The Illusion of Knowing

The Illusion of Knowing

Who can guarantee, we are not blind?
All the stars that are dying now, if they are
a billion light years away, their demise
we’d know after a billion years!
Till then, astronomers would map the light
as forlorn poets across the world would pledge
their love with poems, penned through the night!

    

And still you’d say, we are not blind!
Neither deaf, nor numb till we feel or hear
the lights from the act or sounds from the scene!
Still you’d insist that we can know,
despite our existence in a superior dream!

     

Last night’s sweet residue of a tender happiness
though palpably spread across the length of my skin,
with my long history of waking up to find,
the joyful surrender was only a mere dream,
I hope this is not one of those times! If it is,
let me sleep as I don’t want to wake up again!

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In Praise of Love

In Praise of Love

I have a dream that I will be
on the sandy shore of Carthage one day,
to reimburse the Punic collateral
taken unlawfully by a cruel Mars!

The vast blue oceans that keep me away,
will be my ride when the time comes
but when? I too have often asked myself the same.
When did Hannibal brave the Alpine chill?

I do not think Lord has plucked me
or may be, for I burn nevertheless
to right the wrongs and write some songs
in praise of an all encompassing love!

Love is how the earth lets a seedling grow
or how the clouds empty their vaults
after flying for weeks in the wind’s flow
or how the moon dogs an ever fleeting sun!

Perhaps I shall arrive at the shore of my dream
or perhaps I shall drown and be
another Phlebas for eternity!

But if I reach my home I have found in your eyes,
I shall humbly ask for your hands and say,
I have come my Love, now please make me thine!

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A Broken Song

A Broken Song

It’s a small world, you said!
A world that might have been
large enough to unite with my beloved
but woe, the plague of borders and bayonets!

    

A weird time, undoubtedly,
when the governments and their polities
thrive on fear, conjured up by empty words
and a hatred for the presumed divergence!

   

Wish I had the means to ask for your hands,
a horse, a sail to leave this barren land!
Perhaps you would let me belong
to the corner you call your home,
near the mountain, decked with a forest, green,
where your cloud of hair is ruffled by the wind!

  

Still, with most of my numbered days already gone
what rights do I have on that heavy cloud,
streaked with golden rays from the sun,
woven from the same stuff as dreams?

    

Yet, since I have vowed not to leave
a single word unsaid, let me conclude by
pledging these humble words at your feet –
if I were Hades, would you be my Persephone?
I promise to keep the world unthawed
and the winter, running all year long!

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Let It Be…

Let It Be…

I want your hand but wait!
What is that? Do I see
a muted fluttering in your heart?
That’s normal, you should know,
till you know what love truly is.

    

In the morning it burns,
just like an orange, rising sun
but you can always close your eyes
and revel in the warmth,
like the lush foliage of a tree!

    

In the gray, melancholic dust
of the evening hours,
when birds return to their empty bowers
and human engines throb
to shift their paradigms,
a single hair’s breadth would seem too far apart!

  

Then the last line of dialogue, often just implied,
in all our nightmares might become,
“That is not what I meant at all,
that is not it at all!”

    

So I say, alright, let it be,
how is this more painful than a forsaken dream?

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So, The Sun

So, The Sun

So, the sun did not rise today.
It is true that the sun is not bound to
rise for illuminating me everyday
but still my heart pursues,
still at my back I hear rats’ feet
scuttling blind on heaps of dead bones!

With dusk the darkness literally moans,
cold, endless and alone, overwhelming
my senses with her teary eyes!
Save those nights once or twice a moon,
when the sun remains up at the sky until dawn,
I have been half in love with darkness through my life!

We live in a strange time, I think, (don’t you?)
with state of the art devices
in primitive hands, governed by a mind,
even wiser than those in age,
ruled by what the diodes showed and said,
unless eternal time has always been like this!

What should I do? What shall I ever do?
When would Time cease to throw her poisoned darts at me?
Fetch me my hemlock, I should better go
and drown, to renounce life in Lethe’s serene flow!

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