g's world

You are the ray of my day The moon of my nights The bamboo of my flute The minutes of my time You are the flowers in my spring The leaves in my autumn The snow in my winter Well… Errrmmm.. You are also my sweat in the summers The ads between my shows The fog when I drive And yes! The owls when I sleep The landslide when I trek That cluster of dirt on the shores Clobber along the waves and reach my toes You are the violinist when Rome burns My speed breaker at every turn The mold in my only piece of bread What would you be thinking about me? I know you won’t care Or...you might still remember me The memories we made The struggles we wade The nights of unrest Of passion, of lust, Then of tears with regret Also in absence, of hate But haven’t we been there Or have we not? Has it faded, or Has it deluded? Have you fluttered away From the abode of my kind? Or are you trickling down Slowly melting away Like the flakes of w

I often wonder what am I so preoccupied about that I can't pick up a pen and write.. I can't sit down and think about things. Things that mattered to me once, about thinking itself. My weird little thoughts when I was a child. I would associate people's faces with weird animals, would crease every line on their face and every reaction of their's in my mind, of what is happening inside my body at that precise moment... blood flowing into veins and out of arteries into my heart, of my flesh, bones and my skull.  Its really weird, isn't it? And then I would think of thoughts itself, how they flow in and out, how they open myriad windows in my mind, each jutting off into their own rambles simultaneously, of things which I barely notice nowadays, like the trees, the centipedes that sit clustered in hundreds on the moist cement pavement which I happen to notice as I go to class everyday, of the beautiful designs and patterns on their wriggling bodies, how the mill

What's the use of feeling enraged? Your blood grasping hot iron fumes thrust through igniting the char it twists and turns and knots a million cinders burning its way through your heart and puckering through your brains gnawing a deep hole that lets you estranged. As you scrabble through  cursing wildly under your breath sweating your way into dark, uncharted poles Flick your eyeballs, as you cast them on to every syllable that has ever been inked, dissolved in the contagion  or even to be uttered scattered intrigue, a few coins up their sleeves, a back sword, a bludgeon, a pistol appears from the magician's hat there lay a crimsoned stiff or more,  rather many wailing upon their loss be it their petite stock of the green  or their soul bread that  wouldn't lead to another suicide, or the penny that fell off their spilling pockets. As the bulging belt spits out another button, he frolics with a glass of liquor and

I ricochet off in the chilly trains jutting across different places Through the days and the nights There I sit, listening to the thuds the wheels make while rolling out onto the tracks I meet people of different kinds Speaking unknown yet common tongues. Their phones ringing in different tones and their eyes sparkling as their food is served hot. I'm journeying to a destination that I am aware of yet unaware. My second home it might be, Yet holding a thousand promises and trenches in its wide spread arms, Welcoming me into its fold. I've just got a year with you, I say, everytime I think about it. Perhaps, it is 365 days that changed you into what you dreamed to become and another 365 will make you the one you have never imagined to be, it says .. :)

A blotch of blue on a patch of white I used to scribble verses, petite Not one, not two, But too many to few. They rhyme They chime They jingle They mingle with the million songs of the world They get into my ear play into my soul and kindle me to write the untold Yet I struggle with chains in shackle I lament about the other which contain to thyself I build the mountains put them up a pedestal look up and feel abysmal of my unfortune moments that keep fattening and tense As they loom up to altitude  I frown into doom, Doom that's dark and uncertain Or that which I call future. I pace around in anger of my fated future that seemingly sulks but when I sit and opine I realise, it is my mind that plays unto my joy my mind that scars my heart and adds streaks of suffering into my life. I decide not to lie, not to comply but thrive in what I contrive to let go of the mountains renou