Bizzare Blankets

It’s raining on my wet bed sheet, the crumpled essentials forgetting their identity to merge into a totality of slanted sleets! They come in a woven pattern of bright rainbow hues and togethernesses. My raincoat offers them blanket bizarreness, cupping my sleeps in tiny eyedrops. We tend to economize the rains, their effects on our blood, and our sordid responses. Reveries: they carry them along from the skies down to my bed. My open window, books they lie shelved in my openness, like bread to the labourer ... My horizon sleeps with open eyes to the behemoth of the sleet

Littlers

Trying to get crazy beyond the point of no return, you make me forget forgetfulness. The enduring turbulence of your makeshift patterns are etched – oh, so ever! – in charcoal sketches. You draw me like a cartograph, smell my reveries like some wolverine spectre. We believe in being just eaters as life walks to me in tiny packets of boredom – wisdom. We do make noise, though, never being the best of kids. They say, you ought to pay heed to the ‘littles’ of existence, without getting belittled by them.

Time for You and Time for Me

Signaling the rumblings of a grey evening
It’s here that you counted my age.
All these years you’ve brought me the numbness of love – that I grew to love
Feeling you in the recesses of cozy winter eves,
Bring me a feast to cheer your playfulness
Entities in work, play, prayer
Manners that outlast your living love
Too good you are for me
Baring your soul to my completeness
Usher me like my shadow borne
Out of love’s multi-dimension – Time
For me, you
Differences without bearing
Sampling my moves
A cartographer’s dream
Mooring the last sigh

Othernesses

Loneliness - like I share my body, knowing a grievance you'll regret. The year's future like strains of a moment's wish fulfillment. Yes, we loved and made it happen ... the bounds of our paradise, cloistered in semi-understood words. Half-eaten, half-complete - managed to evoke the idols of completion.

Sunday afternoons entered with wishes turning to breathing realities, my self, my other - our selves cocooned in pleasantries to wrap us in dreams. On days when the sun shines a little brighter, you enter my dreams, capture my movements in that sylvan look of yours, timing your motions and undoing them in crafty silences and s'il vous plaits.

Give me that staff to hold and embrace, be an entity to elucidate the unspoken meanings. As I traverse unknown destinations, galaxies of uncharted territory, you look into me, breathe deep. Ask me to inhale your light, I'm already the light you want me to be. Look me in to the sunlight world save memories envelope together crave love ... and end. Period.

A Moment’s Time

Living to love others in just the way they need you
Silences coming back to recess you in their thorough wilderness
Haunting togetherness buried in my ever present being
Tackling unknown intimacies, swathed in colored ribbons
Are they dreams, tolerating my whims?
Like a little girl’s desires – craving fulfillment

Faith, Kept

Looking into the rear
Too many faces, expectant
Memorized in the dog-eared pages
of a yellow diary
Bubbling sounds, deconstructions
Cold and warm water
Lime and honey
Tablets of half-fulfilled wishes
Admirers
Go-getters
Bravehearts
Cowards
00 hrs
Post grad study material

...

and wish fulfillments

Time and the Year

And then there came the rains, bathed in the ephemeral landscapes of light and triumph. The days had passed like a moment and she was left with an eternity to mull over. A life led in the carefully woven honeycombed wishes, making the best of the older novelties and newer reminiscences. Then the weather god tried her and tested her with fire. She was a lady of the sun, and gave in to the waywardnesses of nature. As a freshly plucked plant that sustains itself in the soil where you embed it, she belonged to the soul of sustenance, embryoning herself along with the rules of the natural world.

She makes you wonder in awe, leap into consciousness and conscience from the tenements of oblivion. When asked about the trails of her roots, she smiles at you like a thousand illuminated chandeliers. The streamlets made havoc of her contours, scanning her tresses for spaces of deluge.

The verdure of the swat mindscape is preparing itself to the ways of the cosmos, like the mindfulness of the words that never fail to impress. La Aura: the dazzlement of virtue, the guide of a dream.