Aberration

Cried and cried, little Dorin for nights.

He found the clown but not the smile!

“Where could she be!” thought Dorin warily,

“Under a book or over the blighted sky.”

Three nights he looked through dying winds.

Then his wily jackal retorts, “She is a gilded liar,

Could she be swimming in the devil’s admire?”

“What will the devil do with the smile” said Dorin,

“He’s got no love, not even a knife!” “A liar she is, thus

I need her so. An illusion this pawn wants and the smile

was its rye all along. So wait a little longer, nothing is

on blaze and desire’s fork is still stirring my ire. ”

Dorin had just realized, what's a clown without a smile!

Dorin..

A brooding night,Dorin dreams,
of dying days and worlds unseen
A blue neon flickers as the devil grins,
with cigarettes and banter she flutters her wings.
A lady walks by where a wise man fell,
embracing Dorin with her absinthe's spell.

When the sky turns yellow,
the jester's music goes mellow.
He sings,Life's a juggler's joke
Either you cry or you don't.
But the brute never cries,
so he rises to toast.

As yellow turns brown, sneaks in
the beast who would not frown.
With roses in his eyes
he jumps to kill. Dorin screams.
Sitting on a dark throne
Morpheus gleams.

There I go again..

Was on my long way down,
In the stuffy & sweating elevator.
The door slid again gallingly,
And she beheld my eyes.

White shirt, denim skirt
And brown streaked tresses,
The charm of her fragrance
Could dent even a queen’s allure.

As she stood there staring
At the ever sliding numbers.
I looked for an alibi to talk
How I wished the lift had got stuck.

But our trip ended like any other
And she just walked away.
I wonder was that love. Damn!
There I go again……..

Imperfections...

A major victim of “time passing by” is the appreciation of one’s own work. A few days back I was going through the poems I had written during my college days. It was mostly about the usual stuffs like the frustrations, failure, crushes and things I somewhat find too clichéd to write about now a days. Its funny how we and the things around us change and we are the last one to notice it. We don’t even notice the significant contribution we ourselves put to change these things. Coming back to the poems, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to make any changes (and improve) any of those poems. I wanted to make them more cheerful. I wanted to change the metaphors I used to describe things. I wanted to frame the verses in a better way. But then poems just do not pop out of nothing. They are the testimony of how one feels for different encounters which transpires in his life. They are the best way to tell who you actually were on that specific day. So even if you try to change the poem you wrote, all you will get is a new one which will show who you are today. You just can’t change something you had written in the past.

Maybe it’s better (and easier) to acknowledge them just as they are and accept that it’s because of what we felt and wrote earlier, we feel and write much better today.

Anyways, just for old times sake here’s the first poem I wrote:


Starry Nights…

Glint of the city fades away,
I flee from glaring heights,
From jeering dark lanes
From the betraying paths.

I head for the woods,
Befriended by the sultry night,
Stars wink excited..
As if meeting an old’ friend.

Sneaking through the clouds,
The moonlight hugs me.
Breeze swims across like angels,
Disappearing the last traces of sadness.

Deaf to the calling city.
Know I have to go back...
Face the glaring sun...
Trying to bring me to my knees.

But for the night I am trapped
I wrap myself by the shadows...
Under the aegis of sleepy trees...
Lying on the grass I just drift away.

Tipsy? That’s not me..

A subtle mist, golden brown
Thinned by the earthy babble,
Of the world going down.
I give them a smile they can’t see
Are they smashed or is it just me?

I stare at the other side, it
Looks blue, it looks yellow
Reminds me of memories that
Make me feel mellow.
Life hardly makes sense. I hope
That’s the way it will always be.
‘Cause what’s the fun in it if
It’s not crazy, tardy and tipsy.

P.S.: A work of fiction written in a sober state. Seriously....

When A Day Dreamer Writes...

Staring back with its pale,
white face, the paper mocks
my thoughts to disgrace.
Thoughts, they fade away,
leaving behind an empty room
filled with a dying flames haze.
Feelings of appeasement try
invading my soul. Somewhere it wins,
Somewhere it loses all hope.

But when all lights go dim,
I see a world in no one's sight
pouring tales in my mind
like a old tavern's aging rye.
With a new hope of a
fiery sky, I write for
glory. I write for the
day dreamer's rising cry.

Life Doesn't Rhyme

Your heart is a blizzard,
so you said once.Still
you didn't expect your
tears to turn to ice.
Yes, I am the devil
shout it all around.
They will still love me back
probably with their first kiss.
Don't bother remembering those
nights, forget those days.
They have become jokes
that my friends make.

The world told you to
move on and so shall I.
You wont be alone. There
is still more to come.

Colors I Drift By…

Thousand of colors,
Millions of shades,
Swirl around the sky
Like a dragon’s breath.
The clouds slowly drift by
With an air of snob,
And the sun heads for
Another world across the sea.
I sit by my window alone
And enjoy the dusk,
Who knows it might probably be,
My last sunset in this city.