Glances

Through slender creeks, soft silhouettes gleam
Leading all the moths in your stomach upstream
And shadows keep musing under moon's glimmery
Hearing hazy hushes of an obscure memory

Murk midst the mind, eyes crystal clear
Fizzle out, the notions, those you hold dear
Glances yearn the lights of blind heeds
Vision defies and discomfort misleads

To embrace the rain on an endless empty lane,
Put a poker face on an inverted insane
Weaving feeble wools until eyelids fall,
The wilted wallflowers and flies on the wall

Hoarding heaps of tobacco to flare the anguish
Fitting filters of facade, footsteps relinquish
Twist tendrils of pain, hide the shivers of snow
Glances deceive, glances decease your love.

Earphones

Blue Earphones
Rubber headed, soft
I'd listen to them all the time
On my bicycle, standing in the train
By the stained glass of my window,
Watching the grey rain.
I'd love the sound of them
The words would strangle my mind
The gloom would squeeze my eyes
The songs you'd record
Were always on their way to haunt me
From every other stereo forever.
I was accustomed to them for long
I never felt them borne
And put them subtly in my pockets.
They'd tangle into each other 
So often and so unknowingly.
Always rescued by relieving only one.
Till I gave away the depth of burgundy
And their tone grew so cold,
Never knew when one ceased to work
The one that used to lean on me from right.

Their sound together still beats my eardrums,
Sometimes to smiles, sometimes to tears
Sometimes so eerie, making me leery
About buying another pair.
And I'd still try and turn it on, listen from left
Asking the other side to stand by.

April Fool

Fractures in my leg, worries in your eyes
Faith of our feelings, dubiety in disguise.
"Meet me by the mosque, I'm back in town"
Early summer morning, just to let you down.

Fickle heart, sketching her life to amend,
Clueless of time, the start and the end.
Twisting your mind, evading hints to avoid
Sleepless midnight hours, seeing you get annoyed.

Witty thumbs on the shovel, grinning teeth on the call,
Insomniac immersed eyeballs, bouncing when you fall.
Bite around the bush, not to let you cut to chase,
Silly feeble lips, smiling at blank space.

And all I'd ever do was boiling tamarind seeds
To poke you into some subliminal false leads,
Just to see you put ice cubes in poison slime
To push me to being a fool for a lifetime.

Invisible Incomplete

When you finally divulged your deceit,
You fueled the fire of an anterior defeat
Entirely. 

No wonder why the fragrance of your skin
And the feeling of your soul
Faded from the face of my startled pride
Flouting through the falsity of your swindle.
All the figures of our speech would squander,
But the filth of your shadowed truth.
The fickleness of my solicitous heart
Begs forgiveness to the sanity,
To the frown of my surreal mind.
How the fragility of my self esteem
Made a fool of my self.

How the invisibility of your thoughts,
How the inaudibility of my words
Plunder the drums of your ears
And blunder the vision of my tears?

Invisible, my dear.
Did you ever disappear? 
Did I become too blind to see you?
Or did you darken the room instead?
I never blinked, my eyes wide open,
I'd ring doorbells to oblivion.
You did answer my desolation,
Singing me lullabies to nightmares, but
Was it the best you could to humiliate my humility? 

Beach, Beauty and Beats

A montage depicting the fun we had in the TFPS Beach Trip.

An Old Purse

An old purse sprawled by the clock Tick Tock, a barred blade unlike the tireless hands With mere dust flakes on my dial to puff. It's tough, a withered flux to repel the vexing away, With an empathetic moist stick in the middle to talk. A lock, keyed in but too dubious to crack With a clumsy name on its frown, blundered in the dark. "Embark," the pen idle from ages, Says with pounds of blood lying under its beak. "Speak"; the restless smudges on my lens Would sneeze every drop of tear but hope. Cope, and I would put them off, semi-wrapped Swallowing every blue gut painted on my wall. After all, the alluring, asserting voice from the black Would love to smear my despair with her charades of love.

Something that I wrote last September, the last lines telling why I could never complete it till now.

The Intrusion

Pluvioso Melancolia

Butter Feet & Peanut Massages