The Colour Red

It shall be the happiness after tomorrow,

Perhaps;

Let off by some sigh, but

The wind here grows only stronger,

And sun’s scattered beams,

Take leaves red and rub their sallow,

So now they must gleam green;

Watching us with orphan eyes,

As we sit suspended together,

Unsure;

If dusk would spill its secret dust,

Or would it be just the two of us,

Our mutual darkness;

And a ceremonious incense,

That just wouldn’t light.

There’s a fire raging below,

Like a red gash from a scimitar;

Bleeding black earth,

Burning the sky,

And filling our caress with tender smoke;

I look up distracted,

And find its careless smudge-

A crescent moon that barely breathes,

A crimson drop incompleting the horizon;

I taste a familiar tinge that drowns,

All the other bleeding senses out,

A drowning vortex of vertigo,

Calls an unfamiliar name to echo;

That, and the many uses,

Of the colour red.

Jabbertalkies

The day’s streaks are getting long,

Motion blur, i am informed

Add to that a certain curve,

That upon itself would turn upon,

And swirling whirls will tumble forth,

To eddies made to greater form,

And rise like tides of a full-ish moon,

Or better still our global warmth,
Thawing life in ice trapped,
Letting pipers escape the gates of dawn,

Who come to me to rue their ruse,

But come to leave and be ever gone,

For trapped in dreams of a dying man,

Life devours, what it does yawn,

It’s rather black this heart of man,

And denial's days are rather long,

A slip down the memory lane

And eternal’s paused the moment wrong.

The Waiting Room.

Waiting is acknowledgement
A realisation of denial
Introspection that does silent watch
The puppets play in the lawns outside
Their light strings like shining smiles
Painted plastered so they never knew
The parched songs that hum our lives
You can pick up it's groaning buzz
A disquietude that runs along
Palpitations that on pavements walk
Measuring time and it's seconds brief
Weaving along; in webs coy homes
To be united is to be lost.

Asphyxia.

Cigarette smoking is injurious to health
The sullen sun scoffs the fumes
That like smoke signals spoke
Filling empty clouds
With my love
Messenger messiah
All in vain
Like little boats that drowned last night
There was a storm upon the sea I heard.

A Vicarious Kind.

A vicarious play
Of light is life
And i learnt from life
That all is mime
Education;
It may be opined
But words are short
When so is time
And moments thus
Must laden find
To walk forward
A step must be left
Behind.

The Scream

Fetch me a scream-

But that later,

The melancholy has blown,

The tears into the eyes,

Hiding, suspicious;

Pearls peering errata ,

Words that you guessed like autotype,

And completed my dreams,

I resent

This arbitrary completeness,

This sense of whole-

To fill my empty universe,

You but emptied your own,

And now i don’t have place,

To shuffle my feet,

That your defiling thoughts,

Do glumly grope,

While memories drag,

Just  silent along,

Parched, hungry;

A quiet desperation,

It’s hard to scream,

When you don’t have the words.

Sleepwalking

i caught a sunbeam,

And bent it slight;

Swirled a world,

To set it right,

And let it flake;

Since stirred was quite,

To swim moments,

In the sea of light,

That coloured too;

Was much so bright,

But i just picked,

Some blurring flight,

That grey seemed most;

But what of life,

Its a prism more,

If bent to sight,

That looks indoors,

When dreams do quiet,

Silent tiptoe,

To wake for night...