Souvenirs

I walked over a heap of bodies
Tucked away.
I felt the blood clots dissolve
As it rained, again.
I turned back,
To count the corpses many-
The fresh fragrance of gun powder
Made me lose count,
And I started all over again.

My eyes strayed to a piece of metal,
Trapped beneath the pile,
A loaded magazine, I cried!
Sneaked it out, and pressed it safe
Into my jacket new.
A prized piece, for my collection.

I walked over a heap of bodies,
Newly piled up.
I swooped in before others,
And found a finger hanging loose,
As though waiting to be taken away.
I acceded,
And walked away
With a piece of someone.

I heard the journalists cry over exclusive rights,
And I heard the cries of anguish too,
But distinguish one from the other,
I could not.
My eyes searched out disaster
And I never had to be disappointed.

As night began to dawn,
I walked back home,
With my prized new possessions-

Waterlogged bombs.
Loaded magazine.
Guns and rifles, empty.
Pieces of flesh, once alive.
Ear shattering cries.
Memories of someone's fear.
Orphaned humanity.
Snippets of bravery.

And as I went to bed,
I searched for my soul,
And found it missing.

I rummaged through my souvenirs anew,
But, in vain.
And, I ran out into the open
Searching for my soul,
Lost.

Cadaver Sale

The vineyard for the elder son.
(Echoed a voice loud and clear,
In heated outburst.)

I remember the times
When we walked hand in hand
Across the stretch of land,
Tending to the grape vines new
Together we plucked the finest fruit,
And today, I find you walk alone
Stealthily gathering the grapes.

The factory for the second born.
(Countered the new voice,
In sheer anger.)

The endless hours of toil and sweat
To start from the scratch. Building
A realm of riches for the dear ones,
A lifetime wasted away.
Today, I find the doorman block my way,
And I find the smile in your eyes,
dancing in cruel naked joy.

The home of eons for the youngest.
(The softest voice of the lot, I did hear,
And then the clutter of banging wood.)

The little nest I loving made,
Had always sprinkled a magic of love
Thriving on which you gained wings.
Today as I walk past the empty house,
I find no traces of the home I built.
The hallways where you learned to walk
Leaves no footprint in your soul.

As I hear the arguments
From across the glass walls
Segregating the special hospital unit,
I close my eyes,
Hoping it'd never open again.

For,
Which father would want to know,
Which son of his argued the best,
To sell his father's corpse,
As a cadaver, nameless?

The arguments just never would cease,
Or would it?

Christmas Never Comes Early.

I found Christmas just around the corner,
Roaming the streets so lonely
In the borrowed rags of a night prowler.

I saw the snow, starched white
Like the flowing aged beard
Of the yards of cotton, endless.

I found the flute of mahogany wood
Dust laden, and sabotaged
Like the vandalized ancient heritage.

And I saw mask of stoic calm on the vacant faces
Of people walking down the bustling streets.
Hiding the turbulence of life, the cast iron mask.

A league above the rest, the pride
Of liquidity at the finest best,
I turned to see reflections of myself
Across the glass display walls
Of the city's pride mall.

In the black of my eyes, I found the eclipse
Of blind lithesome sand.
All over the grandiose Armani attire,
I found holes many.
Exquisite Cleopatra make over all smudged,
I found a banshee in the hiding.
I held my battered Louis Vuitton bag tight,
So tight that my finger nails chipped off
And painlessly bled my vanity.

Repulsed at my reflection stark,
I looked down at me.
No gaping holes, and no smudge
Of poverty, I found.
My manicured nails red, shed no tears
Of fallen pride.
Perfect-o, I spoke aloud, for self redemption.
And yet, I broke away into a run.

And the Christmas walked away, so far away,
Dressed in the ragged robe of grime,
Unnoticed.

There's no greater fear than the uncertainty
Of today,
And the unforeseen destiny of tomorrow.
And in a moment of naked fear, I found no night prowler
Walking down the street, disguised.

It was just the winter mirage...
(Christmas never comes early, I quipped.)


... Or is it just a slice of vanity, Crumbled?
(Echoed from across the realm of the unsaid.)

Westward Winds

There is not a grain of sand
That bears no imprint
Of yesterdays.
For, every dune has dissolved
In the embrace of the gale,
To reshape, and reform
To the fresh knoll,
Of golden hue.

But, why is that you and me
Bear no trace of yesterdays?
And where has the trail of past
Hidden itself?
Repulsing the path that got you and me here,
We build hummocks of today,
Not foreseeing,
That gale, rising from ashes,
Westward.

Leech

I could drink from your soul
And still be thirsty.
I wish to feed to my fill,
From every fluid ounce
Of your being.
And long to thrive, on your ashes,
Dipped in the melt of the mighty bones
Smothered with earthen dust,
And still wet,
From the night rains.

In the lustful desire for the perilous,
I aim at revival.
In the sweet pleasure of revenge
I regain faith. In the dearth of senility
I heckle, endlessly.

And amidst the derisive snigger
I forget to notice,
The leech is at his job-
And amidst all mirth
I bleed,
Profuse.

RED

The satin sheath of love
Seems to be in shreds,
Today.
(Ripped apart,
Or is it a designer creation?)

The polka dotted pattern
Shines bright
On the milky white background
Where imprints of life
Has left its mark-
Stained.

The randomness of each droplet
Creates a whirlpool
Of curiosity.

For,
There is no thin line
That segregates.
And there is no boundary
To life.
(The seam hasn't split, yet,
I know. Still, the needle is ready
To sew together the shreds.)

And then,
Immersed in crystalline thoughts
I shed my polka dotted life,
To colour yours-
RED.

Reflections

Her eyes held a gleaming pearl.
Safe, in the curls of her long lashes,
It remained.
He watched, the coal black embers
Moisten, with the shining fluid pain
He offered,
In token of her affection.
And he feared the weight, forcing
To dribble, across her cheeks
Tracing down a trail,
Of his own doing.

He came down on his knees,
Held her chin up
And smoothed her tendrils
Of gold,
Away from her diamond face.
Gently, ever so gently,
He cupped his palm, so close,
To her eyes-
And lo! Dripped in,
The pearl.

And as she looked up, she found a pearl,
In his eyes too.

Ah! Reflections!

Ah! Love...

The touch of love often comes
As a loving caress.
The cottony flumes ever so delicate,
Fondling the soul,
In silent whispers of desire
To redeem the self,
In the ribs
Of the gleaming two way mirror.

But, at times grave,
There comes a love, tempestuous
In its onset.
Thriving on an obsession stark,
It nurtures the passion heated,
Smothering the soul
To beat the dainty wings,
In exasperation.

Sometimes, the love
Weaves a golden castle
On the lands of Utopian bliss,
Waited upon by the charming spring
Shines the love, in jiving zeal.
And the soul casts itself,
Onto the counterpart
In sheer celebration- ah! amour.

And at some other times,
Love turns a shade of deep scarlet
Running through the veins
The love, unrequited, screams out
In the tone of a banshee wild.
As the toxin seeps in further,
And pukes out into the other,
Asphyxiated, the love dies.

Adorning the shades of you and me,
Love heels a masquerade-
Creating miracles of life, at times
And,
At times, it dances a carnage
Of sheer destruction.

Yet, the eternal fire fumes-
For, each soul yearns
For fruition-
A culmination of odds.

Ah! Love...

Inevitable

The lapse
Felt trivial, then.
Now,
The gaping hole has opened up,
Wide and stark-
Sucking in, a vortex.
The razor-like
Indurations
Have started to hurt
And the pus,
oozes out.

A worm crawls,
Dancing patterns within,
Tickling me to oblivion-
And I know,
Soon, it would begin to hurt
And gnaw in deeper
Under the skin-
I'd ache
And hurt,
Bleed, and
Finally-
Die.

Inevitable.