Lights And Waves

Lights And Waves
The Night Muse

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Swan Song

Pink smiles and crimson blushes,
Run-of-the-mill songs
That evoked virgin emotions,
The beauty of the shameless sun and the shy clouds -
As they played out their hide-and-seek
On the never ending skies.

That all things move in a circle,
Is a truth lovers deny
In their colorful nights and colored days.

So what if all good things come to an end,
unless all things come to a beautiful end?

Post Mortem

Spirits hovered over her lifeless body,
In much the same way the spirits moved within her
During her last minutes.

Blindingly fast.
Streaks of light to the lazy eye.
Coursing the length of her veins
As her heart slowed down to a lazy pump.

In an upside down manner, she probably saw heaven.

The clean slate the gods hand out for every new soul-
Was, in her case, a case of undecipherable scrawls by the end of it.

Business Trip

The last abuses of an angry sun fall on the reddish fields
Before the pearly moon comes by with its soothing silver.
And he lies down on the soft earth,
Tracing himself in the starry map above.

Far away from the faceless urban army.

The tiny apartment did not have enough cupboards to contain the monsters anyway.

And on rainy nights,
The metallic smell of guilt seeped in from the cracks.

Here, they roam free.
Without poisonous glands.

And as the balmy breeze blew over the smiling face,
It only carried heady scents of the paths ahead.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Gestations of the Mind

Thoughts drizzle down in a weary head -
Trying to catch them in word shaped cups,
To freeze their meanings,
To erect coherent sandcastles.

Fingers shake over virgin paper -
Air writing, mind juggling,
And the cigarette ticking away.

Awaiting the music to descend
of that teasing muse,
playing hide and seek in the corners of the mind.

If catharsis isn't a drug, what is?
To put away garbage in pretty colored boxes
And tuck them away under the bed and into the closets.

And lie in muted unconsciousness again.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

A World of His Own

Little child -
Fascinated with mirrors,
Deluded with fairy tales
Of parallel universes,
Illusions and echoes
From a reflecting surface.

Innocent child –
Testing the strength of his myth
one stone flung in righteous anger.

Disbelief reflected
From a dozen scattered pieces on the cold floor.

Pouting lips and creased forehead
Commanded his flight
From the scene of betrayal
Into the woods nearby.

By now he has learnt
Never to let even a teardrop fall
Into the pond,
To keep his other-worldly twin
From falling apart.

The Highway Cliché

A few broken bridges
A dried up rose in the pages of a dust gathered book
Few unshed tears
And fewer misplaced memories
These lie in a road left behind.

And for the traveller who stops for his cigarette break,
Come back to him with every hazy grey of smoke.
And die as the miles-weary boots stub the end.

And life goes on.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


In thoughts and mirrors.
Hoping to focus
On the hazy distance.
Wishing to lose the self
In that wintry forest.
Big words and bigger dreams
In a cranium crammed
With utopian visions.
Meta-smiling and meta-frowning
As the clock ticcity tocks.
And the sun rises.
And the moon rises.

It won’t do.
It won’t do.
It won’t do.

But she'll do (it anyway).