Long Subdued

Rusty, windy, fallen out of line,

it had been a very long time,

recollecting back from scarp ,

trying to get everything back in my grasp.

Wondering, thinking , passion restored or just a faint outburst,

is it those one of those eye blinding moments,

or am I really craving again for the thirst,

pitching every word just in line to bind those shimmery ornaments.

Cradled by the on goings in the life,

was unfazed by the ornaments i had left to be woven,

frozen , still, yet so dynamic life had strived,

that i had left the doors for sorrow open.

Had to come out of the cobwebs,

build slowly and gradually steps for the life I had lead ,

find an entry for the exit i had longed for,

could see the light at the end of the tunnel and I fled.

Here I am back again, same old story,

yet with a different and composed version of present,

because the past led to many paths and rest was history,

tarnished and shining everything around was pleasant

Warmth

moonlight walk, slow steps , the sands falling beneath your feet,
but the thought in your mind keep on going steep,
life had taken a turn , widened,
it worked like a machine lost its pulleys and was unstrapped,

only light left at the time was the moon,
you wish you could end this all so soon,
parked the wheels outside the cage,
still you couldnt let go of that deep embedded rage,

Never so desperate in life for certain answers,
wish could unravel the mirror beneath the sheet of sand,
no energy left for to blow the sand,
come take a walk with me , hold my hand

Blew the wind uncovered from the ever so hardened dust,
the only i was searching for with that charming lust,
wish could lay in those palms, the lap and stare at the moon,
you showed me life, gave me reason, to come out of that cocoon.

7th Symphony

^{7 th Symphony}

Wandering into the mist of loneliness,

The loneliness of the desperation,

Slowly crawls into my skin deep into the wounds.

I wonder in the wander, passion, pain of fire,

Picture this I won’t last till the end.

Shed it off, burn it off, rip it off,

Uncover yourself from the fascist face of life.

Cold yet it may seem, you are still lost,

Keep on pressing the button, the ice machine is still cold,

Seven life, and the satisfaction you crave for,

Are you living it up to the dream you were born for,

Suck it in, deep within, those worms will eat you,

And at the end you will desire to burn out yourself.

Chapter 6

Swollen State

Burnt body, charred soul, drowned in the alcohol,

Not able to rise up or stand on my forbidden land,

Left thin and lean, glean, but still not clean,

Have faint marks on my body and have rusted glands.

Fight, fight, fight and all I could just do I write

These words of mine describe my hidden plights,

Living on the edge of every breathe I take,

Life for me is on the verge of make or break.

I empty my spirit in the spirits on a daily basis,

Cigarette butts fly on around me as the seconds races,

In need of these sources to block my mind from those faces,

I don’t care the suffering what my body chases.

Left alone time to straighten up,

Need to take a break and give myself a strong pump,

I take my bike and move on to a destination unknown,

Leaving behind the memories of mine thrown.

Chapter 4

Move On

A week has gone by; I have learned to fly on,

The mark of the coffee cup on the table has yet to dry,

And I feel happy, that for this week I haven’t cried,

Good times started rolling, and it’s time to march on.

Past was past how surreal and bizarre it may appear,

Yet for the time I spent, those was the golden moments,

Frozen by the history of these so called mysteries,

I call it the hysteria of the your utopic delusions.

I am now entering the phase where I’d have to be left alone,

Alone and free from you, and all sorts of yours memories,

I’d like to erase all kind of your inconceivable memories,

Burned the cigarette just like those memories of yours.

And at the end, I realised, you were not the only one,

But still my heart weeps for you, for the so long journey,

The journey of that demystified long lost files,

Where I learnt to raise my toast and legalise those long lost files.

Dementia

Wrote a series of poems in forms of chapters titled Dementia.

Chapter 1

Over & Out

A thousand forces couldn’t break those chains
It could have been worse if I tried to refrain
One night, few seconds, few words
And it all came down crashing on me

My cards fell, and everything was lost,
It was just like the refrigerator had defrost,
The water left was too cold to touch over,
I was rattled by the events and their reasons.

Now that I know where I stand
I’ll always keep myself chained to the ground,
It will be over soon, I’ll have to refrain,
Find another reason and came out of the exile.

Won’t ever go back to the phase I was called,
I’ll keep my records in those long lost files,
And pray to heavens, thought of ‘IT’ will always make me smile
I vent out my anger & sorrows, through these poems, but I won’t ever cry.

Black Magic

Frozen, fallen from that iceberg
he slipped into the cold blue river,
entering the deep abyss of that mystery,
was the never ending road that lead to the black glory.

He could hear the wolves howling out to the moon,
there weren't no witches around with their old brooms,
it was just the old man watching and sitting ,
with his eyes ever up rolled.

The match sticks were oil slicked,
their lustre was marked with the sparks of past,
and so were lost the silver lining moments,
filled with hollow dignity of that old man.

That old road he followed from a long time,
rusted and burned out that path led to nowhere,
several voices in his head lead him to the days,
days that were filled with the black magic of the woman.

Shifting, riveting and adjusting he mended his ways finally,
people called him a lunatic, but he only knew,
knew that this highway lead him to the antidote,
antidote, erased his longingness towards that magical blackness.............


"People say that love hurts...
love is just a delusional part of their character,
what hurts is their inability to love someone."
-Mohan(21/01/2011)

The Fragile Cocoon

To be born free or dead alive,

the uncanny mortal won't be free,

from those unwanted parodies,

time won't freeze neither his formalities.

Unrest his feet touch the ground every time he is in the air,

blindly following the instincts of his basic needs,

he develops an unwanted mystical flair,

covering them under his rusted deeds on which he feeds his greed.

Passion driven his desires uncover his calls for success,

throughout the way wanting unlimited access,

access to things he wants to lay his hands on,

were frozen beyond his high rise emotions.

The words were written as deep on the stone,

he was not the king sitting on the throne,

the sooner he could realize the better he could digest the fact,

he was just another of the god's made draft.

Death is not the end of the journey,

neither the life is the complete road,

there is a long highway one has to board,

death is just a tunnel between the life and the highway.

"Paradise built upon the fiery eyes wide dreams,

tend to end numerously in shouts and screams."

---Nishant (18/01/11)