The Reigning Rains

 

And then, beaten by the rains,

He soaked and shivered in the leaking hut,

Wondering about the hapless life’s wanders

Effective, as the rolling stones, downhill

 

In his unbearably wakeful hours

He searches his lost soul among the debris,

And wades through the rubble for things that

once held impeccable usefulness,

and because none was forthcoming,

he invents value – life goes on as it must

perhaps there is wisdom in letting it be

The Train That Never Comes

Every morning, very early,

Amiano waits at the train station,

He waits for a train that never comes.

Amiano knows this but does not care,

Instead, he fidgets at his phone,

and posts angst-ridden posts online,

The train derailed along time ago,

Amiano knows this but does not care

He wants to, but dares not,

because that is how he has always reached his destination

He has more than a decade of experience

and still plays the same old songs at the train station,

Amiano knows it is a fool’s game

He does not care, because it is a game he has mastered

He loves to think that the world is unfair,

that it is against people with well-intentioned dreams,

So he waits for his train,

where non dares venture

Shimmering

 the words float, 

up above, 

crawls underneath, 

the crevices of my 

overworked brain 

yet nothing concrete forms 

the words are elusive 

there is a clog in the brain 

that holds back the words 

that have not been written in months

Back To Where We Left

Does it ever seem like
we ever left each other?
sometimes we talk
and the scent of your skin that prematurely limped away beckons memories - only the sweetest of them the lingering feeling of loneliness knocks and ushers itself in makes itself at home and berates me for the way things turned I try to tell it I am not fault But it answers 'but I made you cry.'

The Songs

At some point, 

life seemed to be overwhelmed by everything 

drab and lifeless, 

every single juice had been squeezed out of it 

no drug would cure it 

the days lasted a lifetime 

the songs that were a lifeline 

took off for the hills 

there was nothing 

earth became empty and desolate 

as though waiting for god to breathe life into it 

it wasn't so. 

It is still drab, desolate and barren 

but the songs are nice again. 

Once

once everything seems to be still, 

and the world as calm as a sleeping baby, 

you will be assailed by long dreamless

nights, and days 

there are no storms

may be because you learned to swim 

but then the storms are always never far off 

but for once, you tell yourself 

once, everything seems still 

it may not last 

but you take solace in the fact that 

you lived every second of it. 

Wanton Sighs

Phew! 

That was close, 

sigh!

why would you want to get high 

even?

because, even Stephen

the martyr

sighed and bowed out earth 

and lived to tell the tale 

thousands of generations later