I
We make myths out of the unrealized.
II
Love untouched
Is love curled
Into a scared ball
Pushed against the wall
Of the darkest passages
Of your most familiar,
Personal dungeon.
Love untouched,
Is not love undone.
Is love curled
Into a scared ball
Pushed against the wall
Of the darkest passages
Of your most familiar,
Personal dungeon.
Love untouched,
Is not love undone.
III
He crept with feline grace
Shimmering, into that glass filled
With the only true liquid love.
He reflected, contorted,
Changing forms.
Elegant now.
Grotesque later.
Caught in a glass.
Tightened in a bottle.
Corked in a vision.
Free in the world.
Invisible in the Universe.
Shimmering, into that glass filled
With the only true liquid love.
He reflected, contorted,
Changing forms.
Elegant now.
Grotesque later.
Caught in a glass.
Tightened in a bottle.
Corked in a vision.
Free in the world.
Invisible in the Universe.
IV
Things fall apart
But the centre holds.
Silly centre.
Caught into its own
Twists
And twirls
And folds.
But the centre holds.
Silly centre.
Caught into its own
Twists
And twirls
And folds.
V
Love unrequited
Has its colours.
Break it through a sheet of liquid.
Sparkling clear?
Blurred, dear?
Buried, fear?
Has its colours.
Break it through a sheet of liquid.
Sparkling clear?
Blurred, dear?
Buried, fear?
VI
While walking through a desert
I conjured a water in my mind
I conjured mirage in my mind
An illusion of an illusion later
I conjured comfort in my mind
(Illusory, from the disillusioned)
I conjured a water in my mind
I conjured mirage in my mind
An illusion of an illusion later
I conjured comfort in my mind
(Illusory, from the disillusioned)
VII
Liquid love, is not life force.
Liquid love, is love, and liquid.
It is love, which is liquid.
Hence it flows,
Like fluids, it grows,
To take shapes of visions,
You were scared to profess.
Dreams are comfortable,
Risk-free.
Liquid love, is love, and liquid.
It is love, which is liquid.
Hence it flows,
Like fluids, it grows,
To take shapes of visions,
You were scared to profess.
Dreams are comfortable,
Risk-free.
Or, are they, really?
VIII
Myths were created for truth.
Layered with dust of a millennia
Shrouded within tongues infinite
They gain magic, lose truth.
What is our truth, my dear?
Our love is magic, or a myth, mere?
Was our story made by us?
Or kindled under a curtained hush?
Layered with dust of a millennia
Shrouded within tongues infinite
They gain magic, lose truth.
What is our truth, my dear?
Our love is magic, or a myth, mere?
Was our story made by us?
Or kindled under a curtained hush?
IX
She talks for both, when he talks for none.
X
Love untouched,
Is not love undone.
Love unloved,
Is love left pure
A gentle cure
To heart’s busiest hum.
The din of dreams,
Conflicted streams.
Pain is but a figure of speech.
Is not love undone.
Love unloved,
Is love left pure
A gentle cure
To heart’s busiest hum.
The din of dreams,
Conflicted streams.
Pain is but a figure of speech.
Loving is so short.
Forgetting is so long.
And myths are eternal.
Forgetting is so long.
And myths are eternal.
PS – Thanks for Yeats, Neruda and Bachchan.
How we, having then good reason
ReplyDeleteto look up, and speak smiling,
named each waking planet and star,
each spark, born again each night.
How your fingers would unfold
from fists into the blue light,
imagining if only they
would stretch a little higher,
they could pluck and hold
whole stars, whole engines
of hydrogen and fire
in your tiny palm.
How one night, I saw you reaching,
as Prometheus, thief of fire,
towards a waking Venus,
and saw jealous Zeus for what he was.
How I slept in splayed dreams
haunted by thump of eagle wings,
til you woke next morning singing
wonders to diamonds in the sky.
Now we, broke open and thin,
have set aside such things.
Now, under a sky thick
and malignant, our livers
turn to dust, and regrow daily
as ghosts. We, looping iterations of
long dead myth, are bone poems,
we are spoken-only selves.
These songs- fast fading echoes,
from when we sought out proof of gods
in the grey indifference
of distant spinning rocks.