wet pine trees,
the rain caressing the leaves,
a grey blanket, suffocates the green,
ice cold puddles, breeze and breath
I walk past, barefoot.
my toes cold enough to dream of summer,
towards the old house,
where the verandahs are free,
segmented and full of flowers.
the bed nearby astonishingly dry,
I sleep, beneath a velvet blanket
the air kept calling me,
the rain kept dreaming of me.
I wake up to a faint sun,
6:31 am , and warmth has melted,
smell this nostalgia,
now.
To write about you,
is to write about me,
my heart is so shared with you,
like this weather of summer
discomforting but teasing.
I wake up everyday and wait,
for your messages
despite the time difference that separates us:
This distance is a number,
I tell my dilapidated eyes.
My vocal cord disagrees counting them.
Your brown cat eyes, full of distant memories pulls me up
in our cloudy sunshine,
what else do I want, than be next to you
somehow, somewhere.
To read some books, sip some lemonade.
|not because a million other people feel the same
but because you picked me up sometime,
somehow like a rare book in a bookstore, without a pause.
I was readable somehow.
I was interesting.
I have to be a collectible,
the one you take with you,
to sleep in those cold, gloomy afternoons.
Again and again and again,}
till you forget about your library.
SB
Call it a predicament,
Or the nature’s curse,
As soon the girl blossoms into a woman
her heart is never hers.
It belongs to the roots:
Her parents, her family,
Her unknown love, devoid of the sorrowful meetings.
A transaction she never prefers.
She sit in her balcony
For the sky teases her for sorrowful palette.
These wonders if everything, falls in her place
This heart transacted with a pulse of sorrow,
blooms into the autumn light of hope.
There is something about your face,
I wonder and wonder and never fail.
This heart somehow I feel is mine, tell me a price.
is it A knife, some blood, a meticulous sacrifice ?
Come back now, in the winter we promised.
Retrace yourself, somehow.
This heart deluded of our voices.
its our, for now. forever somehow
Make it the last sun,
the last moon,
the last meteor.
I want this time to last.
For chase me now, as you can,
As spring chases winter.
every then, somehow
SB
as you drift away, In the bus whose windows
are nothing but drops of the last night’s rain.
Remember, these castles
and cathedrals : memoirs of a fading
glorious past, these icy beaches and almost kissed shorelines,the sun hiding somewhere in the clouds. This wind, just before it rains,
This all brings me back to you.
So if your fingers tingles with a breeze,
Its just me dreaming of you.
I am not there but somewhere I shall slip into your heart with a smile for no reason.
Bear this presence till you reach your destination, this journey is nothing but a pause, where I wait for you, as always.
Yesterday I thought of you
And the yesterday before
It seems as if my yesterdays
Are full of nothing more.
It is not only yesterdays
of which you’ve entered in
For tomorrow is soon to come
Where more thoughts of you begin
to never end, dissolve or disappear.
This is my beautiful paradox.
My prison without keys
My evening without the sun
My heart without memory
For you are always there.
SB
I tried talking but somehow couldn’t
I waited but it was not worthwhile.
How can I make you a moment,
and disappear forever
You stay and exist as a glass,
beautiful and untouchable ,
Even In my house of touches.
I am not the winter that dies,
Not the summer that is unbearable,
I am the moon,
I work on the tides.
Shall we dive once?
As you promised.
I need you in waves,
To drift wherever you want.
Just once again.
The sky is gray
A continuous shade
I bask in its glory.
The mud turns to clay
A storm is in play
But it never comes.
Each day stays the same
I don’t have to change
A stagnating story.
Your picture is still there,
a lip balm disappears.
Some memory of yours , still undone.
The sky is gray
I love this cliché
I’m comfortably numb.
Writings to Heaven 