God and Me -------------------- I often see "HIM" residing alone in the biggest sculpture across the downside of our lane, pristine white, lofty Dome with an enormous Splendour. Stray Souls, meek maiden, ambiguous hearts, grievous faults, soaring ambitions, wanderlust blood were HIS only visitors searching for succour in the darkness.
From far his world seems to be beyond my wonder, a refreshing tint to the mundane life, the utopia of bewitchment in the desert of daily sufferings. ... and mine, a hackneyed reality immersed in capitulating feeling of helplessness.
But still, I wonder why, both of us are alone today as if riding an eternal flow of Life poised on a double-edged sword, toppling and sliding in persistent concern of unvalued
Our smile, an exquisite fine veneer masking the reality and the glossy facade a perfect contrast to the otherwise blurred Darkness residing inside.
But sometimes I pity "YOU" for in moments of tear and self loathe when clouds of obscure insignificance drown my spirit in dejection, there is the slightest chance, I may visit you to garner support but GOD, in despair who would you turn to?
You bloom like a flower each day,incessantly in the empty canvas of my mind as the brushes of nostalgia Taint you with strokes of black and white. But, I have stopped using colours these days;
Warm summer winds as they strike the canvas smell rusty ,little smoky too like it did that fateful day , as my eyes flash Your ghostly grin gasping and struggling for the last ounce of breath ;
I feel too much these days suffocation and abandonment puncture my lungs and hope is somewhere engraved in the arid landscapes of torment and wails. I cannot use crimson any longer as the haunting memories of red still spill your blood Against the pristine white wall and each day I die along with you ;
Yet, You haven't changed...
You Bloom like a flower Each day, even without rain And I cannot help But cherish your parched soul Collecting them as a Souvenir. ꧁ℴ_꧂
anxiety's a silent drop of water penetrating the stillness of my calm mind, severing the surface with wildness and diving into it, to add up to the volume of chaos that rests dormant inside it. it charges at me like a fanatic, sending across a range of tiny ripples that die even before reaching the shore but it's enough to rattle my mental state.
and pain is like a hot spice that has lost all of its hotness, so it sits steady on the edges of my tongue waiting patiently for the crisis to arrive but it ends up not stinging me as much as it was meant to. It simply dissolves in with my inability to stir an emotion in the hot pot of the feelings i overcooked for myself.
numbness is its byproduct, a strange feeling or rather the absence of it, and it has stuck to my skin for way too long now. it all began with the collapse of a stack of intangible thoughts, starting from the least of dangerous ones to the ones that are unfavourably violent. but eventually it shaped my thought train, sushing the frightened child in me that has recently been orphaned. and as any other orphanage, it took care of me when no one bothered to.
A million Deaths I embrace and Trillion births I seize Just to live as poetry in your eyes. You wink And I burn in the ecstasy of your blue.
Ask the virgin pages of my diary or that stone-hearted pen How elegant it is to simmer stealthily, slowly, shyly, being a muse in the arms of a lonesome night.
Enquire the subtle dawn How glorious it feels to rip open its bosom and carve its ribs to fit in a mould Only to inspire this poet a few naked words resilient enough for his muse,
Ask the last fading hues of Autumn Puffing on the lull betwixt last few seconds How harmonious it is To wait in the meadows of time and hope for winter to fill it's void With snowflakes of pristine existence
Why not ask Mukesh and that empty glass of my wine Far apart, yet each sip create ripples of joy Enough to fuel muse with embers of Sweet first love.
More reasons? Why not Love a poet and see yourself how it feels to rest underneath The tombstone of withering flowers Yet live each day, each moment Being immortal as cosmos of his muse!