Sweater

you trace the soft lines

the slender loops

and the soft designs

with a lazy, wandering gaze

 

the questions and curiosities

sit comfortably silent

 

you do not ask

and I never tell

 

that you are the softness

that lingers in distant memories

you are the warmth

remembered across centuries

a constant in the sea of time

a love, never owned

but forever mine

Colour

what colour would you give

to the warmth

that sits inside the folds of your hands

touching mine

 

what is the colour

of time unraveling at your feet

melting, flowing

unhinged, free

 

what colour would you give

to the light in your eyes

as you reach and pluck the day

ripe for picking

what colour, indeed,

is the shared silence

that speaks of a love

needing no words

Secrets

I am a poet

the secrets I see
in rehearsed caffeinations
are mine to keep;
to stay within
to stray without
clinical boredom
or clerical doubt;
how you paint
is how I write
to live in words
in sound and sight;
but these margins
and white space
have a different story
and a different face;
if this disguise
is nothing but grace
the soft folds
of satin and lace
then what they hide
is softer still
a whisper hushed
by a lover's quill.

Weather Songs

The wheels of time turn
each epoch into a new story
and looking out
the sun always finds
some new odds and ends of existence

these blue elastic days
stretch an empty story over the margins
vying for a drunken dream
and a burnt sky looks back
with a worried look
when small talk runs dry

the rain is silent when it comes
its presence felt only in
the softness left behind
and the green sings
a new song of remembered words

how can I possibly not sing along?

Mornings

the restless birth of a new day

surrounds me

as I swim through a sea of lives

the chaos is contagious

its howls drown the roar of time

which ticks away

so inconveniently

and interrupted so

with a voice that sings of infinite love

a fable from forgotten times

no one remembers the lovers

or their ambitious love

the speakers fall silent

and chaos returns

to swallow the echoes

of their presence.

#101DaysofPoetry Day 9

Nevermore

Nine steps, each for a circle of hell

There he sits, desperate and awake on a chair

Consulting a raven that merely stares

Eight, and the infinite loop of time

That plays and replays the original crime

Singular thoughts of a paranoid mind

Seven for each of his many ghosts

The dark plays a bountiful host

A glimpse of one he loved the most

Six and six, the bell now tolls

Thunder claps and voices unfold

What could those deep shadows hold?

Five inches from his brooding face

A window and a storm in haste

A lone figure, lost in time and space

Four seconds till he hears the scream

Four quick steps away from the scene

From the horror, the dread of his darkest dreams

Three words cut through his silent terror

Drown the sounds of a complaining weather

Three words for his unforgiving errors

Two hands whose icy touch does burn

Close in on humanity’s wayward son

Closer still, till the deed is done

One figure sunken to the floor

One shadow by the broken door

A fading whisper, “I am Lenore.”

#101DaysofPoetry Day 6

#NowPlaying The Raven (Recited by Christopher Lee) by Edgar Allan Poe

Time

as wind rustles dry leaves
I wonder
if one could hear footsteps
rustling through time
but the corridors are silent
my voice dissolves in air
words seep through time
to reach somewhere I cannot

hear me
find me
if you can

Snapshot

Have you ever tried ironing out your life

From the creases of a shirt

Becoming un-stuck and un-tucked

In the tailored circumference

Which can no longer hold all of you in

There are dreams running wild

At the split ends of every strand of hair

Not in its place

But surrounded by a windy chaos

Trying to spell out a lack of care

My words aren't coloured right

Nor do they talk of weather

And the life and times of strangers

I walk through the breezy disorder of your days

Comfortable in my unconcern of your ways

Till you notice

And hand out your disapproval

At times, your amazement

Not that I need either one

We see differently

My eyes dig far deeper into the skin
Right to the soul

Yours get tangled up in the creases of my shirt

No wonder that you cannot find me.

Linger

whiffs of rogue raindrops
in black dreams
the strings of the night
plucked again
and they whisper no names
but the outstretched lips
touch a smile
it tastes like morning
the shadows linger
like old friends
and make awkward conversations
with a distracted dawn
the heart is yet to curl back
maybe after another whiff
another taste
of your lips
will you linger long enough?

Free

Chaos runs in streams
Down her shoulders
In uncontrollable tresses
A glimpse of her untamed nativity

Few can take the plunge
Into the dark of her eyes
An abysmal beauty
She swallows you whole
If you let her

The symmetrical savages
Her lips
They hold back the fire
Frozen in place
She won't burn you
While she burns away

A hand traces her outline
Easing through the hotter parts
Down, down, deeper
There is more than blood
That courses through her

You stand too close
Unnerved and excited by the climax
Closer still, to her mystery

And you wait
You wait
Till she sets herself free

Derail

Soap bubbles
For unwritten words
Connecting the dots
They pop open
These pretty little voids
Rainbows and lost stories
Who knew how pungent
day-dreams can be

Unwashed memories
Are out in the sun to dry
Washed and weary

I feared they would shrivel up
And die
These unlettered histories

Soft to touch
With a tinge of blush
Forgetting the times I have worn them
On my sleeves
In my heart

A derailed set of eyes
Focus momentarily
On reappearing faces
They never change
And are never the same

With every pop
The eyes derail some more
And the heart follows

Crave

In Hell

All is well

Or so they say

Not that they can tell

Anyway

For the day is no darker

Than yesterday

Or the day before

When the static horizons

Fenced in

Inflected in-curiosity

And hushed the silence

Into a conspiracy

Against the better judgement

Of my better half

In Heaven

All is well

Or so I say

You’ll do better

Than believe deflected words

And blurred lines

Or run after

The forbidden fruit

That my words crave

Cure

here I stand
a self-made  clown of sorts
with a quid pro quo, I make the world laugh
but nothing caresses my ears
and my heart
better
than her side-long twitches of lips

bursting forth with a primordial joy
that somehow, nobody else can feel
I stare at the softness of my accomplishment
as she sorts through my mind
crawling through all the cavities
that hide behind the clown's smile

I might just have caught the love bug
I don't know
but I hope it is contagious
and I hope she doesn't find a cure

Desperado

You wonder how love works

At what tick of the clock, the paperweights slide 

And invisible sounds wake you up in the dead of the night

You wonder how love works

And try to wish away the scars that heal but not completely

They don't hurt, they don't bleed, at least not visibly

You wonder how love works

The tangled roots and branches bowed down with need

A dry well that somehow, still waters every tree

You wonder how lovers work

They don't. Not often enough.

Fairy tales are made of that crazy stuff

It's a bluff, they say. A complete bluff.

You don't miss the lovers, but the love

And you wonder how love works

That, my friend, is the question.

Onlookers

let's look at the stars tonight

and not wish for the quiet sunrises

as part-time lovers

maybe as explorers

standing on the verge of an iceberg

toppling over

tip-toes - frozen and numb

and a heart sunburnt

let's look at the stars tonight

and feign that we still do love

in corrected measured cups

of insolence and indolence

let us spill and slip upon our secrets

our misadventures

tracing the bloodline from the head to the toe

yours and mine and no more

Note:

This is the first draft of the poem that I wrote with eyes half-closed with sleep. It is incredible how I wait for days on end for inspiration to strike hard on my brain and it comes into action only when i'm crawling into my bed. Oh, well. 

Please do let me know what you think of it and what it made you think of and if anything does/does not make sense (it probably won't make much sense to me either, to be honest).

Thank you. :)

Identities

Identities hidden
In textured paraphrases
Stalked by all those words
Unsaid, Unheard
And crimson verses
Of him, For him
Throbbing with every heartbeat out of sync
And refusing to ever die
Constantly asking
(in between the lines)
Who are you?
Who am I?
In rusted confessions
Of my blind obsessions
Searching amid the silent validity
Of a love with no takers
And it wasn't him
It was all me.

Artist: Ken Wong

Note:
This poem marks a breakthrough in more than one way. Firstly, I have accepted how I will always be writing about love and it will, more often than not, be borderline sad unrequited-love poetry. Secondly, (the breakthrough part), most of my previous verses have me (or the speaker, definitely the speaker) reaching out in the dark for a presence, for answers, for something to gain a kind of closure and look beyond the immediate circumstances of my life. But in this poem (and hopefully, in all the future ones), I'm going to turn all this pondering and searching inward, to find that answer and that closure within my own self.

Daily Epiphany: We really are stronger than we think, once we give the continuous process of underestimation a long, deserved rest. :)

Seamless

I loved him

In seamless breaths

And beyond repair,

The distortions, now

Hang heavy 'round him

On close call,

We ran after shadows,

But he - 

Never to return.

I love him

In seamless breaths

For I am beyond repair

Till I love him

Less and less.

Author's Note:

I read T.S. Eliot's 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' a couple of minutes ago and I realized how much I have loved that poem ever since I first read it in class (under the much-needed tutelage of my professor). I'm not sure if my piece really connects with Eliot's poem, but the poem was there in the back of my mind while writing this.

And if you are anything like me, you would feel baffled to know that Eliot also wrote incredible verses for kids - full of wit, humour and tight poetic structure. I expected him to be a no-fun kind of guy but then, I guess, we writers don way too many roles and voices and personas.

Click here to read T. S. Eliot's Iconic Vintage Verses on Cats

Why A Victim

Like a house erupting in flames
An imprint as such I cannot name
Mercilessly, I was, forever scarred
A foreign rage had left me charred
Strewn in pieces, my dignity smelt
Of rotting corpse; they never felt
A tug of remorse in their soul-less heart
As they barged in and tore me apart
My pleas, my threats amused them more
My quivers pursued their humanly core
A clever plan to subjugate
A human sharing an animal’s fate
Arrows of torture; bullets of shame
Pinned me to their reality game
Laughs and sneers; tears and screams
Stuck in this appalling dream
Momentary ambrosial feel
Hunt for a voluptuous deal
Humanity surpassed by the greed
Was it my religion, gender or creed