The Why's

If you knew all along,
My dreams, my song,
The color of my eyes,
The width of my hand,
Why did you not say so?

The scars on my soul,
You must have counted a thousand times,
Yet,you remain silent?

Our laughter is now a vague memory,
A still from a movie from long ago,
I wonder why the same movie,
I wish to watch over and over again?

The why's now tire me,
As much as they tire you,
The why's seem such a waste of time,
Every minute that life is running out,
I long to kiss away your doubts.

Fulfilment

If life is about tasting fulfilment,
In an unfulfilled life,
Then the mind that meditates in the forest,
Must also run in designer shoes,
It must by pass the emptiness,
And shun all roads to finding love...
In once again wanting to fly,
The glitter of jewels must catch the eye,
The silverware held not just for toying with food,
The silk when draped must cool the flesh,
The voice of a loved one must resonate,
The meaningless must assume new meaning,
The hurt must be trashed-traded for a laugh,
The night must stoke the fire of desire,
The day must never be sans purpose,
Why?
Why watch the juice seep out?
Why endure the agony of hmmms?
Can anyone really tell if they ever felt love?

In Her Shoes

Our lives run parallel,
A man sleeping in a strange bed,
With strange dreams,
A lone figure on a plane,
Holding back tears, failing miserably,
The hurt in the air is almost suffocating,
Unease in the air is like the smell of a burnt tyre,
For miles it can be felt,
I sense, not willingly,
Yet, the feeling overwhelms,
How softly she sobs,
How vulnerable he is,
The fear of the unknown,
The emptiness,
Chokes...
The smile leaves the lips,
Only to sneak back in an unguarded moment,
There is hope then,
Teasing, tantalising,
That our tomorrow would be better than yesterday.

A Sneeze

The failing of men,
Is hard to define,
Their feelings even worse,
They come and go,
Just as a sneeze,
Runs down the nose,
To be wiped in a flash of a movement...gone,
And their touch so fake,
That for donkey years they'll fool their women,
Believing that they love.

If He Knew by Sanjana

This wonderfuly expressive poem is written by Sanjana for the poetry contest hosted by Bookchums for 'Love On the Rocks'. Enjoy reading and thank you Sanjana!

If he knew,
If he knew about the depths of my love, would he really love me or be the same?
If he knew about the innocence of my feelings, would he greet me with open arms or still just that smile lame?
If he knew about the crazy doodles I make, would he take me seriously or laugh it off?
If he knew about the romantic dreams I have, would he still be my friend or cut me off?
So many questions, so many doubts, so many feelings, all unannounced,
If I were to get any answers would I still feel the love or die of a heartbreak in the crowd?

To Pa with Love

A postcard for you,
If an angel calls out to you in heaven,
Don’t be surprised,
And don’t you dare let those tears fall,
When you see how much you are missed by all.

To tell you the truth,
On the days that are without hope,
When the hurt cascades,
Your name sounds like a prayer...
Years passed we never knew your strength,
Neither your worries nor despair,
The world knows only judgement,
Who can see the heart of a saint?

In this world of grown-ups,
Your children fail,
Your birth is so different from death,
A bitter sweet reminder,
You were here yesterday...

House of Cards

In our quiet moments,
We are at our vulnerable most,
The mask crumbles,
Distorted,
As if about to cry,
And like a house of cards it all falls,
Our failings, the drama,
The sham that our lives are,
Crashes with a vengance,
Its not a days affair,
Sometime it goes to the grave,
There is no hiding, no running from the presence within...
It finds you even if you are not willing to be found,
So neither fear the darkness witihin,
Nor the senseless chatter of people around you,
But beware of the pale golden light,
That in your quite moments will hunt you down,
Merciless in it's quest,
It'll strive to make a better man out of you.

Q & A with HIM

Q

My tears are drying,
But they won’t cease to flow,
A lifetime will you have me crying at your door,
I promise, there will never come a time,
When I will stop asking you,
God, listening aren't you?

A

Hope flowers with the rising Sun,
Though, I have much to learn,
The teary eyed sings the music of his name,
Great strength creaks in weak knees,
Laughing faces are beautiful,
If the sound comes from that magical core,
A Sufi knows the road to self discovery,
Is his alone,
And he can't wait to get on road.

A Thought or Two...

A Thought

Some days we are blessed more than the rest,
A rare camaraderie we share with existance,
A sweet smile upon our lips,
Dreamless,
We welcome sleep,
Every wish almost fulfilled...to love and be loved.

Or Two

Every moment that you live inspired,
You grow,
You fly,
With great abandonment you love,
Vibrant as the wings of a butterfly,
The noise of freedom...
In seeking inspiration,
You’ll find life is beautiful in its turbulence.

Come and Get Me Now

I long to be a child again,
To be safe in papa’s arms,
See mamma’s mock anger at my torn uniform,
Hear Granny’s endless stories from Panchtantra,
Little brother didn’t figure on my list then,
Papa was my universe,
Rock-solid,
He could do no wrong,
How men pale in comparison,
Hurl a mouthful of hurt,
And not a sigh of regret...

I am not a child anymore,
Who can throw a tantrum,
Ah well, neither can papa come and get me now...

Shukrana

In the desert,
The heat scalds the skin,
Cutting deep,
A certain sepsis of the soul...

On the road to Oasis,
Blisters seldom heal,
Down on his knees,
The lost traveller begs Allah to end his misery,
Look at the plight of Allah,
He doesn’t know what is he accused of,
The sand storm is to bring the traveller home,
Didn’t the water in the satchel and the faithful camel,
Abandon the traveller long ago?
Yet, he lives to beg for mercy,
His cries lame, pain acute,
Allah’s name he calls out loud,
But never ‘shukrana’, a word of thanks,
‘Pray tell’, says Allah, ‘How do I save your miserable soul?’

The Inner Beast

The eyes must burn feverish at every window,
That looks up the sky,
Questioning why,
The night haunts the dark recesses,
Of the fearful mind,
Under the pale moon, restiveness grows,
Soon,
The wolves need hide no more,
The beast torn out of the body is,
Newborn,
Flesh hungry,
Just as the moon moves through the silent night,
Watchful,
The beast howls, angry at the moon,
For his curse leaves him thirsty so often,
He knows the spring,
But the reason eludes him,
Why the beast must go hunting at all?
Surely there must be a creamy white throat,
On some window,
Waiting to be feasted upon,
Ah, the same window every night,
Is the moon listening, he howls, he asks...

'Ju' - to yield...

A hundred years and river of tears,
Not knowing ‘I’...
And then in spring the heart flowered,
Petals trembled in excitement,
The light was tremendous,
Blossoming had happened,
The sky could be felt from far,
The wind could be heard from a distance,
Existence now had a new meaning,
‘I’ was lost than before,
Sans purpose,
Drifting,
Waiting,
Not many would know,
The joy of feeling the ‘I’ in you,
Not any would know,
The hand of God...

Nothingness...

The clothing of nothingness,
Is so fascinating,
It sways drifters and settlers alike.
The seeker learns
The illiterate shepherd resting under a tree is enlightened,
For his eyes see randomness in nature,
As an act of God,
The shade from the tree and the cacophony in nature
Is his place of glory,
His hunger only tends to his sheep,
In his simplicity he is blissful,
At peace,
The rare bird one whispers about,
Sits on a poor man’s shoulder,
And he thinks nothing of it.

The Road Back Home

The world He’s created,
Is not absolute,
Lies are part reality,
Farce, a shade of truth,
Closed, the heart of men,
Tears, the road back home...
In opening,
There should be no shame,
Your fears and mine are alike,
Who wishes to be alone?

Canary Island

Must you threadbare my words?
Don't you hear the silence of the beautiful dawn,
When like a canary my heart sings,
And the Sun stumbles into our home,
The leaves clamber out of bed,
Their eyes shining with dew,
I rub some of it on you,
And that’s how the day begins,
A smile, a prayer, we share,
Not in so many words,
In stillness we are one.

Soiled

Soiled thy air,
Discoloured thy race,
Bleak the hour in which the eyes quietly rain...

Dirty, Undrinkable

The water in the drain isn’t clean,
Or even drinkable,
But it isn’t dirty,
It has character in its murkiness...

Many leap over the drain,
Some dip their feet, some refrain,
The water knows not,
The good feet from the bad,
And when they spit and dump their garbage,
That too shall flow along,
Those who care must know,
The water in the drain can never become the holy spring,
The rubbish of many lives would find its way,
There isn’t a mason, who can repair this drain,
The water only knows to flow in all its ugliness,
And flow it shall...