The Human Flame

To the divine blessings that
Burn the midnight lamp
In an old man’s hut
Holding tight, the hands of his woman

Every coarse scrap of the skin
Dissolving slowly into the
Darkness that waits beyond the night

The oil that rubs into the palms
Drudgery of moving mountains
The flocked perspiration
Borne out of the centuries of,
Long days and short nights

Eyes meeting for the mourning ceremony,
Of the once-celebrated love
That didn’t know to speak
Or whisper in the coldest nights

But these shared smiles are priceless
In a country short of metaphors
Gently dancing to the fierce tones
Tacked to the body as a biological necessity.

The fires that didn’t have the eternity
to burn down the Half buried cravings
Hoping for one sad revival

From the crests of corrosion
The youth, the yesteryears
Which passed too soon
On the floor of a melting life

The Silence is loud,
the grief is consoling
The time ticks and tricks
Frazzled by the clock,
the human flame extinguishes.




Like the southern breeze
You have entered my life
Pinning down the doors of unexpectancy
Lighting the exhausted flames in me

Kissing the broken chunks
Piece by piece
You have put me back together
Like a jigsaw puzzle

Your smile, your laughter
Which is now the sweet melody of my life
Your voice, dances in me
Like some angelic rhythm

Your eyes , the mystical art
Unfathomable , like an abstruse dream
The words that flow out of your lips
Sparkle my mind with magic

How long has it been since I have known you?
Days, months, years, centuries
They do not hold significance
Time is relative in such beautiful forms

I have felt your spirit, your soul
Through the poetry that you speak
Through the transcendental touch
You are the new moon of my life.

When beauty leaves a heart fluttering


In the world of far fetched thoughts
You are an algorithm of togetherness
Of Pain and joy
or Richness and Poverty

You are like a Mandarin expression
With random inflections in you
Flowing tenderly into
tributaries that lead into my heart

You are the gentle warmth of the sun
that slowly settles down into
dimness of mist manufacturing
As the evening breeze brushes our souls.

You are like a deftly sculpted memory,
An ideal refuge
between Heaven and Earth
An image of remembering
How calmly have you made occults sigh

You are a symphony of nature
The perennial joy, woven into time
Your delicacy that is as old as the anatomy of oceans.
Flying through the grand plains and high mountains
Your wings have left the birds envying.

But, I have been guilty of overlooking
your hands, your heart,
Your voice which has been the music of my blooming
You are my new found peace
When I have been besieged, lost and alone
You have been my pride of light, in haziness


I have walked through countless isles
holding the feigned pride on my face
Wondering, how such beauty has been
riveted in your deep sable eyes.

Endowing measureless time
in search for the words
to aptly describe your flair

Scrutinizing every inch of
your petite words
the life warping truths
that shudders me down to nothingness

You, who have clasped me
with this impercetible strand
Oh! how staunchly have you collared me
into the tenebrosity of your charms.

With each passing hour
I have uncovered your wicked slant
out from your sinlessness complexion
These vicious charms, that cut through me

The string you have interwreathed me with
Bloating up now, like an illusion
Your untenable quantum gravity
Conquered with the final crumb of my firmness.

The Biopsy of a Poet

In the depth of the night
Cloaked in silence, Words visit me
There is a strange sense of anticipation
in this hour of darkness.

I am blown away
by the idiosyncrasy of these metaphors
Like the fragrance of the morning mist
I embrace this fresh breeze

The verses within me take forms
Shining out of my words
The poetry in me is alive again
My individuality clefts open

I am the oblivion, I am the blaze
I am weak yet powerful
Under these new clouds of myth shattering
My joy is quick and short

What brilliance is my soul chasing?
A muse to enmesh my words with
Perhaps a cadence to write more
to satiate myself in marathons of poetry.

Like some great love that perishes with time
I listen myself, while I become a writer
I read ballads, written for myself
and not for a dime or a dream.


In this moment of silence, I have paused, and wondered
Like a memory, stripped off it’s odour
I have forgotten, again, 
the scarcely remembered songs
I am a lost cause of the whispering night 

Across vast distances, unconspicous as the morning mist
The candle in me has not much flame
As a living debt fleeing out of reach
To pay a little and a little to preach.

The Flinty Aisle

Published it yesterday….



There is a new road leading to a new city
With red leaves from December
rambled in the candid truths of time
branches of tempting struggles
that grips time in hollow minds

Your scrawny voice, that rips through
my etherized face of memories
the slumber scent, that covers the road
in the anticipation of a silver spring.

These symbols of hypnotizied realities
Like a new floor of myth manufacturing
Words that pierce sharper than the silence
Dangling between the stillness of time

Hopes soaring uncertainly to nightfall
The dreams that have kept me awake
The beautiful imperfection of yours
I don’t have the courage to take new routes
I don’t have the heart to let you go

The crepuscule reconcilation of our souls
There is an inscrutable fusion
Of all the misery, the emotion , the trust
Some winged desire of dazzling dreams

We are however flawed in our own…

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