poetry

Magic

There were men and there was him. Each time the ink touched the paper it bled for him. I fell in love with my muse. I was an average writer and he was the masterpiece. He was the sound of the violin that starts off softly and gradually proceeds to make the most powerful tune you have ever listened to. He was the scratches of color on the white canvas. He was mad, he was rage and he was fire. He was the color red, and yellow and all shades of orange. His mere face would set my soul on fire. I was burning for him and he was oblivious. Probably he was too busy to even notice. But I fell in love with all his colors and textures. I saw him when I was awake, hoping wishing, praying life would bring us back together, again. I burned for a stranger I have hardly even met. After him, no man ever looked enough, seemed enough. However fascinating they were, however beautifully I was held, a part of me longed for him. He was way out of my league. I was a poet and he was masterclass storyteller. He would walk past me in a crowd, but I would spot among a billion stars. All the ones I met before and after were men, remarkable some, normal others, but him, he was magic.

poetry

You and I

You and I
Are an old-school romance
Struck by chance
At a friend’s dance

You and I
Feel the vibe
But confused and lost in our own tribe
Our connection, we fail to transcribe

You and I
Writers in our own right
Words fail, our tongues we bite
But our lips find each other, every night

You and I
Move in waves
In separation, your touch I crave
The faint fragrance, of your aftershave

You and I
Taking turns to relish, on subways
On winter nights and summer days
Sometimes making love, other times a mere play

You and I
Earth and air
Secretive you, I lay my soul bare
Conspired by universe, this complicated affair

You and I
As if soul friends or just strangers
Of the night, through adventures and dangers
Old souls at heart holding the spirit of crazy teenagers

 

 

 

 

poetry

Goodbye In Circles

We say goodbye in circles

We get lost in mazes

We, in love but are lost

In our complicated phases

It’s always over when I walk

Out of your sight

But only to meet you some other night

In the same room, under the same light

We are two wands made of the same feather

Why then are we, so reluctant,

To be together

My hair strand entangled with the

Threads of your sweater

But we are not together

When the morning comes,

Promises of the night, forgotten

We become strangers in love

As if it’s our last adventure

And how is it that, how

we yet again say goodbye

But in circles

poetry

Dance of the Night 

Every night she rehearsed with him In a dim lit

In a dim lit studio,

Enclosed with mirror walls,

He held her by her waist

And her hand

She placed her delicate

Bruised arms on his shoulder

He looked at her

And she at him

She saw herself

Her battered bleeding lips

And her swollen eyes

Tightened her clasp

And they both spun

As in a ballet across the room

She was the piano, he the violin

Made symphony as they moved

Light as a feather

Their feet moved on the floor

 

His face as bright as the morning sun

Lighting her face as he looked

He stormed in closer

And move away in an instant

Closer and away

Close and far far away

And close again

Moving his fingers on her delicate lips

As his precursor to moving his face

Moving it closer to hers

At a distance that only a feather

Could cross

 

He tightened his hold

Spun her around,

Sometimes gentle sometimes harsh

Sometimes crass, and brash

He smiled,

That smile, a caution, of a

Lift to the skies and sudden fall

Losing all control

As she lost herself

He laughed as he

Picked her up and tossed her

And held her as she fell

She held her hand on his chest

As he held her close

Didn’t skip a step

But missed every heartbeat

 

His heart danced

Hers was numb

As if it was a race to the finish line

 

They danced every night,

As an audience of

A million stars watched

As they moved

Faster and slow

Away yet close

In circles and in piano tiles

Through waltz and ballet

 

And as the night died

All that remained was her and

Him, his ghost

And her battered self

He turned into stardust at every sunrise

And she burned in the ashes of the sparks

That claimed his life