The Midnight Hour

This hour of the blackened cry

Mysterious as to so the beyond of this sky

Silence lulls to a calmer state

With melancholies of mind marking mournings

Of unknown reasonings, of the bleeding 

Of memories of innocent distances of time

It hits so different, each word spoken in the

Lightless of moon to each part of psyche 

The pen flows as if water trickling down

The windows of a rusted car on May's last day

Songs of agony, poignant, touch and leave

Their marks in ways they never could

Under the brightness of the stun of sun

The mystery of the magic of the devil's hour

Rather wrongly termed, perhaps 

To derive gentlefolk of the power of silence

For destinations remain a beauty so long 

As they never are flocked by herds of eyes

Some things perhaps be kept latent, misunderstood for the placid of purity

And so the tears of this beautiful dark never could hurt

For they bring peace, more so like the white dove,

Only this one chance, rendered black to stress

The eyeful calm at the stroke of this midnight hour

When vocals so nightly loved fall into place

For their greater effects

To turn the humour of eye into the smiled

Flow of salted water

With the lyric and tear and memory

This midnight hour shall have me so enchanted for a lifetime, however short or not

This midnight hour shall love me and so I love it back.

My Pen and Paper

My pen and paper know

Each part of me.

Perhaps, better than I do.

They were here before I can recollect

And they'll be here long after I leave

And they'll share my words and thoughts And my rushes and my clots,

Each one of them, in discerning detail

To whoever may stumble upon and ask.

They recognize each tear that once fell 

Upon their skin, it dried away,

But the paper kept the mark and crippled

And the pen scribbled the tear's pretext

On the dry crippled paper.

They hold decades of me, more than I

Can ever hope to remember.

They listen and they do so silently

To whatever drivel I do share

And they do not judge but heal

When I do so.

They're my first-responders and

They're my catharsis.

My pen and paper, I hold them dearer,

Than most.

Return Me My Sleep

Return me my sleep,

It's the only time I lay and cease

My overthought.

Return me my dreams,

I want to smile with no limits,

Ear to ear and forget the world exists.

Return me that smile

And return me my sanity,

Return me my happiness,

Return me my older me.

I'm done and dusted

With newer reasons to stay up,

With fewer people to stay up for,

With new quandaries to ponder on,

With few pleasures to smile for.

I wish to sleep and dream

For once a happier world,

With a better me,

Where my mind is uncrowded,

By the absences of rushing thoughts,

Where I sleep on a pillow arid, rid of tears,

Where I am okay and not attacked.

Where I am not attacked for once.

I want to sleep and dream

Return me my dear sleep.

The Rain of My Life

The sun looks for a shade to hide

As the sky reads rain to dawn early.

The first love of the thirsty soul of soil

Concurs with the redolent pure of petrichor.

The pour doesn't wait and dives for unity,

As grounded eyes grow wonder in size,

And rivet at the vista of tears from heaven.

It crackles click in my garden and

Bounces to touch my reddened knees,

My feet urge to amalgamate

And revel in the pacifying cold of each falling drop.

I envisage myself and my dripping wet hair,

Swaying around to melodies of earth,

And the folds on my head leveling out,

The clear plains and all of the joy.

I envision each trouble relinquish me

And melt me free from all the ropes,

My happy tears rushing out

Like captives out to the air of freedom

Unseen unheard among the dopple drops, Concealing among the conciliator.

My vision takes the better of me

And my feet amble towards the drips and drops,

But suddenly stride back

And frenzy enters my mind.

The pricking eyes around me shall judge

And the pricking judgement will be hurtful.

Forever can one say that words don't matter,

But my words have so proven otherwise.

I stand still and contemplate,

As I do each minute of sun and moon.

My chin moves up and brows sharper,

For once I'll do what my heart shall say.

I brave through tempest thoughts of prying irises,

And tread ahead to feel the rain voice for me,

But there is no rain.

My face, as dry as the ocean is wet,

Brims with remorseful barrenness.

For in all thought and reasoning alike,

The rain of my life had passed along.

The Velvet of Your Bindi

Your Bindi is still here,
Remains on the wall above my head,
And it keeps reminding me of you
It has been ten months since you touched it
And I keep feeling it
Trying to find a hint of your fingers,
Imagining how you would have picked it up,
Where your fingerprint still does lie.
I don't remove it
Fearing it might fall and I might
Lose a long memory of your trace
How hard I try to look for your words
In the red bindi above my head
All say it has been enough
I've mourned enough, I've grieved enough,
I've written enough.
But what else do I come to
To converse to you
And relieve myself from the clot of these thoughts,
But in the only way I know
In the only way you'd appreciate.
I run out of options and
The pen and paper do not judge
They do not ask me to move on and forget
For how can I forget,
Tearing up into a disturbed sleep
In this very bed where you slept each night,
It misses the blink
of your closed eyes, now closed forever.
For how can I, how can I forget
Your caress, your smile, your laugh,
Your stories, your scoldings
And your touch,
Which the paper and I felt.
The touch, which the red velvet
Of your Bindi felt.

Amma

(Hindi: Mother)

I see you in your wrinkled smiles,

While you sit in your chair,

Resting your arms like you do

Telling me all about your cherished years.

I hear you laugh on my deliberate mistakes,

Your eyes roll on my foolish kiddings,

Your voice startled seeing me cry.

You take pride in me and I am glad

And your food tastes like nostalgia.

There's a picture- me in your arms

And your smile, unwrinkled yet, calming me down,

A memory that shivers me,

For pictures and memories are all that I have left of you

And I still refuse that I'll hear no more

From you, none of your anecdotes, your recipes, no reprimands, none of your love.

A day you called me close and told me,

I was your child, your pride, your life

That you'll never leave me alone,

That you'll follow wherever I go.

But hours later, your eyes roll for the last time and don't come back to normal

And there is nothing I can do

Besides shrieking your name, Amma.

And I lose all faith and fall to the ground

For that couldn't hold true.

I sit in your chair,

And rest my arms like you used to,

And pen down my tears,

One of which falls on this paper and searches for your scent.

And I miss you and I need you to calm me down,

For one last time and wake me up from this

Nightmare called life, without you.

Memories

They break the heart and mend it then,
Wreck your soul but love it more,
They tear you up but curve your face,
They let your cries past the shore.
Don the night and numb the day,
They come again and take you away
To evenings of laughter and snivel alike,
To mornings of smiles and dark of cries.
You get heavier as they lighten you up,
You need them and they don't let you down.
You hit yourself and they hurt you,
But you crave the hurt and want it more,
We all like to cry, for the better part,
And they make you so.
They stun you up at times unknown,
Providing proof your heart is no stone,
They bring you those you lost back when
Life was young and eyes not vermillion,
When teardrops came for broken toys,
Not gone souls nor lost joys.
They walk beside you when none does,
A call away from nostalgia.
They were born with you,
They'll die with you,
And stand by till you find peace.
They're your yesterdays and your forever,
A bundle of echoes, your memories.

Cry

Cry your heart out
And let the pain flow.
Sometimes, it's a passage
Blocked by societal wants
Of shamed masculinities,
Lost oppurtinities.

Cry because they don't want you to.
Cry because you need to.
Cry to feel relief in woe
Cry to feel your worries go.
Cry to mourn, and cry rejoice,
Cry to hear your real voice.

Cry in celebration and cry in misery,
Cry for the sake of crying.
Cry because they ask if you're a girl to cry.
Cry because not only girls cry.
Cry for you're allowed to.
Cry even if you weren't.

Cry because you can.
Cry because it feels like.
Cry because you were hurt.
Cry because you hurt others.
Cry, cry in distress, in anxiety,
Cry because it is simple.

Cry and heal, soothe your pain,
Unbind your soul in precious pearls,
And flow them down your precious veins.
Cry and cry, long as you want,
And then show them,
What the crying was worth,
What you are worth.

Fallen

A hair, short as moment,
Falls down my eyebrow and
Struggles in the air to keep afloat
Strives petrified and braves through the breeze
Swaying like paper bits stuck in storm
Resting on my hand and
Sliding down a fingernail
Looking at me in contemplation
Asking me questions I won't answer
And it is mundane, no special
A black flow worn out more than others
Except that it now carries a message
Intricate inside an enclosed drop
Of my eye's humour.
I stare and it stares back
And converses what made me lose him away
Unbeknownst that its answer lies in the new found translucence
Of its shell which followed quick in the drop,
And fell apt to shelter the old friend.
My tear fell on a fallen hair.

Black Blood

A surging rush of thoughts unsought
And they clog my brain
Daunt my rationality
And I keep lost in the blood of those thoughts
Black blood, as black as my tears
And I can't keep calm
And I need to breathe
I gasp for breath and
My eyes widen in agony
The pillowcase is wet and so is my face
And the rush goes on and I cant stop it
I shriek and I shout but my voice keeps silent
Ridiculing myself and all my curses
And my eyes close down to stop the flow
But all I see is cold white
Chilling with fear and condescension
Of myself and all my darks
And the white suddenly breaks
with the black of my blood
My black fears, my black tears
And I swing up again to catch some air
Feeling like I'm running out of dear life
And all my breath tends to nil.
But I gasp for more and borrow time
I'm just living on borrowed time
And this dark will end with the yellow light
But I doubt if I'll see it anymore
And I hope and I guess I'll make through this one
To hold my dears once more
To apologize for not being enough
Not as expected
And then if my tears blacken again,
I'll remove my mask
I'll jump in the void and fall, to the abyss
And hope my black blood dries in time.

Nothing Is Black

Black in the stellar and black in everything,

Back to the stars and still nothing.

Back to black and black to back,

Black is no color, it isn’t living.

It’s a void you can never fill,

It’s the light forever still.

It’s a poem with words unseen

And a poet too very keen.

It’s the art oblivious,

It’s a conspiracy serious.

Its hidden, though everywhere,

Its your dream and your nightmare.

Black is cold, black is old,

Black, it’s there in every fold.

It’s malice, it’s bright darkness,

Black is the philosophy of emptiness.

Black is life and black is death,

Black is the silence in every breath.

Black gives power and black steals glory,

Black is the plot of your story.

Words are black, hearts are black,

Endings black and starts are black.

Fear black, it’s sheer black,

Black repeats black to black.

Black is the subject, black is the king.

Black is no color, it isn’t living.

BLACK.                                          

Fading Colours

A strange smell of suspicion sickens,
For the dark of clouds has cleared to blue,
The black of blood has rinsed to red,
And normalcy appears to true.

The down days have rendered unknown
What it felt to be at peace
And now that the white has risen again,
I'm clueless how the grey did cease.

The violets in my garden bloom,
But I wonder how to nurture them,
I fear I'll lose to dark green thorns,
And lead the violet wilt to doom.

All seems to tint to yellow,
And happy hues win the better,
But it feels unsure, an orange obscure,
If the darker shades of darker days will arrive again.

The brown petrichor sure is pure
The tan of sand is a bliss,
But lingers a fear, a charcoal smear,
That the vibgyor shall soon fade away.
The colours will vanish in a boundless abyss.

Into The Night

The day shall cease and mercury drop
As you dwelve into the dark
Your hustles sleep, hassles stop
And calm will be all around.
The arrow moves around the clock
And the sun sets to rest again
The gray of clouds will turn unseen
And the bliss of black will bless you.
Motion will halt and chaos curtail
And the noise will fade out to nil.
Your eyes shall close and breath rhythm
Your mind weaves a vivid dream
And the white will rise to define the black
And guide blinded legs to home.
Faces shall blank and innocence return
In slumber of a calmer mind
As the stars rise and dot the lightless
Into the gentle of the night.

Thirty Nights Ago

(Reference to poem: Black Blood)

Sitting by the corner of my bed,

Where I bled within thirty nights ago,

Forced to reminisce the bleak of time

That I hit my head hard to forget.

The ail that I thought had left for good

Has returned and split me.

Each of me wandering between 

The painful past, so pure of pain,

And the less petrifying, but unwanted

Today that throttles me to torment.

It all returns and compels shiver,

For the closure is closing for all of time.

I stand and stare at the corner of my bed,

And behold a younger me in tears, 

In ever so unknown fears,

Clinging on to find a twig in an ocean

Of deadcrop, dead with hail and rainstorm.

Gasping on for little sighs,

To breathe and wish for the air to warm

His cold soul, chilled with terror 

Of he knows not what.

I distract myself from blurry visions of a gone past,

Put my thoughts to elsewhere,

In hassles of practicality and happening.

But all turns vain, for my blood is blackening.

The black blood is fear

And the black blood speaks,

In a language I learnt thirty nights ago.

An Apology

An apology is never so enough
But as human can I only do so little
And say sorry to each I care
For the disappointment on their faces.
I know i've been rough lately,
I know i've been a dismay.
But few are all I have to call my own
And I fear losing my all.
The things I said weren't meant,
It wasn't me, it was my agony which spoke.
The time I did not spend, I regret that,
But I'm scared to err again and let them down.
My paper is growing dark as i scrounge for light,
And the ink in my pen is begging to stop,
Its only restrains are the tugs of life
And I keep writing, and rushing my pen
In catharsis,
And as the dark takes the better of sky,
I have stories to tell, and troubles to share,
But no one to share them with
Except my paper maligned with my words.
For I know these words cannot be downcast,
By the crests inside me.
For I know that atleast in writing,
Pain does render beautiful.
That the paper will not tear up,
Redden or cease the talk,
When it meets the distress
That I may bring along.
The ink shall convey what words couldn't
In case my voice breaks or stops,
For I seek, with all my heart,
An apology for all dissapointment
That I, knowingly or unknown, have caused.