Dream Catcher

Dream Catcher
After this while, she stopped having dreams of her own.

She wanted to be that instrument

The Harp

The flute

The reed

What better than to be the dream catcher?

And none of the dream belong to thee?

What do you want they would ask?

What desires? What hopes? What paths to trod?

Make me Thy instrument of Love. 

Plant me where the dreams grow.

That little boy at the end of street.

He desires those azure slippers.

His feet are cold. So is his soul. 

Perfume of the scented candles he sells forsakes his soul all these days.

There these lies, in middle of this Persian bazar, below the jaded mannequinn wearning things of past

those shiny azure slippers that warm his heart

Make me the slippers for the cold boy.

Make me little warmth for those little feet, can you?

Every evening, at dusk and dawn.

When seekers weep and seers see. 

She waits.Longs. Sleeps then wakes. And wait a little more.

He said, he will see her when the high tide rises again.

She watches the moon. Grow and shrink.

At start, on brink. 

Endless days without sleep and pain. 

Just numb-ness. Haunting. Daunting. 

Make me those high tides for her.

Make me the bliss of a meeting after longing, can you?

The evening star that follows her car.

Her only companion and that too far.

Can someone be so lonely, to befreind a star.

Who cares, she says she needs company.

Ain’t I lucky, I can see my listner, her excuse.

But her excuse fails on cloudy days?

Make me the brightest evening star on a cloudy day.

Make me her only reason for being grateful, can you?

Homes,lifes and families aren’t the only things lost in wars.

For him, it was his soft-toy puppy.

The smiling puppy with his chewing bone, a little torn at side.

The puppy turned dirt black in ever rising smokes.

In the war, it was his hope.

The puppy smiled even in war, so happy with its chewing bone. 

And now, war claimed it too.

Make me the dirt black, a little torn at side, bone chewing puppy. 

Make me his hope, can you?

He is frail, he is old, his sons are away.

Fed them and bred them and taught them and walked them.

Now doorbells are nightmairs, its difficult to walk that far.

Why we live for our kids, but they need to work, i am just an old man, seems like his excuses won’t last.

Make me the son he never had, with only job to take his care. 

To love him and open the door when the bell rings.

Make me his caretaker, can you?

Make me a happy dream which puts her to sleep.

Make me the soothing touch of grass on his bare feet.

Make a refreshing flower near his hostipal bed.

Make me the beatiful consoling words which were never said. 

Make me colorful kites, paper boat, a needed currency note.

Or his new sneakers, or her over-coat.

Make me a smile which lasts for a while.

Make me lingering peace, a feeling of ease.

Make me love, make me love, love in any form, without form. 

Make me hope or dream or more love, flowing love now on.

Make me the dream catcher, who caught everyone’s dreams.

‘Coz she had none, for her own, to own or to wean.

So, she became for everyone, she became everyone, can that be?

Let me catch dreams and live them to be love incarnate. 

Because only You can Dear Lord ☺


Letter to a beloved who is away

Running high on emotions i might be, yet i choose to announce: I like it. The book you sent me mail. And, i like Karla from the book. And i like Lin’s sadness, his love for freedom. People are obligated to relate with the characters of the book or movie or even paintings and i assume that, that this..this resonance of relating to the characters or  the entire art itself is the ultimate hope or ultimate victory of the artists(/authors/painters/creators)..to make people feel or realize that deep down we are one..we always were. We have our parts in each other..and we are nothing but parts of other people..stories we live are hardly alone..the world makes us who we are in our waking states. We just react and respond to stimuli and the reaction and respodance in turn depends on how the world has treated us in past and how we got motivated or shaped or conditioned by it. Then, how urgent and how important it becomes to know: what we are without this world that makes us..who we are internally..unconditioned.. who we were before we made ourselves a part in the play and started playing a role, post, stupidly creating a self image of who we are are what should our ideal reaction of self defined/assumed personality be. In that sense, our living waking lives, aren’t they a lie? 

So, i was saying i like Lin. And i like the listner in him. He is like you that ways. He listens, observes and he keeps his secrets, his sadness, his feelings, to himself..(till page 64 i guess..i dont know what happens in story further)

And again i felt while reading, an overwhelming desire to thank you enough, for being. One lifetime won’t be enough to thank you for being there listening and understanding and taking care of me when i could not gather courage enough to pull myself up especially for the time and times when people living inches close are oblivious of the state and you.. you work your magic from far beyond. You took me beyond space that ways. :)) I give that one to you. 
Time. I have not been beyond the illusion of time..conceptually or in terms of feeling. I woud like to consume that Truth..time being an illusion..one day. 
I feel a little awkward and shy to say this, but I will say it anyways, nothing to lose since start, if we come close..close enough feel each other with our eyes closed..with our fingers tracing our contours of our faces..then, i would like you to write to me, a poem of your perception. I have seen and felt myself through my eyes and my senses a lot. I can see beauty or no beauty at will. I can stare long enough in my eyes to be teleported and know they hold much more than their physical aspect. I want to see me as not by my perception..but as a third person..like you and me looking together at me and seeing whats there..that what do you sense or percieve..of this person with a frown or a swollen lip or lost gaze or unruly hair and all. 
I waste words enough, darling. It makes me guilty of using them more than i should..to make a point, which can be made without using a single word. Your knowing without my saying, makes them a waste. Or so it seems.




Han tum hi to ho,
subah ki thandi chadar ho tum
dopahar me jaali se chann ke aati maheen dhoop
barsaton me sham ke asmaa ki surkhi
sardi ki raton ka ghhana kohra, har taraf phaila hua,
mazboot, maujood.

garmi ka paseena bhi ho.kameez se lipat-ta.chichipata
bina bataye aai hui hasi bhi ho. bin bulaaye mehman
jaise hoton mein pasar ke baithi
khamakha ki musibat ho tum. na duur ho ki ehsas na ho.
na paas ho ki chhu lun.

najasat tabiyat ho tum, dum bhi khul ke na lene do.
beghairat umeed bhi ho, na munasib, na jaiz.

par khushnuma-paigam bhi ho, tumhe jane dun bhi toh
jaise bhi ho, mere wajood bhi to ho.

​I look at you like a question looks at an answer, out of need and repulsion..all at once

​I look at you like a question looks at an answer, out of need and repulsion..all at once

i long for you as a kid does for mother’s touch on a sick day…
i wait for you like a pregnant women waits to see her child in the last moments of her labour day..
i crave for you like a bird does for the freedom in an undersized cage..
my need for you is a child’s first breath..lungs inflating for the first time.. the breath of life
you are breeze of air who followed the drizzle after scroching hot day..
a warm blanket near a fireplace after the day of snow and hail
i want you by my side..hold me close your breath on my face.. 

Letter to Beloved


It’s a privilege to love you. I can be me in front of you. The only place, home, uni-verse I know of that sorts where I can just Be.

And I would secretly wish to be that for you too..

you don’t let people really in..I thought it was me..but alas you have to be an edge over in everything I am..extra shiny mirror..more detached..more vulnerable..more..no most fragile entity I know. I thought I was the thing I could most easily break without intentions, yet, you get to be more fragile in my world, of all the dearest beings I know, I would never want to mistakingly too, ever break you, neither exploit you or consume you and how I wish I could love less as a human..less as a beggar..more like worship..more like God..

Keep me a little longer. Let me drown and flow a little longer in this Love for you.


​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.