Mud-caked with dark memories,
Ashen and terrified,
The serpent of shame
slithering over his heart,
Raking the dead leaves of autumn
for a rustle or murmur of life,--
the leaves that had once a lively luxuriance,
Alas, the spring was wasted,
The bus was missed,
Now the sulking journeyman
looking for some traces of life in a grave.
The awkward familiarity of love
tugging at your bruised self
with delicate deference,
Ripe, tender, luscious love
pouring its spicy excitement
into the bland, spoiled dish
prepared with the recipe of the broken heart,
The fresh ingredients of new love
trying to undo its own raspy touch
clawed on the heart in its previous version;
trying to wipe the melancholy
carved on the heart;
trying to put light in the eyes
where its last version settled deep sorrows;
trying to put balm on the bleeding wounds
as the prongs of past go dredging
the memories of the old version.
When was the hardware (body) sensible?
Especially when love (software)
has this terrible sense for updation!
She burrowing a hole into his heart,
Drilling through various crusty layers of
anger, fear, guilt, insecurity and shame,
Diligently boring to reach the core,
the chamber of love
lying buried under uncouth layers.
The lovely well digger,
Soaked with sweating love,
Working to reach the sap of love,--
the nectar of springs.
A hopeful journeywoman
seeking an oasis in the desert,
To make him feel
that he has love at his core,
not hate and animosity.
Everything is meaningless
without loving and being loved,
After all, we are mere fishes
lost in the sea’s vast expanses,
We are scared of getting lost
in the looming prospects of freedom
swarming its massive gloomy depths,
So we’re running around
to be gaffed by the spear of love;
to be netted in love.
Aha, the sweet anarchy of love!
Love fragile like porcelain,
but still a beacon of hope,
a lighthouse on a rocky, stormy shore,
Spreading its guiding light among choppy waters,
Fighting the muscles and tissues of darkness.
Love with its ephemeral intensity
sizzles across the folds of eternal apathy,
It shimmers like a lighted powdery
splash of disarming mystery,--
a sparkling kiss of life
on the embracing gentleness of death.
Unconcerned about other’s judgments,
it’s your right to take steps to freedom,
But remember this o thou journeyman
that one’s soul should stay open to self-judgment
because that’ll guide you on the path,
That’ll be your key
to the channelization of your free choice
towards the best instead of the worst.
Love barging into the heart,
breaking all defensive barriers,
occupying the fort,
gloating on the throne,
giving orders like a triumphant autocrat.
Then its soldiers creeping up the chest
to fight the opposing armies in the throat,
The battles in the narrow pass,
Defeating the vocal cords,
Disarming them
and ordering them
to sing the sovereign’s songs.
Love has to acquire all,
Its rampant armies
have to march still onwards
to twist the lips to make them
casting molds for its signature banners;
to paint the cheeks with its trademark blush;
to pour possessive light in the eyes;
to put filters in the ears
so that they hear only its eulogy songs.
Finally the marching army
creeps into the head
to win the final frontier;
to beat down the strains of reasoning,--
the last rebellious regiment.
Love wages an all-conquering war
to change everything
as per its whims and fancies,
What a sweet tyrant!
What a stern dictator!
It’s a broken world
but still it has enough beauty
in its fragments
to help us hold onto
our dreams and imaginations.
It’s enough to give us:
a hope to put things together;
an invitation to move on the journey;
to see the sunshine in a dewdrop;
to absorb the nourishment of life from a smile;
to feel kindness in a tear;
to see flying rainbows
on the wings of butterflies;
to hear divine melody in a hill stream;
to hear paradisiacal songs in chirping birds;
to feel and understand that
life sprouts on the edges of broken dead pieces
like wild mushrooms on dead wood.
