You're anything but quite.
Leading a rampage in my head,
You're an unwavering agitation.
A den of unwanted questions,
Also an abode of utopian answers.
You're, the loudest conversation there is.
Tearing, tying, twisting,
And playing with what's left of me.
You're, my emotions' claustrophobia.
Why are you called silence?
When you're anything but quiet.
You smothering noisy predator.
Climbing up the
Stairway of fantasy,
I was fast asleep.
The daylight hit so hard
That I'd to wake up. Again.
In the same Nightmare.
Now, there's nothing more,
Than my cold bones and
Rags of skin covering it up.
A few questions for which,
I don't have any answers.
A gloom around and
A screen staring at me like
I'm her subject.
Which I'm.
I'm a trumpet,
without a voice.
Sitting here,
My wings dead,
Voice shrunk,
Thoughts at siege,
And heart ablaze.
Baked by the sun,
Damned by prejudices.
Containing my simmering ire,
Here I sit cold and calm.
With the stagnant
Tides of time,
I'm walking alone,
To find an end.
I'm a trumpet
Without a voice,
What's spoken in noise.
She's the pompous
Thunderstorm,
Hauling high
In the sky.
I'm just a meek
Rustle of a leaf,
Lying by
A creek.
How should I conjure
Her mighty attention?
I'm just a muggle,
Knowing no incantations.
I can only beseech
For a sign from her.
Maybe; a glance.
A smile. That can
Ward off this
Dreary longing and
Spread a steady
Gleam on my face.
I've seen you, lying dead.
On the grave of your thoughts.
Facing your insecurities,
Torn out. Dumb and dry.
Admiring your own reflection,
Beaming narcissistically,
I've seen you bloat. Full of life.
In all pomp. Jovial and high.
On any other day,
I've seen you, changing masks.
Distraught over other's opinion,
Too concerned. Pale and shy.
From your apologetic cry,
To a regretful sigh.
From your simmering ire to
A guilt stricken wry. I've seen it all.
I've observed you long enough.
I've studied your shades like forever.
I've known you, better than yourself.
And my friend your secrets are safe.
You're the vector for
My lonely nights.
The breeder of my
Empty thoughts.
You're a tight slap,
When I'm fast asleep.
A choking silence,
When wide awake.
On a hopefully,
Colorful evening;
You're the cloudy intrusion,
That ruined the elegance.
Upon your cue,
On the way down.
My words quiver
To fall into right places.
I'm just the means.
You're the poetry.
These broken lines are,
Just the Interpretations,
And the misinterpretations,
Of the unfathomable
Mystery you're.
The the day is warm,
My feelings are ripe.
I'm high on her,
I know she's my type.
A reader's ocean.
A writer's mountain.
She's the reds
With bluish hues.
A tickle that has left in me;
A rainbow due.
It's a special evening and you decide to have biryani for dinner.
You eat it with all excitement and devour it's taste with the best company in the world.
But wait,
Somewhere while you were relishing it, a piece of meat is stuck in your tooth.
It didn't bother you much until you finished your food.
After the dinner, the game starts.
Your tongue on one side, the piece of meat in your decayed tooth on the other. You reach it, you feel it. You rub your tongue against it, it moves, slides a bit but too adamant to come out. You talk, you smile, you walk and laugh with others but yet you're busy in the same game.
Even after an hour, it's stuck. You reach home, sit at study table. You open a book, read, write and do all stuff. Still, the game in the mouth is still on.
Now you're in bed. The game is still on and you can't give up since it's not letting you sleep. Now you even feel mild bruises on your tongue, yet you're on it.
And finally after 3 hours of struggle. There it is, from the corner of the cracked tooth, ready to give up.
And right at one moment, it's out.
Peace!!
Sid, the six year old jovial kid was feeling awfully bereaved that summer morning. It had been two days since he hadn’t been able to find his tyre wheel. He had already searched in all possible places he would have kept it. Usually he kept it behind the front door of his house or sometimes in the barn hidden beneath the paddy hay. If he was late and he had sneak into the house without notice of his father. It wasn't the first time it had disappeared. Sometimes his father would hide it to teach the audacious kid some manners but Sid would find it in no time.
Wearing same knotted face as before, he was ransacking the house. Today morning his mother got enraged about the mess he was creating. She caught hold of him, clutching his neck, she bent him. Fisting her left hand, she blew a hard thump on his back. Weeping his stomach out, yelling at his mother he ran away without having any food. The disappearance of his tyre wheel was the real reason for the wailing cry otherwise, getting reprimanded by the elderly in home was a usual thing for him.
The tyre wheel of the bike Hero Honda CD-100 had become his indispensable companion since two months. He had brought it from his uncle’s home. Watching other kids in the streets running around with their tyres, rolling them with a stick, he had always fantasized about having one for himself. The last time he was in his uncle’s home he couldn’t contain himself after finding the tyre wheel in the backyard. His biggest dream of the times had come true and all he did was run around the street with his excitement all day long. The next day, to convince his averse mother to carry the tyre wheel his home, what all he didn’t do? From not eating breakfast to rolling all over the backyard with a noisy cry, his adamant sullen face, which usually gets things done had played its role. By evening he was with his valuable possession in the bus to his home.
The tyre wheel of a motor cycle was point of his pomp among all the bicycle tyre wheels his friends had. This was fast, robust and a thing other kids looked up to. Every evening after school, his pack of six to seven friends went running around. The hunger, the heat or whatever other adult reason we find and blame would not worry them. They went racing along the stretch of fields eating whatever they found in the trees. For that reason, summer was the time they always looked forward to. The holidays and fruit laden trees was unlimited freedom. The mango, sapota, guava and cashew trees were rampant in the region. If not along the road, sneaking into someone’s farm was a routine summer thing. Of course the farm owners did confront them seriously if caught but freedom is not free, isn't it?
That summer was already set. The holidays were declared. Myriads of exciting things that were in the kid’s mind were yet to be unraveled and the tyre wheel was now missing. After leaving home in tears, the kid, though joined his pack but the day wasn’t the same. He was a shriveled soul looking at his other friends running around competing each other as he ran along them without his chariot. He felt like an outcast.
He wondered if his father has thrown it away or hidden it somewhere. Also he thought about the possibility of its theft, but who would do that? Suspended in his own thoughts he moved mechanically with his friends. The little gang found a temporary refuge near the outskirts of the village where there were good number of fruit trees. Sun was overhead and no one had any lunch plans. Some climbed the small trees, some enjoyed the fruits fallen on the ground. Sid too enjoyed the cashews and the guava, but he didn't climb any trees; he was not in the mood.
He didn't wanted to go home as he was angry with his mother. But he had to before his father returned home. With hesitation, surreptitiously he sneaked into the barn. Tip toeing through the backdoor he reached the kitchen. His worried mother was relieved at the sight of him. She was still angry but she could understand his pain of having lost his tyre wheel. She didn't wanted to upset him further. So she just chose to offer him some tea and go outside.
She had kept the tyre there. In the noon the neighboring woman had returned it saying her kid had stolen it. These kind of conflicts between both the kids was common but this time it was a step further. While he sipped his tea mechanically, his mother called him in a cheering tone. Seeing the tyre wheel in her had, he summoned all his strength and jumped all at once to grab it. He was happy. His dull face was filled with radiance now. All he wanted was to pass the night and the sun to rise to unravel the day ahead. His summer was back.
Without any;
Twist and turn.
Devoid of any;
Warmth or cold.
My days roll by aimlessly.
Like a refugee
From the past.
To seek an asylum
In the future.
I'm in exile presently.
While time dictates
My expatriation.
I've nowhere to belong.
For a promising sail,
For a better,
safe ship,
My paper boat was killed.
Now I'm sitting here,
Wondering about,
The otherwise horizons,
I was destined.
A little me,
Is still hooked to her.
Swings whenever it rains.
Yeah!!
She's a strong hinge.
Out there,
Still lingering on the,
Tip of my pen.
A poem I couldn't complete,
A song I couldn't sing.
A forever feel, I couldn't let go.
