The Seconds After Midnight

Sheer and tranquil
Your body soaked in magic
Approaches me still
Moments
Embraces
Lingering sensations
Tracing your outlines
Your curves and your perfection
The candlelight dances playfully
As your hair runs down my chest
Silent moans become louder
As the lovers unite in passion
We move like trained riders
Dancing to each other's beat
Wanting to touch every inch
Wanting to experience each second
As we climax and collapse
Breathing heavily into each other
The candle blows out furiously
The warm wax gently solidifies
The seconds after midnight
Continue to tick away

Black

The black darkness of the night,
Laughs gently at me in a roar unforgettable,
The mirth is shattered by its sudden transition,
And with the force of its unworldly design.

The night transcends between whiteness and blackness,
Each transience celebrated by silver brilliance,
The madness of its turmoil unforgettable.

In heavy lumps of tears,
Amidst a wail that is deep and penetrating,
The night begins to weep.

The wanderer looks from his shelter below,
His eyes peppered with the salts of time,
Does this night sing a paean in honor,
Is it the laughter of a madman,
Or the cries of a lost wanderer

Shimmering and glistening,
Screaming and whistling, The black darkness of the night,
Continued its laughter and still,
The night continued to weep...

A Sense of You

In the bloodstream
You exist
Not in a visceral reality
But an essence
Like a crushed jasmine flower
Bleeding in the palms
Of playful lovers

In each breath
You exist
Not in a weighted presence
But a fragrance
Of dessicated roses
Thrown in the faces
Of deceitful lovers

In each sound
You exist
Not in a mellifluous voice
But like the paean
Of a roadside fakeer
Lost in the melody
Of heaven's whispers

In every taste
You exist
Not in a succulent savor
But like sweet nectars
Of childhood memories
Left haunted in the minds
Of nostalgic wanderers

In each touch
You exist
Not in a physical reality
But an existence
Of debilitating certainty
Crawling over the hearts
Of stone and ash

You exist

As the dreamers and those awake
Fall into the madness of love

The Nectar of Despair

They sit in silence,
Drunk in the nectar of despair,
They sit in silence,
Soaking in the sanguine air,
They sit in silence,
As the raindrops dance heavily,
They sit in silence,
Like two still dancers,
At the end of the ballet of existence,

They sit in silence,
Drunk in the nectar of despair...

Iridescence

Oh Iridiscent rainbow,
Where have you gone,
Leaving behind gray skies,
devoid of hope and warmth.

Oh sweet nectar of monsoon nights,
Where have you gone,
Leaving behind desolate emptiness,
And a land barren and bleached.

Have you returned to your home,
Where the love that you forever sought,
Greets your with the thumping of soft hail.

Have you returned to your land,
Where the sunlight slices up slivers of the sky,
And adorns you in its ornaments

Oh Iridiscent rainbow,
Where have you gone,
Leaving behind lost memories,
Left floating in the clouds of desires....

Still Death

The life that once was,
Stripped of all it's meaning,
Flesh and bones,
Like sticks and stones,
Hardened like the human soul,
The life that once was,
Gazes at me in fear,
A develish smile remains,
Frozen of all it's meaning...

The wanderer asks..
In these fragments that I pieced,
Am I the human,
Or am I just the beast...

Until The Monsoon Comes

The lush golden sand in this desert wide,

Doesn’t scream its thirst every night,

The pitch black sky doesn’t taunt,

In its abdicated refusal to give in,

The cracks at the seams of the parched soil,

Doesn’t scream its thirst every night,

It withers on and withers on

Until the monsoon comes…

The Abyss of Melancholy

…What memories we would have shared, she said to him as he softly began to ponder. He thought about it again, what would they have shared. They would have shared plenty of laughs, they would have shared accomplishments, mostly hers but perhaps some random ones of his. They would have shared some playful annoyances, he would have disproved of her language, she would have snapped at his sometimes absent mindedness. He would have frowned at her shiny Lycra pants that she liked and she would have been annoyed at his indifference to her misplacing a hairbrush. Memories, he thought, plenty of happiness and sadness dispersed like confetti in an ice-cream sundae. He reread the email, it seemed too definitive, too final.

His mind started racing, should he reply. Should he reach out to her one more time. What would he say? Would he reach out at her with the same half assed approach that he did last time? He still rued that decision. Not for reaching out, but the manner in which the conversation went about.

“You and your family are scum..” he remembers her voice. It was the same voice that he heard countless times before and yet there was a detached iciness to it. It was like she had rehearsed this speech many times before. The words hit him like a ton of bricks. He realized that he was unprepared for the consequences of his actions. When he reached out to her, he thought foolishly that he was turning back time. He thought that he could regain what was lost. But his naïve approach failed to realize a simple fact, what is lost cannot be regained. A lot had changed in the past 4 months. He was not the same person as before. And evidently neither was she. In fact, between both of them, she had probably changed the most. His attempts to learn of her life after the separation had yielded little success. He knew that she was successful at work, but besides that there was little that he learned. Was she angry at him, or was she upset, was she hurt or was she bitter. The questions became too much for him to handle and he reached out. The same letter that he wrote every day, he finally hit send. And a few days later came her reply. When he first saw her name in his inbox, it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. It took the wind out of him. Memories rushed back like the gushing waters of a dam. He heard her voice in his head, he saw her face smiling and he heard her laughter…he remembered her fragrance, it all seemed so real, like he could just step inside his mind and touch her again, he did that quite often...

And so he made that fateful call. But the person he spoke to was not the same person as before. The person before had been murdered, had been killed, he was the one who killed her, and now in her place, there was a new identity. One that appeared much stronger, and much more in command of her words and actions. He was perhaps unprepared, his life has been a constant struggle of unpreparedness. He stuttered, he said words of consoling but his mind kept defeating his lips.

“This will not work out” It said again and again as she took the opportunity to take out 4 months’ worth of frustration and anger on him.

“This will not work out” his lips read mimicking the voice sitting in his head. His heart suddenly felt empty. Like the life had been extinguished. He faintly recalls angry words spoken by someone on the other side. His mind began drifting, he was not soaring high up in the sky but drowning deep into an abyss of melancholy.

“I only wish the best for you” he remembers his lips saying. Followed by more words by the person on the other side.

<Click>

The line went dead. He stared at his phone. 4 months of imagining what how this conversation would go had not prepared him for this. It was too overwhelming. He felt like a tired traveler who could not move any further. He broke down. He began sobbing in a slow wail, quite akin to the random tears that continue to haunt him. He began sobbing in final realization that his loss was permanent. He had finally realized what he did, the damage that he caused was permanent and that realization killed him. He lashed out in anger at everything around him. He tore up cards that he saw in front. He threw away things that were useful but reminded him of her. He called the doctor and cancelled his appointment since he did not wish to speak to anyone. He was a log drifting on the lonely lake and there was no one who he would let come close. Never would he allow anyone to hurt him again.

<minutes pass, that turn into hours, that transform into days, that convulse into weeks>

He stares again at the email, reads it one more time, it has become a ritual for him. He briefly makes out the faint visage of his appearance in the reflection of his computer screen. The man in the mirror appears different. His hair is longer and there is visible facial hair on his chin and on his upper lip. His eyes are tired from obvious lack of sleep. His brow is furrowed and contorted in anger, or was it frustration, it was hard to tell. The dull throbbing in his head was now a heavy gallop. The sounds of the workers around him makes him wish to retreat into a quiet corner somewhere. The constant pierceing pain in his heart was something constant now, and he wore it like a pendant adorning his cursed and tainted soul. It was like a weed sprouted on a derelict garden, a weed that he nurtured with fresh sadness poured nightly by reminiscence. He was not of this world anymore, but merely a forgotten piece of furniture, one that occupies space, but exists without any purpose.

The transformation was now complete.

The Mirror

What tears may come soak them,
What blood may spill burn it,
You the lover of the oblique,
And the seeker of the mystique,
Drown the memories of yesterday,
It doesn't exist...
It doesn't exist...
Reality is your mirror now,
The rest simply doesn't exist...

The Matam

He remains not of this world,
and yet His body walks among us,
His form raised above all in chant,
Hovering over this sea of men,
Drowning in tears, flowers and rain,
He awakens not to the sound of thunder,
He awakens not to the sound of rain...

At the Banks of the River

My existence is lost, I am merely a wanderer,
I am not of this world, nor am I of the beyond,
These eyes search endlessly for the heartbeats,
Pounding away (loudly) in the forgotten corners of this land,
My existence is lost, I am merely a wanderer,
One who searches during the day and by the starlight night,
One who searches in the searing sun, and under the silver moon,
One who searches until he has forgotten all else that mattered,
If you ask him his name, he gazes in ponder,
And he points to the silent cries in the distance...

His existence is lost, he is merely a wanderer,
He is not of this world, nor is he of the beyond,
nothing remains for him in this emptiness and hollow,
He talks of angels and demons hitherto unknown,
haunted it seems he remains like a cowardly animal,
crossing the thin mango bark over the raging river,
This wanderer roaming still,
Aimlessly like a madman,
The wanderer roaming still,
Searching for a few lost heartbeats...

Come Within

They search in the empty corridors of the heart,
These eyes gazing throught windowless souls,
These voices that echo in the halls of the shah,
These voice that echo loudly within.

Thumping loudly,
This heart searches for meaning,
In this barren land absent,
Of the intoxication of your love...

Come within me,
Come within me,
Oh lost love of my heart,
Come like the autumn wind,
Come like the prayers of the fakeer,
Come like the drops of honey,
Dripping down the lips of Layla,
Her eyes searching for her majnun,

Through windowless souls of despair,
And empty corridors of reason,
Come like the sound of the rain...