Catapults

I could’ve been better with time

But closed doors and open eyes seldom have a visitor

And so do the open doors and closed eyes

I would’ve, if I could’ve been better with time.

Fragile touch of crawling sickness

Nausea in my cells has long been forgotten

As I map my skin, I dismember a lego

Disseminating my breaths in my lungs

Last place for my horrid affliction

And so my mind waits for the benediction

Which never comes even after the storming rain

All the perfumes die in the land of nod,

I could’ve been better with time

But broken mind and unbreakable heart keep,

Coming back to the final caveat

I couldn’t follow for the dubious guts.

I swear I would’ve, if I could’ve been

‘Better with time’, just a connotation

For me, a horrible line of catapults to cross

Ready to tear down my body and soul

I’ll not wait for the time

I’ll not wait on the world,

I’ll let myself dismember a lego

And sleep in the ashes once the world’s done with me.

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A Place To Be

She asked, ‘where do you want to be?

‘In the place soothing your aching arms?

The place that calms your nerves?

Do you call it a home?’

‘I found my grace there,’ he said,

‘In two oceans I dived everyday,

And every night I sailed among the stars.

In the lap of the glory I slept.

There’s a place where I forgot my wars.’

‘What does it look like?’ she asked again,

‘Are there flowers? Is there rain?

Do the butterflies flutter all noon?

And eve’ falls with crickets on streams?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he replied as he dived deep inside,

‘I smelled the flowers under the shade,

And felt rain running across the soft terrain,

And I’ve seen the wings that blew all noon

And the bugs lighting up at ocean when sun went vain.’

‘What a mystical world that must be,’

She said, ‘where your heart now goes,

‘Where it rains and snows and grass grows

‘Where you must be if not here.’

‘I must be, if I could,’ he said and coughed,

The black had reached to his lungs and the heart,

Then the breath ceased like a snapped twig

And his head went back to the start.

To the start where he had met him the first,

The eyes, the ocean, the unquenchable thirst.

And in nights they would lit up like stars,

And his thighs were where he found the lost solace.

He was his home,

The one who had a world within

A world that called for eons and eons.

And everytime he died in the loop,

The frail mind led him beyond death

A place from where he borrowed his sounds

And kept searching for the soul he lost somewhere.

Sad Ballads

Sweet melodies of so long,

Void memories in the songs,

Where did my thunder go down

The alley where we don’t belong.

And the cuts the deeper wounds

All the choir of cries hummed

Do we ever know what we hold

Until we keep listening to what we’re told.

And the truth’s never the same here

All these questions in atmosphere

Are they the vapour of our tears?

Or they’re just our sad thoughts?

All our breaths go up in the knots

We keep chasing the fading dots

And some sad poets will write again

Sad ballads of our silence.

Saffron

Lots of flowers fell in the valley,

Not a single saffron dear.

Who could cut down branches, really?

In seams of garlands slithers fear.

A morn a mourn, a vale a veil,

A terror in turmoil of the breach

Of sacred faces in these places

In the sight but out of reach.

Lots of trees are in the valley

But wind so vicious growls, one,

Some trees are faded, some decapitated

See the saffron burning sun.

A night not knight, a spy a sly,

A raze in rose of different kind.

Who broke the pattern of this sky,

A face, a soul, but broken mind.

Lots of jungles fell in valley,

Who sparked this fire bright?

Colours are losing out their ally

Sky too burns with saffron light.

Hot in haught, cloth in clots

Hair in here in gore so coal

The sword is down in rusting knots

And sheath is far in burning hole.