In confidence

Each time, we tear off seals of secrecy

In perpetual longing for consolation of some sort;

We will whisper:

Stories of absurd intimacy

That yet all follow the same thread of bitterness and anguish

Which will not be borne

By the soul alone.

It flows

Like black tea oozing out on a worn saucer

Betraying years of expectancy.

It seeks

A neutralizing element from the bleaching of air

And the strokes of sunset;

Welcoming washed-up currents of pious weaving

And shoving lost remnants

Into the blatant rays of observance

By lighthouses which never would guide.  

The emptiness felt thereafter is not

A new found calmness in retrospect;

But that of a spring newly taut

After much revelation of actuality.

The final call of self-respect

Brings notice to the hollows

When far too much is known;

By people who never really did care

But were just placed in the way

Of arbitrary tidal biddings—   

Thereby magnifying flaws in our flawless faith.

For such a plain placebo therapy

Does not dilute darkness when spread

Like butter on bread; but instead devours

And shades every square area

Spiraling in this comforting thirst of dependence

Where none can seek solace.  

Between Us

Between Us

At the extreme of a road lies

Change—A repelled opposite

Seeking trophies of time,

Worn out through invisible

Slits of the same ties

We once knew.

And when air pockets our waning

Initiative that grasps

The futile mending

Of our relation now; what lapsed

Between the scores of seconds,

We do not actually know.

May be,

The pendulum of every distance

Paces its obligatory turn,

Tracing paved paths in resonance and

Oblivion to the fluctuating size

Of the trench

Between.

Perhaps if fuelled with hope,

The vacuum within us

Would be bridged;

Instead of eternally wavering.

And if it were hope enough

That would see us through  

A lifetime together; shooting us

Into unmarked air bases

For the unknown to consume us

Only with unwarranted promises

As our only assurance; we

Invariably question:

If for accompaniment’s sake

We land on arbitrary footholds

Of which we’ll forsake

When the bell tolls;

Why else should we tangle the

Soon-to-be unraveled fates of meeting,

If it could be left a blank slate un-riddled

As what was and will be

Between us.

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Haven't written for ages. Tell me if it's ungrammatical :P