Streetlights

Half past six
Chases the moon;
Watches the last of the streetlights
Fade out behind the misty embers,
Dimming if only for being outshone.

Half past six
Chases watery swathes
In blue-grey rolls
Back over a warming skyline.

Whence came the first wisps of smoke
That filled my cup
And a hundred others
For the sake of these streetlights?

A Still Day In November

By the window you sat

Gazing blank as paper

That shrivels in the drops

Like a thought for later

Tense crystals beat at

And adhere to the glass

But this rain, like anything

Will pass

I fixate for a moment

What's there?

Hiding amid rain and wisps

Of coffee-scented air

Of tastes and smells

Of every childhood meal

Of the tasteless present

That is nothing but real

The food's here

And you're finally back

From the cold, driving rain

Which always somewhat lacks

In the deep meaning that

Everyone gleans from staring

At a window on a rainy day

Without their bearings

Why would you go there?

It's cold and wet outside

Your heart will catch it

Even if your body hides

I pick up my knife and fork

And as you pick yours too

In the ice water on the table

Is a refraction of you

All ready to begin

On this great scent and taste

And the wrong sights and sounds

It's quite a waste

You smile, and I smile back

And then my attention wanes

With my half-smile still on, unaware

To the rain

Morning

I walk briskly
At the sign of light,
As if it were the pistol of death
of the previous night.

I watch in wonder
as the neighbor's dog noses
its way through the grass of mynas,
and flapping coal wings
startle the stagnant air
with small beaded eyes fixated
on the unknown species
the dog's leash leads to.

Appointments rope in endless crowds
to places of money, sweat and tears.
And the fears of the morning rush
seems alleviated now
that people are practising courtesy (or some form of it)
in lines as if to offer prayers
to the accelerating box of people,
while watches flash in the light
reaffirming when their time is up.

I look around to see and experience
What a zombie apocalypse might be;
What with all these deadpan faces
and ironed shirt with no creases.
They march escalators of souls
trampled below
in the tragic foodchain
we all succumb to.

A hand weaves through
And untangles the horrid knotted earphones
Draping it on successfully--
On oneself like a huge bowtie
On a casket meant to go
In search for another life.

Three minutes of silence,
or more so,
as we mind our own business.
The rituals we do
that dismisses dawns
and its symbolic nature:
in our loss, it mourns.

Mimesis

She perches on the table front
Hands tousling her chin
He stands with the structure between
Him and the wide sleepy tin

Hearts and dimming eyes
Flickering at the promise of art
Sense and selective penning
To tug at mind and heart

Last Warning

Don't leave me here
Where are you going
Away
No, don't

Sitting on an island on fire
No one wants this mind for hire
They sat him down and told him
"You don't know how to be a liar"

And it's true, life is just a game
It's all the choices that we make
That, direct where your life goes, it's
Too late for regrets for fuck's sake

I don't know if anything I'm saying is getting to you
But you mean too much to me for me to just let you go, too
And I know I don't hold that place in your life and I don't know if I ever will
So tell me something before I lay down and pop the pill, because

I'm going to run out of time
Snapping at all my lifelines
So give me a last warning, last warning
Before the morning

Blind in the black
With nothing to cover my back
I am running into walls like there isn't any right track

The water flows, gushes, pours
I only see the open door
But the fire keeps on pounding me down into the floor

The walls of this place are closing in too fast
And I don't know if my support structures are going to last

But I know one thing
The resounding sound of this something
Is going to outlast me, I'm dying, you see, because

I'm going to run out of time
Snapping at all my lifelines
So give me a last warning, last warning
Before the morning I might not see

This is a drastic change in
Expectations
And the one who can't adapt
Dies worse than physically

No, don't go
Away
Where are you going
Don't leave me here

The plastic smile

Razors steal a stolen silence.

Coronation: Of a new divide;

Acting for its master

With due reprise.

Its engines oiled in cold remorse;

Impresses the truth of its course.

Decorum prescribed by superficiality;

Distorts the beat taunting within.

As lips purse with uncertainty,

Yet replaced with outstretched arms

Of a fallen dignity;

 A carved out wane is completed,

As notion of self is as bent

As a drawn face is out for rent.  

   

Unearthed truths

Blots of dotted grey transit--
To that of a ruby radiance,
Pervading through secrets rancid;
The night safekeeping, the day's brilliance.

Emphatic rays now draw clarity--
An earthly wonder to all of nature,
Camouflaged as a process so common;
In actuality, a concept much foreign.

The lifelong tunnel of truth,
Is not hampered,
By blinded fights.
For the iridescent dawn--
Reserves a ray,
For every open eye.