World

World, a mirage

Inflamed with bitter nonsense

Can I see that I am in knots?

Trapped first under skin

Then entangled

In the ribbons of thoughts

Perspectives. Of all and sundry.

Questionable reality.

Is sound not a dimension?

Seventh, maybe?

I am drugged.

A heaven though. Certainly.

Now repositioning me

Have you ever by chance

Tripped upon this realm?

That I am presently at?

Only moving silhouettes

Oblivious. Silent. Funny.

Do they know I am away?

In case they see me?

I am liking the seventh.

Are there more of such?

For I’d love losing my way

Seeking You.

I don’t see another dimension. Not yet.

I am hallucinating. Indisputably.

For what I see,

Is painted behind my eyes

Not around me.

Amla

Fingers sway on earthen pot

Rhythm from nothingness

Empty spine of a flute

Whistling bliss

Luring me into a brilliance

Could anyone touch me?

Like fingers on that clay?

Could anything soften me?

Except the flute he’d play?

Like dawn beads on grass

Effortless strings of Veena visit

The company of flute

To appease my ears’ thirst

Mischievous energy

Cheerfully tease me

I sanction its spirit

To indulge me

In trance, head sways

Eyes shut from the Earth

Smile carved by lips

Peace exposes its worth

Drenched cheeks

Beats weaken

To the groaning fan

My ears reluctantly open