Red

I paint my nails red when nostalgia pulls the invisible threads from you to me

My heart sheds blue tears in your absence

Green is the color of wind, sweet reminder of the grass when your head rested in my lap

And colorless is the rest of the world, void, empty, meaningless without you

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Transcendental

​Every night when Jo slept, he remained awake

Trascedental he would call it while floating away

Beyond skies, then planets, then stars then galaxies

He would fly, fly high, fly higher and see
How souls of mortals, in the REM cycle of their sleep

Floated to eternal fire, and gathered in heaps..

Figments of bright light, with tinges of hues

Some deep reds in love others sad sparkly blues

There..he saw once a shy little soul

nor red-dy or ready or blue or fiery

It stood there, every night, never joined the heap

Jo wondered if secretly the soul was just half asleep

Jo fluttered and danced and extending it’s little soul-ly hand or tail

No wonder souls have none, neither toes nor nails

The little one, turned shuddery and jittery and explode

Into thousand rainbows and engulfed them all

Musings to Self. Love.

To dearest Belovedacid-alien-art-bad-trip-Favim.com-3685031,

The world won’t always appreciate love you offer, love anyways. Just never stop loving, you don’t love for appreciation, validation or to be loved back. You love because..well love does not need a because.. still if you need reasons then you love because in this cold vast world little warmth can work wonders..even when love is pushed away, remember on cold long nights, people will still hold on to that love..and as you reach saturation at times, others reach that saturation too..don’t worry, this love is for rainy days, when the empty souls don’t have strength to reach out..this love would still be burning warm..it still would warm their hearts.. so shed tears for you suffer and love with all your might. You won’t regret the day you melt…that you weren’t touch by the drama the world wants..that your love lasted well beyond the greed, game of hunger and lust for bodies..when those calls you hear every now and then reach to take you..those whom you seek..the home that calls from within..your soul family..the heart of love which is never hurt unlike this puny little ego which gets hurt every-time it is rejected..beyond this serpent minds which starts to hate when its legitimacy is rejected,well then, then you will be asked, did you love enough.. did you stop loving when hatred knocked your door..did you stop loving when your love was not welcome..did you love in suffering..in pain..in restlessness..in emptiness..did you love each day more and more..did you love like Beloved..unconditionally..uncontrollably..did you love like a fool..shedding all your cleverness..did you love wildly..madly..insanely.. especially to those who could not see..just because you could..did you?? Then, you better be. Be. Be. Be a proof. Being. Whose every cell would glimmer to say I did, I do, we do..just that there is no I anymore. You are home.
Beloved.

An ode to love that’ll never be

An ode to love that’ll never be

.                                                         Separation. Estrangement. Chasms.
Lucky, they coasme after a union.

Oblivion. Limbo. Obscurity.
Once, they once held motion and remembrance.

Chastity. Continence. Rectitude.
How they hem a promise of promise?

What words for: a love that’ll never be.
Eternity?
Absoluteness?
Perfection?
Countless?

Eternity of lingering desires?
Absoulute-ness of despondency?
Countless twiddling nights?
Perfection of fissures in a dolorous heart?

Then why are springs more cherished then summers?
Twilights more loved than nights?
They come and go.
Don’t stay.
Don’t wait.
Dont’t quench the soul.
Immortal, is the thirst for their hold.
Like the love that’ll never be.
Is the love un-quenched forever to be.

kisey chahiye mann ka sona ankh ke moti..

kisey chahiye mann ka sona ankh ke moti..
kisey padi hai andar kya hai..

kyun kuch to hai bechain hai khud se..
mange hai thoodi si chuppi..
chuppi me chuppi..
bheed me chupppi..

ik tanhai…
mujhe padi hai…
aag hai shayad..ya phir paani..
jal ke bhasmu…doob ke ubru…
rolun..has lu..khud ko kho lun..

kholun ki paa lun.. kaise kholu..ye darwaze bin taale ke..
kuch to hoga..hawa ho shayad..jo band hai kab se..
janmo se..jahano se..skpakati..tadapati..behne ko..udne jane ko..
kaise kholun ye darwaze bin tale ke..kis chabi se..
dhoop ho shayad..bin chamki si..baras hain beetein  kuch garmaye..
pyaar ho shayad..kuch sehma sa..khud ko chupaye..
rutha sa baitha hai..kuch murjhaye..
khusbu ho shayad..bheeni si..halki si..khud pe shak karti si..
MAIN hu shayad..gum si..gum-sum si..
kaise kholun ye darwaze bin tale ke..kis chabi se..
kisse mangu..pal bhar ki chuppi..
vahan jahan main hun nahi..aur tu  bhi nahi
mujhe padi hai..
mujhse chaiye mann ka sona..ankh ke moti..
mujhse padi andar kya hai..1

Tears

Tears.
A study said happy tears roll down first from right eye
The sad little one, from left eye first.

These are all lies. Aren’t they?
They flow. Unbound. Un-patterned.
They flow. Like love.

3 little streams at times.
All zig-zagged.
Unchained.
Like three tributaries.
Reaching out for my slightly parched lips.
Hiding in their little openings.
Spreading horizontally. Unwarranted.
Reaching tongue. Salty. Like sea.

Tears. Aren’t they the seas we hold inside.
Till they break artificial dams. Our masks. And flood our shores.

Tides. Falls and rise. Like our sufacial emotions and deepest pains..
Like lovers..meeting and parting..
Coming and going..
A proof..of our hollowness and fullness..
A proof of life still breathing in our cold hearts..

Then dropping on elbows and arms..
On books we read..
On inked poems..splattering..like rain..
Spoiling the perfectness into our human imperfectness..
Much needed, to warm our rock cold selves..
The imperfections to make us feel and bleed and love again..despite all..

Tears..aren’t they much more?rumi-calendar-quote