Molten Eternities Read online

  But, in their splatter that night,

  the insomniac, found a lullaby.

  The lonely, a conversation.

  And the poet, a poem..

  The night sky is a lie

  Suicidal stars, imploding under

  duress for they have lived

  way too long.

  Distracted galaxies

  swerving into one another with a

  vengeance.

  Columns of orphaned

  stardust being spewed out in fury,

  over dizzying distances.

  The night sky is a violent expanse, and

  it has you and I fooled.

  For often on quiet nights,

  we seek our peace in it..

  Horizons

  Night skies do not have horizons,

  For darkness has no shades to it.

  Yet, curious stars,

  searching for a horizon on the far side,

  tread several miles,

  each night.

  Only to perish into a sunrise..

  Winter evenings

  Lonesome wintery evenings, often,

  echo through the fading impressions,

  of hands,

  that remain etched

  across frozen, fogged up windows,

  long after they have left the room..

  Night skies

  Tonight’s night sky is in fact

  a twinkle from millions of years ago.

  And isn’t it fascinating to know, that,

  in a few eternities from now,

  on a warm summer’s night,

  some young boy may look at the night sky,

  that I was meant to look at tonight..

  Summer nights

  These starry summer nights,

  often, take me back to a boyhood,

  when a handful of young dreams,

  and the magic in your eyes,

  marked the extent of my universe..

  Dawn

  On the far side, erupted,

  the first streak of dawn.

  And, in a few rushed moments,

  the countless stars ended their vigil.

  Extinguished, one at a time, and,

  compelled to seek refuge until nightfall..

  Of Nights

  The night, too, had its acquaintances.

  A few scheming crooks,

  a handful of distracted wanderers, and,

  some dreamy insomniacs.

  Often, though, the night had,

  overheard the days,

  gossiping about a bustling planet,

  rampant with noise, and life.

  Yet, each time, the night

  took over,

  a drowsy earth, treated it to,

  lonesome, half-lit streets,

  silent dwellings, and

  a snoring mankind..

  Anchors

  On a sunlit afternoon,

  the boats decided to romance the wind.

  As they gently swerved to the

  flirtatious gusts, they tugged,

  on the unsuspecting anchors holding them back.

  Blinded by a love for the ocean,

  those boats pulled, and nudged on those anchors,

  hoping to break-free.

  The scarred anchors though, did not

  relent, as they held back the smitten boats.

  For they knew, that the ones

  they had let go in the past,

  seldom returned,

  from the folds of that treacherous ocean..

  That Coffee shop

  It was past midnight.

  The world had fallen silent.

  Yet, as I went past it,

  I was drawn to it.

  An exhausted coffee shop, in a deep dream.

  Much like the brews it served all day,

  that sleeping coffee shop’s loneliness, too,

  had an aroma to it..

  The birth of a poem

  Suddenly, you feel a niggle inside you.

  A caged sense of unease thumping

  erratically behind the ribs.

  You try and ignore it. It lingers on,

  refusing to go away.

  Plunging itself into the throbbing veins beneath the skin.

  It swims upstream in furious protest.

  Rattles the sturdy insides of your skull.

  Gags you, tying up the tongue

  in tiny knots.

  Yet, seeks a voice.

  An outlet.

  Consumed by this rage, you scribble

  some breathless words,

  across blank pages.

  And so, a poem is born..

  That homeless person on the street

  On a wintery evening,

  I stood there,

  watching destinies go past each other.

  The ones draped in finest wool,

  cheerfully, strolled the city streets.

  Indulging in warm coffees, and,

  love drenched chats.

  Tucked away in a dark corner,

  was another destiny too.

  A homeless one.

  Shredded and lonesome.

  Trying to shiver itself to sleep.

  Silences

  Often, I try and puncture,

  the silences, that befriend me.

  For I know,

  their poise and tranquility,

  is a mere seduction.

  Once, turned inside out,

  these silences too, are ingloriously flawed,

  like you and I.

  Infested with demons,

  and raging with anguish..

  Trains

  Often, as they rested on sunlit noons,

  the curious platforms would ask,

  the train carriages where they'd been.

  Nomads, the carriages would seldom disappoint,

  for they had tales to tell,

  of places they had been to.

  Spring splashed meadows,

  rain drenched woods, frozen pastures,

  and,

  autumn clad wildernesses..

  Of rainy days

  There is a charm

  about looking out through

  rain-soaked windows.

  Doing so, often, comforts

  aching grown-ups,

  bruised by destinies and toils.

  If only they were brave enough,

  to step out once in a while,

  letting the rain-drops drench them,

  the grown-ups

  would've felt healed..

  Raindrops

  Disowned by the fleeting clouds,

  discarded raindrops,

  befriended the branches of a helpful tree.

  Their refuge for the night.

  Unaware, that a deceitful sun,

  awaited on the other side,

  eager, to consume them, and,

  hand them back,

  to yet another passing cloud..

  Drizzles

  As I walked through the soggy night,

  raindrops, from the hushed drizzle,

  splattered my face.

  Some slipped down, instantly,

  scooting across my cheeks.

  Some, plunged into an abyss,

  swallowed, by my shivering lips.

  Some, entangled in my eyelashes,

  exploded with a vengeance,

  each time I blinked, as if,

  to avenge their fallen mates

  Summer rains

  Sneaky clouds, no longer able to

  conceal their stealth, spill

  the loot.

  And as the sun baked soil,

  wraps itself in the summer rain,

  water stolen from a sleeping ocean

  is reclaimed.

  One drop at a time...

  The overzealous raindrop

  I listened intently into the dark night.

  Much like the words in a poem,

  the raindrops too had a melody

 
; in their fall.

  And then every so often, fell an

  overzealous drop,

  clueless,

  not in sync with rest,

  shattering the entire symphony..

  Firefly

  In that pinch of darkness, that,

  he held between his folded hands,

  hid a firefly as well.

  Each time, it let out a flash,

  he giggled, the little boy.

  Unaware, that the world will soon,

  want him to grow up..

  Colours

  From the haunting nights,

  painted in deepest black.

  Of, from the blood that was deep red,

  when it was first shed, and,

  then turned purple,

  as it curdled.

  Or, from the white shrouds of,

  wailing widows.

  Not all kids, learnt their colours,

  from rainbows..

  The orphan

  Growing up in an orphanage

  she missed out on a lot of things.

  Throwing a tantrum,

  was just one of them..

  The masterpiece

  He held a chalk and sketched away

  all over the wooden deck,

  the little boy.

  Aimless lines, meandering and

  looping over each other

  was all that he drew.

  And when he was done

  he stood back,

  looked at his work, and giggled.

  Elated with his creation,

  he moved on to his next adventure.

  And here I was, fearful of appraisals,

  crossing out misfit words,

  desperate,

  to write that 'perfect' poem..

  Notepads

  I like to write on notepads.

  For they keep me grounded.

  Devoid of a ‘backspace’, they

  often keep a score

  of the number of times it took me,

  to get it right..

  The blinking game

  Long into the night, we kept

  staring into each other’s eyes.

  The night sky and I.

  We both held a stubborn silence,

  within us

  that refused to

  blink..

  There are no answers

  We seek comfort, not answers.

  For there are no answers.

  Wisdom is just make belief.

  Educated guesses, derived with a bow

  stretched a tad too long.

  Fallacies, like beads, stitched up

  in a thread of logic and reason.

  All designed to explain the unventured

  other side.

  Countless explanations offered.

  And you and I choose the one,

  that comforts us the most....

  Solitude

  Often when the night turns

  unkind

  I turn to the trusted window in my room.

  For each time I leave it ajar,

  distracted strands of silvery moonshine

  come rushing in, eager,

  to converse with my

  sleepless solitude..

  Dreams

  There's a fine line, that,

  separates the dream, from the journey.

  Dreams fetch thrills.

  Journeys remain stale.

  And if the two were to merge,

  you will never again sense the thrill,

  of turning the clouds inside out, and,

  looking at a thunderstorm,

  from the other side.

  Yes,

  if the two were to merge,

  the journey will eat up the dream,

  and, you will merely hop, between,

  days, and places..

  Perspectives

  After a certain age,

  destinations define us.

  Yet, today as I travelled with my son,

  I put my forehead

  against the train window.

  Just like my seven year old companion.

  As we peeked through the glass,

  another train went zipping past.

  It caught us by surprise.

  Startled, we looked at each other.

  Then giggled, and went back to,

  hearing the melody,

  of the train wheels, scooting over

  tightly stitched rail tracks.

  Age never abandoned childhoods,

  perspectives did..

  Destinations

  Moments, in a brisk sprint.

  Lifespans, on a slow crawl.

  Desires, on crossroads.

  Journeys, beget journeys.

  Destinations, mere arbitrary stopovers..

  Goosebumps

  Much like the stars in the night sky,

  they erupt too,

  out of the porous bones.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  One after the other, they take over

  every inch of unclaimed flesh, and,

  unleash a chill that runs,

  all the way up the spine, then,

  explodes in between the eyes, and perishes.

  Like those shooting stars,

  in the night sky.

  Much like a shooting star too,

  you try and hold on to them, and

  to the thrill they inject into your skin.

  But like it is with shooting stars,

  all you manage to do,

  is to make a wish,

  before they extinguish..

  Romance

  Smitten by a romance,

  shrewd, moonlit nights,

  melted in dew drops at dawn,

  and, clung on to unsuspecting rose petals

  hopeful

  of meeting,

  the forbidden days..

  Afterlife

  In its afterlife,

  the discarded quill

  took flight, once again.

  This time,

  through the words of a poet..

  The ocean shore

  Then, as the fleeting waves recede,

  the love drenched sand, too,

  shrivels and shrinks.

  Bleached by the sun,

  the wet blots on the shore, too,

  disappear.

  Parched, barren grains remain, as,

  sand becomes sand, again.

  Just like you and I,

  when we'll be gone..

  Of storms

  I swallowed a mouthful of the storm,

  that raged outside.

  It tasted like the eucalyptus leaves,

  that it had ripped apart.

  Then, as I chewed it a bit more,

  it lost its rage.

  Reduced to a mere breath within me.

  A humble, tamed breath..

  Of Forevers

  We are all shackled in eternities.

  You, and I.

  One day, when we shall all perish,

  along with the fanciful worlds we live in,

  bits of us shall,

  continue to live on.

  Etched forever, on a pinch

  of unclaimed stardust, you and I,

  will forever exist,

  somewhere in the silent recesses,

  of this universe..

  I shattered the darn’d sky

  The sky managed to shake off

  the clouds,

  as it turned into the deepest shade

  of blue, today.

  Flawless and poised,

  it stood above me,

  as if to mock my burdened mind.

  Sitting by the lakeside,

  I picked up a pebble in disgust,

  And hurled it at the still lake.

  Shattering the arrogant sky,

  Into trembling ripples..

  The boy who once left home

  One day,

  Every dream that he had ever held,

 
Collapsed inwards.

  As dusk loomed,

  He found himself stranded,

  Amongst a towering wilderness.

  He pasued, for a moment,

  Turned around to look back.

  His footsteps had perished, so did

  The dusty trail he thought he had etched.

  The trees had a charm about them,

  but, were unfamiliar.

  Much like the winter’s night, that lurked.

  Home, remained several sunsets away..

  Nostalgia

  Nostalgia has a fragrance to it.

  If you were to hold it close enough,

  it will smell of warm twilights, or,

  snow drenched winter nights, or,

  soothing summer rains.