The clock on the lost wall

Right there,
on the wall of lost time,
sitting is a clock.
Looking through the eyes of time,
everything and everywhere.

There isn’t solace,
but a sadness that keeps getting deeper with time.
If you know and look into it,
you will find it hard to understand.

The petrichor,
the dusky smell of wooden trench,
used long back to make its body.
The rare collection of colors put into it.

Wind in its own acoustic comes to make him feel the lost time,
like a golden memory which cherishes us to laugh and cry at the same time.
It does seem like how the bread of memory pilled with lost time taste.
Maybe there is no other beauty glow like the time.
It keeps the beauty of dusk and dawn,
the sun and moon, the dark and the day, the world and I.

“The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!” | John Keats

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,
Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise –
Vanish’d unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday – or holinight
Of fragrant-curtain’d love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight,
But, as I’ve read love’s missal through to-day,
He’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

source: Poetry Foundation


Books in Focus

Kasturi | Poem Series | Part 1

Two ends of a sphere,
Me and my Heart.

One lives with me,
one lost
to never found me again.

When I recall sometimes,
of my heart,
a fragrance of ‘Kasturi’ smells everywhere,
when couldn’t find it,
i sit in solace.

In the night,
when memories sears me apart,
i think of my heart.
A heart which could’ve been here now,
but it isn’t here.

Every thought of lost heart,
which comes
with the thoughts of her,
is like the mild wind of summers,
or, like a shade to me,
for I’ve been burning in the sun,
whole my life.

She wasn’t a part of me,
never she was.
I never loved her,
never did she.
I never asked her,
never she said.

But

She never left me,
never she did.
she stays in me,
and in my memory,
Like a masterpiece
of the time.

Kasturi – Meaning ‘Musk’ – Ornamentally “Smell rare to find”.

(To be continued…….)


Books in Focus


The drops of fog

Writing on leaves,
the drops of fog
some sublime poetries,
of life & lies,
burning and dying,
true love in the eyes.

Escaping from the arms of clouds,
falling to the surface of grounds,
it cools the heat all around.

Scattered onto the soil,
it asks for an another life.
a life of time, for a lifetime,
nothing it says, but denies.

A Life with Lenity

Whimpers in the maze of tough thoughts,
A life with lenity.
A thought of seeking coincidence,
With wondrous epiphany.

A morning that seeks night,
But couldn’t.
A night that seeks dawn,
But couldn’t.

It stays within,
And asks quietly,
Whether you’re,
what you are
or not??

When not heard,
It stays where it belongs,
Like a snail in its shell.

Ashes of Thoughts

Stays somewhere,
little ashes of thoughts,
dawning in the middle
of some stray stars,
alone but surrounded,
by meaningless bushes
of burdens.

A walking thought,
starts running,
on some unknown roads.
irritated, hopelessly,
trying to escape,
from all the realities,
that caused enough.

A howling truth,
begins to kill,
every breathe in the flesh.
like an enemy,
of its own.

Hope, a myth,
breaking and germinating again,
and at last,
betrays us all,
a life stays with hope,
and dies, in hope.