Looking into your eyes,
I feel unsettled-
As the ashes have not been dusted off as yet.
You still splash across my mind,
As I stare at the cloudless sky-
The canvas of the flashes left long behind.
Perhaps it's not sunk in yet-
Or it still remains an incomplete fact,
Yet to be reconciled with.
The thoughts race as I look deeper,
Into the many layers veiled in your eyes.
The abstracts of all pent ups,
Rise up like bile-
The questions still linger on.
The voice caresses me in its memory,
Positivity shining bright.
The void bleak-
In your absence.
Certain parts of the room,
Still so sombre in the dark,
As the armchair remains, sans its occupant.
Maybe I still look out for you,
Not accepting a certain inevitable.
Yet am forcibly reduced,
To look into your eyes,
As I communicate all that I must.
I feel unsettled-As the ashes have not been dusted off as yet.
You still splash across my mind,
As I stare at the cloudless sky-
The canvas of the flashes left long behind.
Perhaps it's not sunk in yet-
Or it still remains an incomplete fact,
Yet to be reconciled with.
The thoughts race as I look deeper,
Into the many layers veiled in your eyes.
The abstracts of all pent ups,
Rise up like bile-
The questions still linger on.
The voice caresses me in its memory,
Positivity shining bright.
The void bleak-
In your absence.
Certain parts of the room,
Still so sombre in the dark,
As the armchair remains, sans its occupant.
Maybe I still look out for you,
Not accepting a certain inevitable.
Yet am forcibly reduced,
To look into your eyes,
As I communicate all that I must.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteVoids are infectious –
ReplyDeleteThey usually grow to fill spaces,
Riding along the waves I realized the enormity
There was a wave that started from the surface -
It now dwells in the trenches of the eyes.
Darkness which was approaching for long, now resides with the obvious oblivion.
What’s lost is the pulse of life – which goes to create the trickles of expression.
Waves drift by…
From surfaces to plains,
With the whiteness surrounding the window to the memories.
Pains, words spoken and hanging expressions loitering right in there,
Why is the window so dark and curved?
The hills part to reveal a fissure and murals–
Along valleys which played with the rivulet.
While the waters meandered through the shapes,
There were etches left on the plinths – marking timelessness.
It was summer when the waters dried –
Giving way to the dusts from the fluid bed.
It rose – through the thorns to cushion the clouds
It wasn’t a surmise that the clouds had descended!
The plinths sure lay submerged today –
Anchored with the memories –
Expressions float like the craving twigs-
Circling the eye of the whirlpools.
While the darkness of the window still remains –
There is a shine of the cloudbursts too.
The mellow crimson still rises,
Sometimes to inspire the chirps of swallows.
While these smooth spurs,
Are wee bit infrequent,
Yet – these are sufficient to fuel timelessness.
The Blue peaks through the cloud’s hollows –
Longing to see the bounties flow.
The white of the shine will float someday-
When the windows will open the doors.
The lights will emerge through the twilight
While it’s just a matter of - course.
..for only time's passage
ReplyDeletecan tell me then-
I've been in love with you,
my reflection-
since when...