can't we go to the village?

I hate these clouds of dust in the air,

can't we go to the village?

This air chokes me

can't we go to the village?

This house is stuffy and smelly

can't we go to the village?

There are no trees in sight,

can't we go to the village?

People are bad to each other

can't we go to the village?

There is no river around to bathe in

can't we go to the village?

Her son asked her this question again,

can't we go to village?

I'll picture you

I'll smoke a cigarette

And I'll picture you in my mind.

I'll picture every moment 

That we've lived until you left me.

The white cloud of smoke

Will make your face out of it.

I'll look at your face of smoke but,

it vanishes the other moment.

Then my cigarette will also be finished

But my wish to see you, would not.

So I'll lit another,

And produce another cloud of smoke

Again your face appears in the smoke.

This will go on until my stock of cigarettes last,

Then I'll tear off my hairs out of agony

And I'll wail out your name. 

pitch dark

You turn you head away from me,

But I continue to look at you

You slim neck with beautiful mole

And tresses fell all over it.

I know your fake anger,

And i know you are smiling

And hiding it from me.

I keep quiet and keep looking at you.

You wait for me to address you

And ask forgiveness, but i don't.

Then you turn around slowly 

Peeking through the corner of your eyes.

To make sure that I am noticing or not.

When I catch you peeping.

You started punching meekly on my chest

Complaining why I am not apologizing for the crime I never did.

But leaving that I quickly clutch my ears by lobe.

And you chuckle.

I put then my head into your lap and you dab me to sleep with tender soft hands.

Then something hit my head hard

Like blacksmith's hammer hit the iron.

I wake up and find nothing around me

You, the love, the joy, the solace.

All are gone

Leaving me in pitch dark room.

rapture in anguish

Love hurts

But notwithstanding people get involved in this.

Because

There's rapture in the anguish,

And there's life in this death.

The pleasure one get when

Breathing becomes impossible when they're not around,

And the state in which the lover falls

When parted.

Love remains inspite of all the grief,

And that is not love

Which alters in the times of agony.