Rains

Intriguing, not just the rain;

But the drama of light and sound

that it begets.

A vein of blue light soaks the sky,

baffling us

into thinking that it’s daybreak.

A light, bright enough to expose

raindrops as shimmering snowflakes,

against its lustrous gleam.

Chased by a crash of sound;

A passionate growl,

brash enough to startle even so-called brave,

shudder in shock.

Rains, like pails of water flung

back to Earth, the wrath of clouds.

Ah! These cycles.

What does breaking-free from it mean?

Darkness

Tonight, I am not afraid of darkness.

My eyes are closed

and now open.

Nothing changes- immobile darkness.

Tonight, I am undaunted.

 

I look around to drink in

My room, my hands, my face.

Only boundaries of skin.

So insignificant.

Tonight, I am not afraid of it.

 

I am not scared of it devouring me

I am not scared of ghosts like I used to be.

I pine for darkness in place of lightbulbs

Because tonight, fluorescence drips from my spine.

And tonight, I am willing to diffuse in it.

 

 

Himalayas

Often a muse for my paintbrushes

and innumerable canvas papers.

I am being summoned

to paint, in my eyes these mountains now.

So, way up yonder north,

live these dignified majestic peaks.

Oh! Am I being summoned,

to be humbled by these mountains now?

Intact white, garbed in snow.

Where drums breathe heavily,

fires dance untamed,

and rivers sway green and blue.

Before I resign.

Before I run out of breath,

I am being summoned

I am being summoned

to perish gracefully at these mountains now.

 

Twilight sparks

Words burn

the meek paper.

But papers,

not enough.

 

We kindle fire!

From blazing fire,

words hastily roar.

Thunder. Triangles.

 

Allow us to touch you.

We’ll do our share

like the groan of drums

to set you alight.

 

Let the world catch fire

and stumble on radiance.

From those little sparks

that were stirred by this Twilight.
 

Drunk

With intoxicated eyes

a gleaming tinge He conveys,

of a mysterious thread

constantly breaking this blistering insane.

One more word.

Just one more glance.

Just once more

to be drunk on His eyes again.

 

Meditate

First, her face dissolved with the walls.

Then her hands, she couldn’t feel.

Her feet vanished,

and so did her shoulders.

All that lingered, was her throbbing spine.

Everything else, flawless spacious infinite.

 

 

Poetry

Poetry kills.

Its magic traps us

in its serpentine fragrant passages,

now and again.

Rendering us feeble

before the sweetness that it is.