Mosaic: A Collection Of Poems 2x2048

MOSAIC

A collection of poems

Vikash Singh

Copyright © 2016 by Vikash Singh.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4828-7539-3 eBook 978-1-4828-7538-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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CONTENTS

Hope

1 The Homecoming

2 One Last Round

3 May I Buy

4 A Blind Heart

5 Eureka

6 To Be Continued…

7 The God Within!

8 Am I Alive?

9 This Moment

Life

10 The Poem of Boredom

11 Dreampoise

12 Seashells

13 Anonymous

14 Laidback

15 Sounds of Destination

16 Life…One Day!

17 Who I Am?

18 The Square Root!

19 Suddenly!

20 age of Life!

21 An Apology Never Given!

22 Epiphany

Love

23 That Blue Canvas

24 This Feeling!

25 All for the sake

26 O Scared Child!

27 Have I told!

28 Let’s Love…Shall We?

Inspiration

29 Thy Paper Boat

30 Dream Souls!

31 The Walking Stick

32 Humbled

Dark

33 Repetition

34 I am fine!

35 Dark Hope

36 Mystique

37 O’ dear Rapist!

38 Am I Audible?

dedicated to all those who ignite the emotions in me, and to the sequestered person in all of us,

the poet.

Hope

1 The Homecoming

When certain days are heavier than the blood in your vein. And nothing ever cuts in, nothing soothes the pain.

You, the wanderlust, lost in time and space. Feel surrendered, like you missed the race.

When moods soar like clouds in high skies. A temporary change or a longer one, I see it in those eyes.

When the mind ceases to listen, absconding from rationality. The life that does matter, above the frugality.

If there was a key I could press, my irrational mind, to abort. With a bigger cake in my hands, seems I’m cutting myself a piece too short.

Surrounded by addictions and the easily addicted. Moments of joy, getting easily neglected.

Oh, how I wished I could be more. The one who could care, and on a love he swore.

At times back and forth like the ticking of a clock. There, this bond, endless and timeless in a lock.

Most people with questions will remain confused. The times here are marvel, to be cherished and to be used.

Often I wonder why, the ifs and buts of life. As the moonlight leaks amongst the clouds to reach down there.

And drops fill the chalice, one overflown. I take sip after sip, the scent of water was known.

My eyes are closed, as hitherto I roam. The heart is wide open, for I am with them, I am Home!

2 One Last Round

Have you drowned yet, In the deep shallow sea?

Or clinging to the last piece of wood, that from a distance you could see?

Have you fallen from the crest, to the deep abyss, hanging on to thin air?

Of serums of hope and shots of beliefs, what you realized, may someday be fair?

Who is your next enemy, What is your fight?

You might just say it, You may not be right.

Another round goes by, you fumble with your feet.

The punches hit ghosts and not one target you hit.

But then you realize, and dodge and sway.

Things haven’t changed, while your mind was away.

You still float like a butterfly, and sting like a bee. Life is a coned wrath, trying to bring you down on your knee.

But one last round remains, for all of them to see.

You come back from the helm,

with hope, belief and glee.

The bell doesn’t close, because you’re not bending.

One last round, It’s not ending!

3 May I Buy

May I buy? Few wings to fly, a new life to try, a moment to cry?

May I buy? A time to kill, an empty space to fill, an unyielding will?

May I buy? The past that’s gone, the memories so torn, a hope that’s born?

May I buy? Few Wings to fly, Since I can try,

and try and try,

4 A Blind Heart

Cold-hearted I will be. I am. But silver tongued I am never. What is visible is what you get. I bear the burden of destroyed ambitions. Of destroyed hope, I never.

Stone-hearted I may be. But with a silver heart that heals. Speaking of what it feels. However deep the bruises may be, It’s my conscience that bleeds.

Dark-hearted I may be. But with a hollow soul. The silence is my prayer. And solitude my God. For I am still hopeful. And hope is all that I’ve got.

5 Eureka

With fist full of sand, I walk beyond the unknown. All that remains is the dripping blood, Dripping like grains of sand, …a grain at a time. My mind is inebriated to seek for…. …life full of lame excuses…

Living in an imaginary world… I Look back….I see nothing…. …..my shadow has deserted me. …I ask myself what’ve I earned?

The answer lies somewhere there. Deep inside myself. …but who cares for the same?

Again thy ego speaks.

…not this time… It’s been long since I met myself. It’s been long since I dared to open my eyes… To look at myself eye to eye…..

I see those fears that haunt me. I was never born with those…I gasp.

I walking in the rain. …body and soul drenched.

…not this time….

My soul crawls out of its hiding place. I ask, “How much more to walk?” It says, “You don’t need to.”

For it’s you to realize… You are your own destination.

6 To Be Continued…

I wonder. What it may be. A realism or my fantasy.

I think. With some hiccups. I write. With a short sigh.

Time. It is ing by. Space, seems little for hopes to die.

I try to make words rhyme. In form of voices, in form of mime. Reality, is a package Wrapped in ribbons of randomness.

To think is an act of instinct. To write, you must profess.

The lines may not click, I know.

But they always look better when I show.

So is it another poem, one asks? May be. For my thoughts wander and may not last.

For I make another try. To make a composed sense of it.

To make words rhyme with life. To reveal what is odd and what is fit.

Familiarity may not be awarded. The scape will keep me misguided.

These thoughts ridicule me, alas. Snatched and penned down at last. The words, they will come again. Through guided explanations, or a random chain.

Those with a heart will make their way through. Left will be the scribbling, more to brew.

The poet is live. The lines still true. This poem is born, to continue and continue…

7 The God Within!

And you are the seed. Sown into the society. Flown in from the wilderness. Airborne, drifting, settled into the mainland.

The mankind knows, it’s reasons to nurture. For they have known, it’s in their culture. The time to sow, for hard is the soil, To reap they must, by sweat they toil.

It seems so dark when you are the seed, Buried, soaked and bleached. You lie with the maker, to rise from the dust Tear apart the layers, to rise you must.

The prayers, the hopes, and all the things that matter. Entrust you with, bestowed upon you to flatter. For the mandate is clear and sound.

The direction is single and bound.

The seed has to grow out. Rise and scale from the sprout. It will be soon when mankind will see. It’s not the hope, nor prayers to be. It’s the will to rise from the dust, The God is within, the Power that Must.

8 Am I Alive?

Am I alive? In the grains of time… Or in the moments of reality?

Am I a writer? Or just a one-time poet? Or a story-teller? Oblivious, perhaps, of his own story. Or maybe just a mute spectator, watching a movie play by.

A movie of a different language. The one he doesn’t comprehend.

Am I a lover? The one who fails to express. To accept, to hold and to laugh.

Am I the average Joe? Looking desperately for that big break.

The one that life hasn’t offered him yet. Ubiquitously Silent…devoid of talent. Or Am I just a myth. And None of These.

The question is not whether I am alive. The question is, if I am living? And the answer is, in the making.

9 This Moment

This moment, like driftwood. Battling the currents. Castaway to a frozen land. Discarded and forgotten.

This moment, like a leaf. At the tip of that wood. Battering the wind. Deserted along, dry and lifeless.

This moment, like a sunshine, shining on that leaf. Gives a hope of life, warm and lively.

This moment, like a rain. Drizzling upon that sunshine.

Like a purpose to fulfill. Wet and wild.

This moment, like a bird. Chirping in that rain. Soaring in the air, innocent and serene.

This moment, like a mountain. Standing in way of that bird. Tall like a mammoth, rigid and fearless.

This moment, like a sea. Beyond the horizon. Ebbing and flowing, deep and bottomless.

This moment, like a sky. Casting shadow on that sea. Spreads like vacuum,

limitless and void.

The moment, like I have now. Ineffable and emotionless. Of the sins and the virtues. The man and the moment, will remain ebbed. This moment. My moment.

Life

10 The Poem of Boredom

The street was silent. The evening so warm. I stood in the taxi line, waiving my arm.

Strangers we met, of whom I wasn’t aware. Yet it felt so familiar, thought we’d something to share!

Across that street, on that stretched boulevard. I looked for myself, For I stood my own guard.

There it happened. So should I say. My heart said otherwise.

And the mind didn’t stay!

The silence was gone. And the cacophony restored. I was back in this world. And everything was the same, For I was again bored.

11 Dreampoise

An Elastic Dream. Stretches to horizon. I watch over the bend. Where every dimension is morphed.

A Dripping dream. Drops by my side. One drop at a time. I extend my palm. Where the grains of time are soaked.

A Dangling Dream. Dangles by the twigs of life. I try to snatch it. Where the last leaf of hope hangs.

A Puzzling Dream. The altered Pieces.

I try and fill in the space. Where the final Piece Unfolds. A Fearless Dream. The wolves are howling. I lay down my Nightmares. Where the River of courage flows.

A Distant Dream. The Displaced Memories. I pick up the lost ones. Where they lie untouched.

A Dream…an illusion we create. A Dream…a world we innovate.

A Life…We dream! A dream…We live!

12 Seashells

I would tear apart this constricting veil That chokes my mind and holds me to this soil: I would try, and try again, and gladly fail, And consider it worthy of my toil

If only I could see in me some change, If only I could find that other me: If only I could venture past the strange That is my normal, and set me free.

There, if I could but find it, is myself, There, in that deep darkness, who I want to be: There, silent, secret, is the hidden wealth That is my spirit and my destiny.

Be not surprised if one day I break my shell: I wish to see the heaven in this hell.

13 Anonymous

My sky & my earth – Anonymous My birth & my death – Anonymous

The picture like a slideshow. My life flashes before me. My vision – Anonymous

I keep walking. My destination – Anonymous I want to make it.

And I pray to HIM. Someday He’ll respond. Lest my God is – Anonymous.

14 Laidback

Struggling all my life. Forever searching for something right. Trouble is found without a fight. Pain fetters to rekindle my sight.

But that’s all right. I’m not afraid to fight.

I wish to soar like a kite. Up where dreams are made.

I hide behind the darkness now. Too laidback to follow the light.

Life takes strange turns, follows random paths. Sometimes pushing me to the depths, Sometimes pushing me to heights.

But that’s all right. I’m not afraid to fight. I just don’t want to.

15 Sounds of Destination

I am on a journey. A journey in the woods.

My soul makes a noise. My conscience rattles the leaves of life.

I hold back my breath. To suppress the noise.

They call it sounds of destiny. Yet it sounds to me as my soul’s mutiny.

Which wriggles to be free, to fly away. Pleading the angels to take it away.

Resounding the thumps, I bury it deep. It’s the death of an angel.

I am half dead.

But my journey is far from over. As my body seeks cover. Somehow it seems already there… its Destination… Is it my Destination? …our Destination? Sounds remain as questions.

16 Life…One Day!

Here comes another day. He keeps searching for pleasures that he can’t find.

Fertilizing his veins with the wicked serum. He has realized he can’t stand what he has become.

He needs to get more of his false hope. Or he becomes the pale walking death. He holds on to the chalice, to sip on life. The one with a hole. Racing against time. It’s all that he lives for.

17 Who I Am?

Can anyone tell me who I am? ….for this day I still don’t know… …on an everlasting search… …for my inner self…

I guess only time can show… who I really am I don’t have a clue.

I don’t even know why I’m here… I know it’s up to me to find my reason.

But the answer is so unclear… Time is ticking & running away out.

I really don’t have that long… But why should I assume who I am..??? …what if I’m totally wrong.

When I know me I want to be right… …and recognize my own fate… I want to be happy in everyday life… …I want to be aware of myself.

For things that fascinate me in my dreams. …elusive elements of virtual realm. …I know where to find them and who will get it. I know where to find him, the exact place. Because who I am… I can’t replace.

18 The Square Root!

The Square Root When he took the shelter In a diabolical state of mind There was an empty folder Which he couldn’t then find.

Why these numbers, they escape Of their radical prepositions and utilities, For they will be used, again and again. The numbers, calculated, deciphered in vain.

The digit, he calls himself. a number, nevertheless. Wants to transform, be transformed. Takes shelter, no more homeless.

He doesn’t escape, doesn’t complain. For this world is analog.

So is the nature, digital. His life, frugal.

The stairs he saw, were a number. The life, concentric circles, descending. Ascending at times.

Because the World counts. in bits and pieces. The individuality, the digit yearns for it.

The shelter stands perfect. Transformation, rooted. Transcending the imaginary to real. The Square Root. The Digit. Transformed.

19 Suddenly!

Suddenly. Precursor to unannounced events.

A ing cloud. Drifting mist. A Random Day.

Perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. That a split second can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes.

And that when they do, those few seconds, Like the salvaged remains of a burned house.

The charred clock, the signed photograph, the scorched furniture, Must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. ed for.

Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstituted. Imbued with new meaning.

Suddenly they become the bleached bones of a story. Suddenly!

20 age of Life!

Trees by, one after the other As if the nature singing a lullaby, as that by your mother. Journey with twists and turns, and milestone stages from cradle to gravestone;

For moments a saga of conflicts, For many a musical odyssey sojourned, with smiles and tears strung together in a parody of melodious moments;

Over the celestial expanse of love, Painting, dancing silhouettes, showering molten gold, licking dewdrops, rejuvenating flower buds and sunflowers;

Like a flowing gentle river, emerging from a glacier’s frozen lips. as a waterfall flowing down on bosom of plains, merging in vastness of the sea to lose itself..

Here I stand, wondering. While the scenery flashes by, Moments of life, as if played on a loop

Will I walk against or with? The steps, my monolith. I blow into my fife, Strolling my way in the age of life!

21 An Apology Never Given!

You may find this poem blank, random, shallow, or even superficial. But for a stirred soul in a lost moment. It’s the vestal feeling that was initial.

Writing after a long time. And words simply just don’t pair. I realize I write better to express now. in love, sadness or despair.

Words I say don’t always come out right and they may always seem to start some fight I know what I say, makes you feel stirred. Of the actions and reactions, my thinking may be blurred.

I am sorry that you had to bear, Of, what may be my insecurities and hidden fear. I wish to apologize and salvage this for the time

But apologies are not enough and in a poem they don’t even rhyme.

Apologies are weak, frail. Silent, yet crying out loud. Apologies are weak, and they don’t make us proud.

The voices still remain, unheard. but they all mean the same. My thought process at times, my abnormalities. They all, now, look so lame.

I am liked as I am, I know. For you have heard me full, This co-dependent that I may be, Will he still retain the pull?

It only fairs a moment, with you what is eternity I wish to connect back with the same intensity.

Apologies may be silent, Apologies may be weak. But that’s all I surrender For I don’t know how to end this poem And I continue to wonder.

I lay my mind to sleep, for my unfinished lines are awake These will find a way to you And I know for some reason, their rightful meaning you will take.

22 Epiphany

Let me sleep. Comatose. On a heavy epiphany dose.

Let me sleep. For I need to wake up, someday, to some reason so deep.

Dreams fail to induce. Immortal, invisible, to deduce.

They come by, leave without a notice. My head upside down. World.

You look upside. You turn. The world seems bright. The word seems right.

Followed meanings, lost translations. I smile. Comtaose. A single epiphany, like a prose.

Let me sleep. For I need to wake up, tomorrow, to a reason so deep.

Love

23 That Blue Canvas

Blue is a surreal color. Color of vision. Color of someone’s eyes.

Blue is the color of sync, an element of trust. The color that is, should be painted, a must.

Blue is a vision of a beautiful thing. Of things I’d have never felt. The canvas I picked, the color, it melt.

Of painting a canvas, the color was real. I painted a rainbow, such was the feel.

The sky looks blue, aye we know all. But does it bleed blue, when it makes a fall?

Then it occurred, a vision unfolds, in a flurry. I kept on blinking, for my vision was blurry.

I looked for my colors, the only one I saw. There was nothing but blue, shining and raw.

In the canvas, a few inches away. Saw a little bird which just flew away. I painted a tree, for she would stay. The leaves were but plenty, for us to play. I moved my brush, so I could greet. Knew forever, the chance was here to meet. The hands didn’t move, for the painter was in a trance. For she chose my branch, and that wasn’t just by chance.

Blue was the color, that bird which came. For he never even knew if she had a name. The bird that was painted, she was just blue. And the painter stood there, for moments that were long due.

He painted another bird and the canvas came alive. The two sat together, on a branch to connive. The beaks held together, the feathers, them peek. What suddenly happened, the answer could not seek.

The canvas painted itself, for the painter was gone. The two birds together, their canvas all alone. Blue was the color, always in their grasp. Blue was the color that made them gasp. They sat there closely, looking into each other’s eyes. The canvas was short for them, and so were the skies. The painter was now the bird, for he wanted to become. The color was now the bird, for which the painter had come.

Their canvas, their sky, of what you’d just seen. Their own little world where they always have been. The birds as they whispered, so gentle and kind. The painting came alive, as it was in their mind.

What is it that binds the two? Now you may ask. For the world may never get it, they were two birds without a mask.

And will they sail together over and above this canvas, did you ask? Thy canvas will spread, for thee have taken to this task. The color is now real, for the imagination has come true.

The color that was always real, the color that was blue.

24 This Feeling!

This is the time to ponder, what goes through your mind. This feeling you call love, this feeling you call fantasy.

What is it sometimes I wonder? And why is it that souls surrender? …before this feeling you call love.

Is love just a figment of bored imagination. A sad heart’s longing for some sort of meaning in life? Or a lie placed in the heart of hopeless to make them feel less alone?

But still it thrives, bounds and scowls. Beating like a million heartbeats…

I can feel it though it goes beyond my sensation. But this one seems different.

As you feel garroted. ….by this silly feeling you call love. They say their life has changed, for your life will never be the same. Once you fall for it, you keep falling. …..like an endless tunnel.

….is this the feeling one thrives for? I’ve better adventures to root for… …this adventure you call love…

I lay stone faced, my blood ice cold. They presume me dead. Lest they see. I can breathe in water, my head buried deep.

I don’t aspire to be alone. …but I long to be free. Don’t tie me down, by this feeling… I rule my feelings. This feeling you call love, this feeling you call Fantasy.

25 All for the sake

Choices taken. Confidence lost.

My pride forsaken. “As I say, you will do,” You say, “Because I love you.”

The charge is issued. To decide for myself no longer mine. I do wonder, “Have I lost my mind?” It’s all for love’s sake.

A finger they must shake. They say, “There is no power for you to take.” Love suffocates me, like a pillow that one would place

Over my face.

“I love you” flows from your lips, like water over the falls. It is too easy to say. You just want control. All for love’s sake. But my destiny has replaced you as my master. ….try some other life. All for love’s sake.

26 O Scared Child!

O scared Child. The one with the unsuspecting eyes. Sitting on the pavement, lost.

I ask, why scared my child? He replies, Am I? For I not know my world yet. Should I be?

Did I play sublevel, or did I wander beyond the allowed? For I not know the boundaries yet. Scared of my own shadow, a smaller one it has become. O’ dear friend, will you help me overcome?

“Do you need a mirror, my child?” I ask. For you shall not know yourself. “Who knows then?” the Child asks. Maybe not even God, for he is too oblivious to my existence.

Playing hide and seek with my life’s abundance.

Another question. Perplexing, inward bound. “I may not have the answers. I have made peace with the questions.” He murmurs. Afraid of the answers as is. It may well be the genesis.

Confusion and doubt, We’re not without. My lifeless body lays at your feet Inside feels bruised and scarred; unable to beat And it will remain this way, you see Until the day when you learn to love me.

27 Have I told!

Have I told you yet? About the moments of melancholy. The surge of emotions. And the yearning I get.

Have I told you yet? When I write for you, In the days and night, My lips are parched and my eyes so wet.

Have I told you yet? When living is cold, and seems so lost. I root my heart and find. That I need you for the life that’s unmet.

Have I told you yet? The moments I missed spending, The time lost in finding,

is the only thing I regret. Have I told you yet?

The vagabond when he returns, To his perfect refuge in your arms, He doesn’t feel lost, he doesn’t fret, For he is home, one he can never forget.

Have I told you yet? Of your scent, the touch and the gaze The familiarity I could see A surge of emotions That sweet ecstasy.

And did I ever tell you That contentment is all I see. Why all the rapture, joy, delight? It’s simply because you love me.

How could I tell you now. Assurances are no longer needed.

And commitment not to be shown. The chalice we hold for life. We drink together now on our own.

And I am not going to tell you. How much I love you, if I may? Each ing moment, every day. For this is not another love poem. But something I truly wanted to say.

But then I realize, and float. Sipping eternity in your presence. To be loved and truly cared. No emotions are spared.

You dance with my angels. You silence my demons. With a ion so blind. And if you could hold a little longer, my dear, no doubt will ever cross our mind.

And lest I forget That what all I haven’t said, yet. Let me hold this feeling I protect.

A wonderful heart for me in yours, And an unending love that is set I couldn’t have asked for anything more For I am truly in the divine debt.

28 Let’s Love…Shall We?

Living life in emotional frugality. Bound by the realms of reality.

Fathomed by millions. Obscurity in pursuance.

Will we live to dream or Dream to live?

What is it that we see? Can we separate reality from fantasy?

A perfectly balanced dew drop, perched on a green leaf.

A hidden smile on the child’s face, about to fade in a hunger cry.

Moments lost in quest, of what is defined as love.

The one of the highest order, whose presence gets louder and louder.

A habitual existence wrapped in utmost care? A fellow enger bound in the journey of an eternal wait?

A personification of social acceptance or a chance to see where life floats?

Inspiration

29 Thy Paper Boat

A Blue streak shoots across, and the crystal drops freeze. An Ice layer crackles, there blows an insane breeze.

He comes around, bows, inches and scoffs, for his boat wouldn’t inch. There ground lay frozen, and if only it would flinch.

His tiny fingers run around, the precision they should hold.

With their single tiny movements. The selfless hope they behold.

And then the Arrows strike, of light, and of might.

The earth perspires, the Crystals faze. His boat cuts through the angel white maze.

And then he giggles, as up goes the vapor. Thy boat, his boat. Was nothing but made of paper.

30 Dream Souls!

When I close my eyes. What is it that I see? …something which sets my mind free.. …free from shackles… …the endless struggle… …that enchanting sound I hear… …comes from somewhere…

I long to be at that place if I may dare… …I may terminate on the way…less I care… ….my mind is where my heart beats… …I shall head for the part where horizons meet… …lest I die…I shouldn’t care… …whenever I close my eyes…it dares… …it dares to see things which I can’t…

Some say it’s your “dreams personified” …I say it’s my universe conspiring…

…to get me where I belong.

31 The Walking Stick

There lies a different imagination. Not the usual kind you see. In the woods and mountains, of joy and glee.

The first foot of commitment, the breath of fulfillment, Ignoring the tasks that life enforces, of mundane courses.

Why do you walk, people ask? I reply, why do you tread? In hope of a better life? Or just to earn your bread?

Man is not gifted with wings to fly, I ponder. For the sky is not where we are I am a land soldier,

who knows no reason to wander.

I carry my walking stick, for I’ll need it when i am old. For the balance, the do’s and don’ts, The chromatic life it holds.

Onto this life’s vacillating roads, walk with whatever little you can hold. as never again will you find everlasting bliss, look back, and say did I miss?

Ah but Man, it’s not for you to feel, what is imaginary and what is real. for you need to belong to that fraternity, where few last for moments and many for eternity.

And when you wonder where have I gone? That’s when it dawns on you, man is never alone.

For I walk, till the roads surrender. Fender bender. I render.

One step at a time, repeat over and over, For I just lose myself in the wild to discover!

32 Humbled

With stone cold glory it looks me in the eye. The nonchalant pride that we both had in our stride. I walk over its mind it pierces through my soul. Without any prejudice Devoid of any goal. We both walk over each other. One at a time. And as the journey nears to an end Ideas and philosophies been exchanged. I return from the rumble, Me and the mountain, We both, humbled!

Dark

33 Repetition

I smell, I sniff. The fragrance of cosmic happiness. A dust of haziness, in the quicksand of time.

Some things that made me, and things that didn’t. Abstracts which attract me, tangibles that strangulate.

Garroted souls and scathed whispers, a shining armor with a silver casper.

When two halves doesn’t make one, and no one at the horizon. When the waiting is in the eyes, and the sky in my hands.

When music soothes my veins, and times when they burn. My world in black and white, and then the blurred colors.

When the reflection is the opposite of me, imagination shifts. Light years into someplace else. However, repetitions are never the same. ….repetitions will never be the same.

34 I am fine!

A dripping carcass with a whine. A drop of blood which distinctly seems mine. Will the dust hold onto it, or will it shine? Wish somebody would tell me, you’re fine.

Off the hook, the ear drums vibrate. Swaying to the tunes of war songs in dismay. A heartening cry, deep from the woods. In the pines, where the sun never shines. I wonder, I laugh out a cry. My voice fades to sound like mine. Wish somebody would tell me, you’re fine.

Halls of stone, skies of ashes. Before my eyes my whole world crashes. I pretend to be dead, they pretend to be fine. I gobble up my spirit like an old wine. But still I hope, still I want to hear that line.

Wish somebody would tell, you’re fine. An old wizard takes his guard. An oaf like I stand at the boulevard. Zonked and axed, I whisper, I lie. And I know when the magic can die. Then and there I look out for eyes. Searching for messages or ing goodbyes. And there the sound of mission bell chime. Yes I would tell them, I’m fine!!!

35 Dark Hope

Swinging from the twigs of life, figments of imagination drip.

Drop by drop, one after the other. Like cold sweat dripping, from one’s forehead.

Like my words drip and melt into the pages. They scuffle, they resist.

Each imagination wants to control. To control the subconscious mind.

The brightness within, the dark nature. A game play that calls for a momentary winner.

Sometimes I cringe, I fear. The darkness fades. And the webs turn grey.

Everything seems so natural, predefined. Like a mathematical puzzle. Complex yet simple.

I pick a figment, a key, piece of my life. The puzzle starts to unlock. Fragments fitting in. Hope is regained.

A dark hope even may be!

36 Mystique

Broken pieces on the floor. My life shattered.

As I slammed that door. That day, that night. This dream, this life.

My life a puzzle. My existence a game.

The world a board. The puzzle frame.

Slowly pieces fall in place. This puzzle seems to have a face.

So innocent and sweet, yet bitter.

Overcome by defeat.

Like any puzzle it takes time. My poem will be written. And I promise it will rhyme.

37 O’ dear Rapist!

Will you listen to me? O’ dear Rapist. Would you now care to answer my questions? For I am lost in this mist?

Cold and staunch, The wind cuts me into half. Of what is left. The Silence.

The crowd has no face. The God never had one. Who will show to the world, of what you’ve done. Make me a mask, I want to be pretentious. I want to show you care for me. To show you feel. I had to relent, and you had to steal?

The smile on my nude face, the mask now I wear. You see the brave face on outside, my inside breeds only fear. To veil the shame you need to have.

I need to show you how humans behave.

Will you listen to me? O’ dear Rapist. There is something else to ask, In my small infinite list.

Make me a mask, for I was not raped by a man. It’s not any individual, for society alone can. I want to fit in, the mask you wear. I was a lost property, raped by your society.

Will you listen to me? O’ dear Rapist.

Will you show me the way to die? To get away from the shambles of lie? You say I will be safe, you say I will be free. I shall jump off this bridge, only if you can count to One, two and….

38 Am I Audible?

At this hour, at this moment, There’s so much noise inside me.

Sounds of silence. Yes, silence. I am perturbed. The brain’s getting a lot of signals and is still aimless. Numb.

The eyes, they follow a different direction noiselessly. The ears are picking up every conversation in the vicinity. Everyone’s audible, even when nobody’s around.

The tongue re the delicacies. The sense of smell and touch add to the commotion.

The senses are fulfilled. The master not yet. The mind tries to shout out its orders above all this…

In such a time, in such an hour, in such a moment, Why am I so silent? Have I forgotten the art of speech?

To express…to rejuvenate…to rejoice and to re-live my moments? There’s a maelstrom of action within, but calm reigns supreme outside.

Today, we suppress our thoughts and maintain silence. But what about tomorrow when it would be possible to read or hear, What everyone’s thinking? Will we be so silent then, I can just wonder.