A Sense of Yearning

In the shadows of a dead city she stood And waited for the sun to go down. Heidi had been a daughter, a wife, a mother, But never Heidi. She watched the remnants of a long forgotten song Lancing towards her from the medallion above And her heart looked for the listener; The one who had listened to all her prayers. "Now that my road has come to its end, Show me where I can wash these stains Off my broken skin," Heidi whispered When she found the listener, Playing his flute under an ageless tree. "You've come a long way, Heidi," he said, "You were too cautious not to fall, Which made you forget that you could fly." Heidi watched the hills falling in love with The abstrusity in the melodies he wove And said, "The hills look like a dream." "Yes, but a dream you chose to bury, Under the weight of your sins," he said. "You have been all, Heidi - You have been a seed, a plant and a tree But you never danced wit

There lies a 'no' beneath every 'yes'; There lies a mask on every face; Every truth brings about a hundred lies, Like fissures above in the cloudy skies. The disarray of impressions always stays, And very noiselessly your morale sways; Like the boats careen without fear, And the boatman's child learns to steer. Veils make every answer obscure. Hope fights a disease without a cure. While the whole world burns in agony, Rules are bent by power and money. As the artist picks up his brush; As the young boy cries for his crush; As the astronauts count the stars; As the heroes fight their wars; The shackles ask you to be free, And a pen starts singing poetry; But there comes a question with every story - 'Isn't life the most beautiful allegory?'

The blind old woman whispered to me Shaking her debility off with a smile, ''You have eyes, my child, and light around you; You can draw a line between white and black. Use those eyes wisely, child, for you'll Slowly learn to see without their help; The darker it gets around you, The harder shall you search for a flame. One day, in life you shall find your light, And in that light you shall find your life again."

In the unnamed valley that reeked of death I met a man who couldn't die. A hundred decades he had seen, they said, And still death wasn't kind to him. I found him weeping as the sun set, Under a tree younger than him And when he heard me, he said, "Another man with a treasure." The pain in his voice hit me Harder than the lifeless wind And I asked, "What treasure Do you think I carry?" "Oh no, nothing that sparkles," he said Trying, and failing, to laugh, "But your ability to die." I sat by his side and said "People fear death On the other side of this valley, And eternal life is a fantasy." He held my hand and said, "Such a twisted dream perpetuity is; Can fool even the wisest of the wise. Things that are deathless Are the farthest from peace." I picked a dry leaf and asked, "Do you feel lonely? Every thing around you dies. You see death every day, Wishing somebody could see yours.

As I face the small time machine And the wires cuddling each other Like sinners in love, I find my answer. 'Go back and save yourself', they say; 'Go back and this time get your girl' 'You can undo your bicycle accident' 'Why don't you edit your career now?' 'You can correct every error you've ever made' 'You now know what you shouldn't have done' 'Why don't you stop yourself from going To that coffee shop on the 18th of May?' 'Go back and post that letter a little earlier' 'Don't forget to slap that sick professor' 'Go back and tell your friend the truth About her husband, without any fear' They all want me to erase All the wrong footprints on The sands of time, and they want To have a better life, A corrected, proofread life, Using my little machine; But will I be the same person Once my mistakes get undone? I press the key, turn the dial And find myself befo

With every step I shorten This sempiternal walk. I'm the only one living This desiccate romance with This desert and its aridity. For a drop of life I beg to God Who's busy granting A million desires elsewhere; And the dry winds whisper In my ears the song Of my despair; but I keep on Because hope can keep Ẏour feet moving. I hear vultures sing The song they love to sing, And it satisfies me to know That even I can be someone's joy. Just when I am about to kneel I hear a whisper 'Look!' 'She has found you before You could find her'. And I watch before me An oasis full of elixir And the assuaging smile of hope Beckoning to me.

After the blustery day decides To draw the blinds on Sully, He tries to close his eyes, But the pictures won't go. His shrivelled hand clutches His last wrinkled wish, But he knows it would slip Like sand; and he smiles. He smiles and watches the ceiling, And the dying patients below, Relishing the last lances Of the ageing Sun through The misshapen window; Sully's eyes take the final dive And a whisper creeps out ''Finally I shall be free." It is the most beautiful lie He has ever told himself.

No more broken toys; No memories of fun; Take me home now, Mother, I am too tired to run. The promises of sunnier days Build the darker lies; Now everyone's a genius, But no one's wise. Take me home, Mother, Let your bosom gift me sleep. I am too tired to run now; I am too tired to weep.

I have heard of a place that's not on maps; A place where there's no room for lies; Where mornings and nights never make the kiss, Where every form of life is able, is wise. Where you'll find only faces and never a mask; Where curiosity is never afraid to think and ask; Where the one true religion has always been love; Where the endless sky is always blue above; Where the birds never know the fatigue of flight; Where the nights stand dauntless in the stars' light; Where no child is killed before even she's born; Where no heart is broken and no skin torn; Where nobody knows the art of building a wall; Where there is always a hand when you fall; Where lilies dance with a newfound zest; Where crows and doves share the same nest; Where the river quenches the thirst of all; Where a horse runs free and is never in a stall; Where the moon's always shy and the sun bright; Where you'll never have to fight for what's right; Where benevolence

A story can be found in fugacious blossoms; Somewhere even in the tiniest speck of time; In the misprinted sentence lost in a book; In the redundant whisper at the end of a song. At times a word is all you desperately need, Instead of a tome, and that's when you see How beautiful one word can truly be. The love that you find in one talking star Can put a sky full of them to shame. Yes, beauty is like a drug when short-lived, And in this ephemera lies the love you deny. Tell me, why does beauty have to last? Why can't love come and go Like one unforgettable spring? Why can't you watch a flower bloom In awe, without the fear of losing it? Isn't transient beauty like a conscious dream In which we choose to live and love Knowing that morning isn't far? How can it possibly be more bewitching? Is it not incredible if one song can Make you want to run and fly and swim? Beauty and love does not have to last; There is no such rule; there can never be

Says the poet, “O divine little sunflower, You make my pen and my heart stop. There are no limits known, the enigma Of your surreal beauty cannot reach.” It is a fear that lingers in the rhythm; A fear of letting her watch his naked heart. It’s his love the poet shall never speak of. “What if she refuses to bloom?” Fear has myriad shades, but this shade Was no stranger; “We share a bond,” He says, “And for her I’m just the man Who waters her and watches her bloom. I am nothing more. I am nothing less. But does she know her place In every dream I have? Has anybody else Watered her the way I do? Has anybody else feared To not wake up to her effulgence? Maybe she knows,” thinks the poet, And he asks the Sun, who knows all, “Does she tell you about me?”  When the Sun goes down, the poet watches His little flower, still dispelling all the gloom, And his heart yearns to believe, “She knows.” A poetised riddle is what they share, and he Accepts, a poet in love is no

The rekindling of life under the cerulean sky; The redolence of love, and everything beyond; O Mother! Your art is unparalleled! Like precious little dreams the islands swim Against the weary tides of time And put bards and painters to shame; Such beauty, Mother, such beauty! As dusk drapes it wings around us all, The beach glows with memories and footprints. The homing birds against the hued sky Look like the flawless painting of a child; And that’s when, Mother, do I hear The tranquil sound of silence. The army of corals stand together to hold The Empire on their shoulders; Tell me How did you make an army so patient, So colourful, so mesmerising, so diverse? Do we even have the ears to listen to them? Like fragments of a beautiful story never written I see your art, Mother, Carry a rather light burden of life. This is where I had always dreamt Of having my first kiss with the sun. This is where I had always planned To fall in love. O Mother, how did you