Festival of Insignificance

Last drops of this night, flowing through this vein

Thinking of something and yet saying something else

Heart yearns for your words even after we say ‘goodbye’

And as I walk back home, trying to remember things unsaid

Who knows when all this begins or when all this ends

No one can know the concrete shape of things

When the hand shivers before the knife strikes the heart

Love was all that can be in shivering of your hand

All through our lives, we keep running, trying to give meaning

How simple it seems, yet it is not

To define things and yet to keep them unexplained

What is this life, nothing but festival of insignificance 

Use of being

What is that longing called, to find one’s use in scheme of things?

To be a cause of someone’s laughter and excuse for your existence

What is those bundle of feelings are called

A mix of anger, jealousy, affection and anticipation

Which come and go as you count the seconds during heart’s deprivation

Those memories which you create of things happened and imagined

Impervious to circular time

What is that obsession to find meaning in things ?

And believe that what is unsaid may not necessarily be unknown

Is there a line beyond which our stories merge together?

Or is it just the immortal time making fun of mortal illusion

If I were another

I was upset, because I did not get the promotion for which I worked hard
Somewhere in a corner of this earth, a farmer was tying a rope on a branch

I was sad, because she did not reply me back
Somewhere a coffin-wrapped-in-triranga came home with a letter in pocket of his shirt

I was angry because I was delayed in this traffic for hours
Somewhere a villager could not carry his pregnant wife , in time, to hospital

I was crying, as my life was not going according to my plan
Somewhere a girl child was thrown into a well as she was a girl

Once upon a time

And once we were discussing hobbies
I said, ‘You know, I am good at running’
She asked, 'running away or running towards?'
I did not like the question. So I ran away
Now I think I should have stayed

And once we were talking about Life
she said ,'God has a plan for all of us'
I disagreed and said ' It is random and has no meaning'
After all our Gods died young
Now I think,she should have listened to me

And once we were debating on philosophy
I said , 'happiness is reality divided by expectations'
She argued and said 'It is not that simple to define'
When all the expectations gone and still I don't feel infinite
Now I think she had proved her point

And once we were playing cards
she said , 'you know, love is like card game'
You have to play the right card at right time to win
I said , 'I don't like this game any more and I quit'
Now I think, I should have bluffed and kept playing.

Too loud a solitude

This night arrives like all other nights, in my vain

Your cards, my bluff; Let us bet each other till eternity’s end

Your hair, my eyes; Let us search ourselves in its temporary darkness

Your fingers, my heart; Let us sing a song resembling our broken appearances

The remnant darkness of the night climbs down from my tired eyes

Somewhere I must be present

In those fluttering of eyes, when someone is in deep sleep

And thinking of the things afraid of reality

I am Minotaur; you are Theseus in this labyrinth

Running over same old ground

Morning dreams reflecting on evening sky-light
Old city, new roads
Where will I reach , if I keep walking
In a new dawn or a new night

What did gravity ask to the man standing at the edge of cliff
What did the sparrow say to the north wind
And what did those eyes filled with night ask dawn
Is love real or just an illusion?

Whom shall we blame
If our shadows blacked out in every sight
We have been defeated
Defeated by the illusions we keep

In some corner of heart, memory burns
True negative or false positive
Did you find my madness in your lips?
I think I lost it in last night's kiss

Monachopsis

Eight corners, twelve lines, a space enclosed

My kingdom, my dreams, my beginning and my end

The slow passing of time through veins

And the never ending tic-tac-toe of fate

Why they call it freedom
If each bird is chained to its own sky
And what do raindrops tell to the earth
Before they plunge into their death

Sometimes one addresses to its future self
Explaining things that seems out of place
But it is difficult to make someone understand
When the only language you know is silence

But again who knows
What someone is capable of
Send me a note may be
If you ever get out of this maze