Blind circles.

All sizes of noisy circles,

Childishly coloured,

Crossing uncertain boundaries,

Just one step ahead;

The canvas melting in the wall,

The bubbles are all getting lost,

It is not gay, what should be gay,

But is tired and rugged,

Scratching the eyeballs to cement,

Decorated with slim ornaments,

Going almost blind to itself alone.

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Question?

Less people are dying now a days,

No large bombs, no wars,

The world is verbally chaotic,

Audibly silent.

Is he saving up burial lands

For people to build square boxes,

Or rectangular, for their progeny?

Is it the silence of storm?

Is it before or after?

Is it the beginning or the middle?

How far is the end?

Is there a get together,

Nearer to the gate of doom?

Can we question the fingers that pulled the trigger?

Can we question the saints?

Will we care to question?

Isn’t doom simple and greedless,

Selfless and oneness?

Is there really any END.

Today

Today I want to smile less,
Something I have breathed in tells me,
Today I should smile less;
Today I feel quiet and calm,
Today has come again.

Some excitement has left me,
I am not dull,
I am silent, listening to my breathes,
Looking at things,
So many things;
All quiet and calm,
Just like my today.

And now the today is yesterday,
And I know the today will come again tomorrow..

A little more and a little less.

What are we?

I don’t see,

Where and what have we now become;

Yes I spoke,

Yes you listened,

Questioned,

But then?

Now what?

I know I wanted this,

To be at least,

To be there in silence,

Let the doors be open,

Everything just the same,

At least, at last;

But now, really

Are we same?

Just the same,

For I feel a little robbed,

Of what we were:

Now conscious, evermore,

Now thoughtlessly thoughtful,

A little more;

A little more, pretentious,

A little less awkward?

Real or unreal,

A little more wait,

Unsure and sure a little more,

A little more and a little less,

Together,

Apart,

Fellow?

Unknown, after not knowing.

On the front

We all know everything. Or we all have access to know anything we want to. Internet.

Or maybe not. Even if you tell me your experiences, I may not really understand. Not that there is some language issue, or I am allien to your ideas. But sometimes we have just not gone through things ourselves.

My mind can understand, argue, debate, learn, realise, but how can it feel what you feel? What about the parts that your words can’t express? What about the things that your eyes express but I can’t feel, for I don’t know how many years, how many thoughts run behind those eyes.

When we say, we understand, do we really understand? When we say, we feel you, do we?

We are not in that state; we can never be. We can not even be in something equivalent to that.

What am I talking? Families of army men. We have heard and read about it. We know someone who has someone on the front. But do we understand them. Do we feel them. Can we understand their normality?

Can we, ever?

How do I love you?

How do I love you?

Shall I count some ways?

Or shall I love,

And just love,

Without the thought of you.

I know not if love means,

Meant the same to you,

For I may love in silence,

And I may love in crowd.

But wonder now do I,

If love be the ways,

The ways I felt for you.

Note: the first two lines are borrowed from Elizabeth Barret Browning’s poem How do I love thee?

Love?

What is love,
If not this,
That I shall die with you,
Our life,
Shall smile and cry,
And breath the same hue.

Love that I thought,
A flower very bright,
Is gone somewhere away,
Somehow blind,
I am now,
In the love that we say.

After and above,
You are to love,
For my faith is in you and me,
Love may mean,
Fragrance or feel,
Or one such certainty.

Write to me

Write to me,
Two or three dreams,
About the happiness I feel,
Around you.
Write to me,
Few words in poetry,
For me to feel,
The power of muse.
Write to me,
And send it with your smell,
For me to feel your fragrance.
Write to me,
Till my fingers are tired,
Mimicking your movements.
Write to me,
For as long as you can write,
And then a little more,
For as long as I can read,
And then again some more.