HIM (A Poem)

The first time when I saw him,

His eyes pierced my wriggling soul, 

As if I was his very goal. 

And the touch of his hand,

It was the melting snow on a winter morning,

Cold but warm. 

Whenever he breathed out, his fragrance
Clung to my radiance.
A fragrance, I now smell, feeling him near me.
Beside me. Like it had happened on that cold wintry day.   

When we walked together till the skies turned grey. 

But little did I know that his touch would become a smoke,

Escaping from my soul, making my skin choke. 

And the holes that he fabricated in my wriggling soul

Would soon start aching. 

Creating the cracks; forcing it into breaking. 

I believed his eyes, and the melting snow,
But little did I know that even the eyes can lie,
Eventually making the heart cry. 

And now I sit, in between the four walls,
Unable to walk and only crawl. 

The heart stings with pain, 

Invisible and vain. 

Nobody knows the agony,
Questioning the extent of my sanity, 

But now I know, that this is just a state,
And soon it will pass away. 

The Watchman

Each day the night fell upon him, engulfing him, calling him out with a loud shriek. And each night he would surrender himself to the sumptuous hours of darkness with a post in his hand, strong as the darkest hours and a thin muffler swaddled around his thin lips covering his long curled moustaches. 

"Darkness." He would whisper every time, trying to let go of the fear in his heart. 

The word was like a muse for his power and strength, with which he walked the streets lit by the streetlights trying to keep up to his duty.

Daily he would walk silently, pounding the post till 3:35 AM. Although he made no sound it was his mind that raged with a fire of thoughts, burning regularly. And it was those thoughts that kept him going throughout the hours of darkness. 

Thoughts of getting his wage at the end of the month and watch his family smile out of destitution. A conviction of running away from the night someday in order to work in the daylight, letting the bright rays of the Sun pierce through the pores of his skin. 

While his mind was a battlefield, each night, he tried acquainting himself with the Darkness with a belief of surviving it someday. He tried talking to her, blew into her ears, told her stories that he borrowed from his childhood, touched her face - peering into her eyes, touching her lips. But nothing worked. It continued to scare him, constantly. His efforts - all in vain. 

But that night, things were different. 

He came out letting out huge steps. He walked with a bounce while he had the same post in his same sulky hands. 

That night the moment he stepped out and started walking, he didn't strike the wooden post, instead he first glanced at the muffin like clouds stitched to the clear sky and smiled.

Maybe it was his new strategy of acquainting himself with the night. And thus, after he did as if it were a ceremonial activity, he started pounding his post. 

While his hands and post did its work, his eyes twinkled the stars he delightfully gazed at. 

He then searched for the Moon waiting for the clouds to move. 

"Voila." He cried softly and a tear fell from his eyes the moment he located the Moon. He wanted no more to work in the daylight. He was already in love with the night and the night couldn't love him less. 

It was then he realized that it was not only the night that demanded his love but the treasures that she owned and daily carried with her, that needed him. 

That morning he went his home and told his kids the story, borrowed from the night. 

WORDS (A Poem)

I wonder how words can pierce
the core of our hearts.
Maybe it is these hollow words which
resonate with the hollow heart.

Each day, each night the ocean grows deeper
The emptiness is scratched and dug,
With bogus oaths leaving us in an appalling dusk.

Is it easier said than done?
Then why do I find saying, the most difficult?
Maybe it is this murk that turns people into a cynical.

It is only action that can heal
As for the words- they break,
Raping us, of all our zeal.

It is all pretense and lies in a misty guise,
As the words know no wisdom,
It is the meaning that does.
They are empty; they are worthless.
Exactly like the sound of 'word' itself,
Lacking in firmness. 

Catharsis (A Poem)

What I write is the pain I endure,

With each trickling tear it is my soul that gets torn.

People read the syllables I write,
Each day and each night which is not so bright.

Nobody knows that all I want is for them to feel the pain,

That I have endured time and again.

But maybe, it is not the pain. 

It is just a cathartic experience that I gain,

After each word is spilled onto some paper that is plain. 

Therefore, I hope to exist in what I write,
So that I can feel the catharsis and then look at the sky.
Wishing to write this prodigious world,
With each word that I have ever loved.

Happily Depart (A Poem)

Each morning I want to wake up by your side
And feel your warm body against mine. 

Then look into your hazel eyes
And brush those soft hair aside. 

I want to savour the taste of your morning mouth
And sink into the demons inside your soul. 

I want to align my chaos with yours 
And try to bring order into the world of ours. 

I wish to feel the rhythm of your heart 
And want my heart to follow its path. 

And then, if ever we fall part

I will have the order speak its command,
Set you free and let myself happily depart. 

To the Unnamed

And you are back again like the coolest breeze that you contain in your soul, to haunt me for days. I thought, it will be a little late this time. The October didn't contain much of you. But I guess, I was too naive to understand your fallacy. And the fact that nothing can stop you, scares me. I wonder if you will still act dark and mean like you did the last year? Did you change? Or are you still the same? Will you cage me again in your scary sights, sleepless and wintry nights? Please be a little lenient this time! Please be a little calm. Let the river of happiness flow through the walls of my soul and let rest of the things suspend in a little corner. 

Don't allow melancholy to flow in with you. Please ask the cottony snow to be merciful. Ask it not to conquer the city of my heart.
Let the moon and the stars breathe along with the vast clouds that you bring with yourself. Don't suffocate the surroundings with the cold and depressing puff of air.
The leaves, they fall as they hear you come. The birds, they start strengthening their nest out of the fear you induce. Me, I sit here, pleading you to be soft and humble.
I wonder why can't you just freeze where you are! why cannot you just stop melting and flowing aimlessly?
But not everything you wonder turns out to be true. It is all an illusion and that is why they are called the wonders. 
But again, at least I can request you! I don't hate you. Hatred kills us from within. It just puts me at unrest. It appears stormy, cold and dark.
So please, let me savour you this year and I will savour you forever.
Let me cuddle the wind and nuzzle the snowflakes. Let me hold you, gently and live with you, so that the next time when you come, neither of us feel alone.

Paradoxes

"This life, this month, this day, I am never going to forget. Not because so many things happened but because so many things became a memory. You know, it is good for a moment to pass and turn into a memory. It makes sure that you don't face the same thing again until you consciously travel in your conscious." she wrote her mind and pressed the enter button after considering what she had written. For a while, pondering over the fact that he don't care. That he would never care. In this life, at-least no.

He received the text, immediately. Swiping down the notification panel, he further swiped the notification, not pressing it but elongating it in order to read it then and there so that he can ignore the words that might pierce him. He read, focusing, manipulating and interpreting each word.
It was difficult for him to resist a reply, after all it was 'her' message that he had received. He thought, pressurizing his neurons to think and stir a reply.

"I am glad that it turned into a memory for you. But don't forget that I am still alive, if not with you then at-least in your memory that you would avoid reaching out to. But how paradoxical it all seems. 'Never going to forget' and then 'travel in your conscious' to unravel it. How forgetting is linked with remembering a memory, which is already forgotten the moment it has passed. All I want is you to be happy and do whatever makes you happy." he typed and sent without thinking even once about what he had written. "People leaving often makes you happy, and today I am the happiest. And I always did the 'whatever' that will make me happy. Like letting you go and more than that, finding a reason that makes you leave." she replied in a tone too careless for him to handle. That was not what he has expected; for her to not care.

They were just two paradoxes who tried to live together but eventually repelled each other.