Thoughts Like Shadows

Thoughts Like Shadows

An empty darkness spreads over the realm
of my scattered thoughts that have gone astray
like the shadow cast by a setting sun
on the ground at the end of a bright day.

Shadows of the foliage and yonder hill,
receding from the sun and her warm light,
keep getting longer, forever until
even the plains too are shrouded by the night.

But a darkness all around lets us see
the wonders above, hidden by the sun –
the whole universe and her history
back to the moment her tale had begun.

So on behalf of my scattered thoughts, I
belligerently bid the sun goodbye!


We Are, Both!

We Are, Both!

No,
please
do not shake your head

in kindled vehemence
we are not angels,
neither God!

As human beings with consciousness,
latent at birth and later
buried miles under
the mounds
of stories,
we are
both
good
and evil,
enlightened
and ignorant.
Our thoughts can be
both vicious and virtuous.
The contrast lies in our acceptance!

If knowledge does not admit her ignorance,
if virtues do not confess her evil thoughts,
and if light never meets the darkness
on the other side, the ignorance
overflows and the evil inside
in silence grows,
brought up by
our reluctance
to wake up and
open our eyes.
And evil, overgrown, lurks
in our subconscious minds,
as we live our conscious life
without a shred of conscience.
With only our virtues thoroughly
and consciously emphasized, the evil
permeates our thoughts and feelings about
all others, everyone, except the face we see
introspecting, or in an ordinary mirror on the wall!


Beauty, Amplified!

Beauty, Amplified!

“Where is she?”, a voice wailed inside my head.
“There she is!”, another, moments later, replied
in ecstasy and my pupils dilated
at her sight, haloed by the rainbow colored lights.

 

Indeed, she is far prettier than our prettiest dreams,
more beautiful than pure beauty can ever be,
for her other half, forever dark and unseen,
turns beauty to a feeling, mere eyes fail to see.

 

A feeling, reverberating across
our synapses, remaining lodged within
a few neural paths, waiting for a stimulus,
or a set of stimuli – sharp, blunt, serrating,
is better than a mere sight, quicker too
on the release of all the rest with Dopamine!

 

And beauty, when all pure and absolute
like that when with impurity she overflows,
is often only half as beautiful
as when she is in harmony with her darkness,
like knowledge that knows the depth of her ignorance…
Don’t you see, the most beautiful time of the day
is when darkness unites with the shimmering light,
once at dawn and once at the dying hour of the sun?


 

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

… And Darkness, my old friend, himself
opened the door to his house on my second knock.
He greeted me with a wry smile on his lips
and a glass of whiskey, in his hand, on the rocks.

 

With my eyes, bloodshot and swollen,
with dried out trails of tear on both my cheeks,
I tried hard to forge a smile as best as I could,
but my friend put his other hand on my shoulder,
ushering me inside, he closed the door behind
and said, “Do not fake a smile when you cannot laugh!”

 

The ensuing silence hovered in the air,
as we walked through the hallway to his living room.
There we sat across a wooden table, dark and round,
he gave me a knowing look and I heaved a sigh!

 

A soothing smile slowly spread on his face,
like moonlight spreads over a passing cloud,
his voice grew as deep and calm as the Pacific
as he said, “Why have you sought me out, my dear friend?
I see you are troubled by some thoughts,
tell me, what can I do to put your mind at ease!”

 

“It is a vision” I said with another sigh,
more audible this time and he squinted his eyes a little,
as if his world gets darker when a sigh is heaved.
Nevertheless I carried on, “that keeps recurring
every time I close my eyes to sleep.
In that vision I see, topless towers
burning hot and fiery red, falling down,
dragging me down with them into the pit below.
I keep falling until jolted out of my slumber,
bare moments before I’m engulfed in that flame too.”

 

“So you wake up with your throat parched and dry,
wishing somehow you had never closed your eyes.”
Said my friend, as if he was present there,
when I was trembling in my bed, in shock and fear
like the wreckage left by a vicious storm
after the haunting vision had raged through my brain.

 

“Yes, you are right,” I said, “but tell me please,
if you know of a remedy for my disease…”
“Of course,” He cut me short and said, “I do!
You need time; it is only time that can heal you.
I do not how much time you have remaining in your hand
but this I know, if you have enough you’d be healed, my friend!”


 

Sometime It Rains

Sometime It Rains

As the rain with a drizzle, unrelenting,
soaks the ground, come to me and drench my thirst!
Leave behind a wet sheen to make my soul,
like a rain soaked street, a giant reflector,
reflecting back some light to fill the scene
and glowing too with the audacity of hope!
      

Sometime it rains through the night and the dawn
is as dark as the hours that came before
and sometime the day too gets washed away
by a torrential pelting from the clouds!
     

The raindrops, falling on me as I walk,
where did they start their earthbound falling from?
Is it those dark grey clouds, crying overhead
or a dark figment of my imagination?
     

For I see no one washed and made fair by the rain
or perhaps it did but we succumbed, yet again!

.