seasons...

Showing the withered flower that day,

she told me

'You should write a poem about it'.

I just nodded.

There were then more springs

and many more autumns

that passed in this meanwhile.

Suddenly by remembering her suggestion,

she queried

'I asked you to write a poem

on that withered flower?'.

I just smiled

'Where is the poem?',

she was serious.

I looked out through the monsoon window.

There were more flowers and many more poems.

'Oh my dear!

They both,

the flower and the poem

are quite drenched at this point.

Shall we get a bigger umbrella

and start picking one by one?'.

She looked at me

with her piercing eyes

as her eyelids resembled

an even bigger umbrella.

It still rains...

,..

Feathering Away . . .

A forest to get lost

A sky to wander around

A river to get drenched and revive.

The feathers

that are spread in between

your smile and your silence

are innumerable.

And by gathering them,

I now try to make

a pair of wings

a boat

and a compass.

,..

what now ...

We held our hands
in an unknown moment
and decided to be a pair
of all weathers.

That day we were walking around
the mountain
which everyone ignored
as unscalable. 
But, soon
we found ourself
on the peak of the same.

Looking down from there,
I asked her,
'Are we going to jump?'.

Holding my hands with warmth
and looking at the sky,
she said,
'No, we are going to fly...'

,..

a prologue . . .

Amidst all the gasping gaps

and escaping sighs,

we reached the peak

where only one could stay.

I then swayed my white flag

and offered to jump off the peak.

You but had a spacious smile

and accommodated me inside the

milky white sheet,

which made us one.

‘I feel that we should be stopping this game

at any point from now’, you said.

‘mm..?’, I queried.

‘Just that every act of your entering in

throws me off my own self’,

your eyes were wide open then.

,..

let it rain...

when it rains,
it rains till my present gets washed away
and your face starts floating
on the surface of my soul...

,..

reversals...

Our sea of time
still flows towards the mountain top,
where we once got drenched in the spring rain.

Life has but moved us to the autumn valleys.

We can still talk about
being you
and
being me
and let people to name it
'The Sermon of the Valleys'

,..

play it out

in and out

out and in

the play is endless

just that the stage is empty

all the time

,..

the 'im'pact...

We refused to sleep
as we knew well that
we would be waken up to a different story.
And when we did sleep
no one could wake us up
as the stories of our dreams
were endless…

it is...

it is chaos

but organised

and beautiful too

just that we had to sit under that

broad sky

with our own darkness and brightness

...

... and that was a wet evening,
no drenched bird can rest in its nest,
it's better to fly around
as the sky would be a little warm ...

...

Even a single stone,
if thrown at me,
can make thousand ripples.
I was just a pond,
standing still...

But it's not that easy
to wait relentlessly,
just for a single stone.

I don't want to be flawless
and I either can't be 'flow'less...

Last boat cant reach the sea...

It is hard for me to believe in next births.
And what is left is the present one,
most probably the only one.
That too now flows as a river
in between us,
having you ensured your belonging
to its opposite bank.
You thus leave me in this desperate state
of searching any last boat to reach you.
If at all I fail, then -
is there any hope to meet at the sea?

... trace the wind

I was a fisherman in that sea,
having a brilliant net.
The net could catch only fish,
not even the water.
And there roamed my wind,
with a gentle smile,
asking me to trace it if possible.

... parallels

little more thoughts...

you can very well forget the past... you need not even try... time will do that...

but friendship is not of revival, it is just a matter of extending yourself to the other and there is no time in between two conversations as the nature of this relationship keeps you always with the other... we run kilometers as parallel tracks in a railway, one track need not and should not worry that it could not meet the other for a long distance, many times the life runs in between them because they are not meeting, when both the tracks meet the life takes a change in the route, but still the the tracks go apart and again start running parallelly, not together...

the point here is that the fear of not being in touch with the other is unnecessary once both the sides realise that they have been parallel and let life flows in between... only this basic realisation brings in friendship, who ever fails to understand this may not be our friends and we need not worry or fear for their reactions...

:-)

is it so?

If life is not so long,

I would have born even shorter...

...

There's no turning back
for the one
who also can't
look forward...

...

For any one
who missed the breeze,
the windows need not be
O P E N

...

When the wind never flows
the sky is literally

E M P T Y

... little devil and magic box

The little devil has opened my magic box.
There are now one thousand flowers,
where I did keep my deadly sword...

... the wind is back

The time passed through a motionless summer.
Finally, the monsoon brought back the wind to my sky.
There starts an endless chatting of the leaves
and a timeless rain,
which would now restore my rivers.
Of course, the sea is still beyond the reach...