The
Books
Books are in restless wintery mood,
Their voices seem urgent,
What the books whisper
We prefer not to mention in social circles;
Yet they know more,
Have been where we can't go
In the clothes we wear;
They are unsettled, we are motionless,
Their voices are foreign to our ears,
They disdain, they will shake us off,
Too many voices, too many lost conversations;
When I open a page, fall into its frosty profundities
To sink like a stone, I talk in clichés;
They hover in time like bad omens
They flap wings; frantic pages cloud the sky;
They are the darkness in our bones
That keeps on sparkling like dead flames;
What struggles, they endure day, night!
Some books unopened stay to sight;
Books of some pasts have been scorched
Or may long live not a page turned,
To die unread of ripe old age,
Or by next generation earned,
Yellowed, book-worms devoured in rage!
Theres a thing common - books or men,
But a few significant can
Every book has its shining creed,
Which we fail to read and believe
![a line, (a short blue one)](images/hline.gif)
My gallery has ended
In upper part of my body
A cognitive bell rings
From a dial-up connection of live wires;
The modem is working JUST
To repeatedly provide the facsimile of
Barren and bald paths;
Inner lumbering of daily freight
Coiling, clutching upward;
There is no vivacity
The vital force has parasited
How I inhale life?
My days and nights are bolted
Inside a brain cell,
My voice has held back;
Now it lays a plan to brawl my soul;
Residing in my own skull
It dictates notes imitating my tone,
If I could disintegrate my recall;
As my shadow has left me
There remains Just I, me and myself,
None is willing to be with me
Why is my brain, a black hole?
How could it not be a universe?
I have a constellation of migraine, tablets
Syringe, backache and insomnia,
Dream has become a dead pattern,
As worn out as fossil led glow;
Everything has become identical
Except the weight of consequence
That has variations of endurance;
As I go through perdition
My imbalance will be rectified,
And after allotted time
My gallery will end,
Then you can hang my art
And me on the wall
![a line, (a short blue one)](images/hline.gif)
The Death of the
Seas
My mental wire renders
Images of worn out routes,
After a short circuit happened
In the pathways of daily burdens;
My diseased body quiver with its weight
The hard stitch rubbles skin snatchers;
Leeched of life force
I have little energy to breath;
The voice I hear is not my own,
They dictate notes in familiar tone
But full of foreign phrases,
Which they disguise as invitation;
I wish I could dissolve from memory
Or hide in my skull cave;
But it is not wise to stifle;
Then an unlearned laughter came
A spring emerging into sun rays
A river emerges from the death of the seas
There are two ways to live a life
I can pursue the difficult one
![a line, (a short blue one)](images/hline.gif)
I Painted an
Ocean
I painted an ocean
But forgot the shore
There were no ships
When I took a close look,
It was my isolation
Sailing like the sea waves;
I searched alone for centuries
To add the travelers
In my voyage,
Still, singular I stand
On this mortal deck;
Need an island to anchor
When I call on a radio
It becomes silent monologue outward,
The reply comes from the resounding inside;
With every tsunami from the bosom of the core
I feel like conulariid without pearls;
Although I have vastness of Dead Sea
But no light house of life fervor
![a line, (a short blue one)](images/hline.gif)
A Rainbow Memory
When my hollow present blows
The dying embers in the heart grate
A fond childish Cinders glows up;
The frozen black memory melts past colors,
A sparkle of rainbow recollections,
As I walk up on our trodden pavement
I saw a slash of sea between houses;
Thy red dress like a bright red boat
Sink in golden sand, blue fishing nets
Brown fort walls, green lichen beach;
My soul speaks, my lips moves
A frequency of meetings, a wave of hugs;
As I net to catch these moments
Like A street urchins yellow fists
Holding the rainbow in his tiny grasp