Tag Archives: Imagine

beauty, Fiction & Poetry, india, kids, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, poetry, think

The Tea Stall Warrior

his armor, is a vest with holes,
shabby shorts with a mosaic formed
by the stains of oil,tea, ashes of cigarette and coal

a foul-smelling cloth graces his shoulders
that sweeps the dust from the tables,
coincidentally it comes from the very stars
to which he prays sometimes in night

independence day for him,
is about selling his freedom
and a dozen flags,
a free plate of jalebi,
from the nearby school,
is the only reminiscence of the place
he was once born in,

he lives inside creaking doors,
surrounded by walls
capable of collapsing
by tremors of continuous coughing,

paints his dreams
from the acrylic color box found in a dustbin,
with bare hands on newspapers,
and scrapped sheets

he has no regrets
he might never have,
for he has never seen
the sun of expectations
rise in the morning.

the moon of contentment,
is what he only cares for.

Standard
dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Kaleidoscope

as the dawn
proceeds to the dusk,

a thousand images
of this beautiful world,
rotate and change,
sublime visions,
evaporate,

my capillaries,
and adrenaline
burst straight up
like a heroin abuser
drowning in a pool of dreams.

for I have been summoned
to peek in this kaleidoscope,
we sometimes call life,
and I just stare.

the mirrors would shatter soon,
the music will slither in,
it would be dark and damp.

Just as I dreamt once.
that night.

Standard
fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, Poetry

Eclipse

wet-grass-in-the-morning-light-wallpaper-28387

Time lapse of
sublimation of melodies,
blurred caffeinated visions,
the smell of breeze,
with a tinge of petrichor,
cold wet grass,
the bare feet,
an impulse strikes the heart,
asynchronously,
capillaries dosed
with sugary love,
eyelids popping,
drooling,
turning like red sprinkles
of kesar,
in a cold icy lake,

this never-ending dream,
defeats an unpredictable life,
or maybe we are dreaming only,
unable to see the tombstone
of reality,

waiting to wake up,
away from the monotony,
from barren heartless lands,
to ourselves,
to create,
a life destined to
eclipse these dreams.

Standard
fiction and poetry, Imagine, Life, Love, nature, Poems, poetry

The Lost Smell

an amicable smell
from the dried grasses
after the evening drizzle
and the turmeric laden idols,
that fuses into memories,
like reopening dust laden book,
in the house that greets waves
with eyes closed and an absence
of discord

even souls here burn
and wash away like a dried
incense stick on voyage
to nowhere and everywhere

the cows ring bells
in harmony and unison
there are no beds
but the dogs and humans
sleep alike
in comforts of a ground
that caresses unequivocally
in life and eternal death.

the smell has gone now
now concrete, glasses and woods
stink of success and fervor,
something terrible happened
really terrible.

Standard
Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Imagine, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Wings

Romania to Mesopotamia,
through dusted lanes of Egypt,
to wet South American forests,
the shivering spines in Alps,
and eyes watching fireworks
on the lifeless new years,
in countless cities,

our wings were tied,
and sacrificed
in years to come,
on altars of reality and despair,
the pyromancy of ego,
burned them to beautiful ashes,
we transcended dreams,
our souls kissed the promised dreams,
left many untouched,
for existence with reverence,
to survive a reality.

now that very one dream
hides behind mirrors
and stars,
shivers under warmth of blankets,
sips finest whiskey,passing out in blur
it has changed us,
for better or worst,
sadly we can never judge,
ever.

Standard
Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Haunting, Life, Poems, poetry

Requiem

In the state of remorse,
the howls shatter
glasses of nightly silences,
the white floating sphere
conjures the dead,
the living and
all things existing
in between,

near the window,
my breath now sighs my restlessness
and imprints it on the mirrors
of existence,
the dearth of materialism within,
tickles the soul
into a mocking laugh
that echoes in corners of sleeping valley,

maybe that is what,
requiem for a dream is,
and maybe that is why,
the wolves howl in moonlight.

Standard