time will pass anyway

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you and i will go away
like rocks by the sea,
like whispers in the wind,
like clouds in the sky,
like the sun shining high,
you and i will go away
because time will pass anyway.

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2.46 AM

my mind is coaxed awake from a particularly long train of thought, not yet asleep not fully awake, it seems as if sweet dreams were being brought on

because I woke up in a million years—my soul floating up to the stars—my lips forming contentment in all its lazy, luxuriant glory,

my hair soft—even after ages in the sun—healing in the shade of night—my eyes heavy with the weight of your dreams and my senses are filled to the brim

my eyes are closing—i’m floating back down into sleep’s folding embrace and my mind is full of your soft peach lips and your sun warmed skin and your raven hair thick and curling between my fingers,

and I’m back again in your deep blue room and wind blown white curtains, your tumbling pile of books your unmade bed where your lips touched mine for the first time, your stack of records and films strewn around without a care because—because I’m full of you, you with your well-worn shorts and laughter bouncing off the walls, the evening sunlight turning you golden and Edward Sharpe singing Home.

And I am, I am. I am truly, truly, home.

Beginning

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Prinsep Ghat, Kolkata, West Bengal, India.

The end of a long summer day,
my weary body slumping on the
unpleasantly warm concrete

and the sun begins to set on the
distant noise of the roads,
blue, yellow, orange then a deep ink.

A small bubble of peace before the
chatter of people drowns it all—
and the heart brims with memories
like the sunlight split into a
million glittering drops of golden water.

Another tired sunset.

My city shakes herself slowly—
her dust settles down
under the weight of the violet
and the street lamps are surrounded by gray halos.

Forgotten

Do you remember,
the last time their lonely eyes lit up
with mirth, the slow creeping smile?
Or that trek over the rickety bridge,
old with it’s years, coughing wooden dust?

Do you remember to hum to that tune
the now broken radio played.
That tune you said, reminded you of
sunsets and starry skies, of me?

Do you still revel in the smell the rain,
the pages from a new book,
freshly brewed coffee,
the winter air?

Do you recall the last time you
picked sea shells by your favourite alcove?
where the sun beat down on the sandcastles
and the seagulls sung over glistening waves?

Or perhaps all of it are a distant haze,
in an illusion of negative images, streaked with gray.

A lifetime of remembering and forgetting,
Leaving behind and being left behind,
Letting go and holding on.

A walk down the sepia lane
and idealistic nostalgia only age affords.

But I’m afraid they now have been long forgotten.

Vice Versa

I am concealed in destitute
in whispers and in shadows
I am omnipresent
bringing forth hope
in innocence and in radiance

I am a specter that lurks in quiet
frayed at the edges, fading
thriving in the dark.
I am an opaque entity,
distinct and burning bright
reigning in open light.

Where I may never be found
forever elusive
behind an illusion of deceit
Where I may never be shunned
forever brave
as free as wind upon grass

Safe and sound
till the disquiet of the light
illuminates me
Safe and sound
till the silence of the dark
consumes me

Then,
The dark lightens
The light darkens
and there I am!
I am infinity,
living and dying – merging at the seams.
Both lost and found,
illuminated and darkened, I am.

dark_and_light_by_alement-d47729k

Somethings, Nothings and ‘It’

Something and nothing
Somewhere and nowhere
Somebody and nobody
Sometime and never

You often wonder, why? the ‘why’ does not necessarily pertain to something specific, be what it may – a person, a situation, yourself. but there’s this soft, subtle, ‘why’ whispered in the all-consuming darkness, that only you are present to witness.

I hardly want to make a point here, more like rave and rant.

There have been a few things – some things that have left me at a loss, an existential crisis, I hardly complain as these things have let the brain in a constant state of furious overdrive. Then there is nothing(s), just like everything, a point in a vortex that keeps circling, on and on, never to really stop, is it then, is it just this? A circle, a slow, a fast, tumultuous whirlwind.

Sometimes you DO care, sometimes you only care, sometimes you do not care and sometimes you just DO NOT care. Perhaps it is because I try to read too much in between the lines but…I do see a difference between the four states.
Then there is nothing(s), and it’s only a product of overexertion or too much nonchalance, either way it does not really matter because there is nothing, and nothing matters.

But, if it matters, does it matter because you want it to matter so?
or
Does it not matter because you do not want it to matter? Is it an illusion? In that hypothetical context you’d argue that if everything IS an illusion, what is the point of it?like I mentioned before, I do not seek to make a point here, but to merely generalize.

Yep, I’m playing safe.
Hmm…I’d like to call it my Slytherin sense of ‘self-preservation
though I’m much more Gryffindor.

Once I had read an amazing piece:

There were four friends – Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody
Once a task was assigned to Everybody, Somebody, Anybody.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it.
Anybody assumed Somebody would surely do it and did not find it necessary to confirm.
Somebody, in turn, gauged that Everybody had to do it.
When the date of submission finally dawned the three of the four friends took to blaming one another
and out of the confusion a conclusion was then drawn that finally, Nobody had completed the task.

I read this quite some time back, years actually, but it stuck with me, you can probably see why.
Imagination is baffling, it scares me at times.

Picture this I, you, we are Somebody, you or I may be Anybody and we make Everybody.
Or just a Nobody, drifting along the fluctuating graph of time, that is clearly running out. But I’m not scared, I may have found a closure, a sense of an ending.
Anyway it’s all psychological .i.e it’s all in my head, whether it’s real? well well…what did Dumbledore say?

“Of course it’s happening in your head, but that does not mean it’s not real ” and Dumbledore is never wrong.


My muse is hiding

The alleyway was dark and dank, a centuries old cobbled path
that twisted and turned till it was swallowed by the profound dark
like an unwinding snake,the treacherous night shrouded the other end
from prying eyes.
The brick walls of the old architecture bared it’s broken bones and
the paint, peeling, like the skin from that of a leper
filth! filth everywhere.
cloaking the surround, emanating a wicked sense of foreboding,
like a deadly calm before a fierce storm.
the alleyway led on, innocent gestures concealing twisted desires and intentions
like a naught Emperor leading his lords to
‘the end’

When the lead is over, you turn,
as quiet as a black cat in the dead of this deceitful night.

There you’ll see, a place where:
wicked intentions, twisted desires and ends meet

A vision that confirms your greatest fear.

Well, ranting helps. Really. And, my muse is tempted to come out of hiding.

The Promise Of The World

The smile that trembles deep behind your tears
Is the promise of the world since the beginning of time

Even if I’m alone now, from our yesterdays
Today is born sparkling

Like the day we first met
You’re not in my memories

You turn into a breeze and touch my cheeks
Even after our parting in the afternoon with the sun beaming through the trees

The promise of the world won’t ever end

Even if I’m alone now, tomorrow is limitless
You taught me about

The kindness that lurks in the night
You’re not in my memories

So live forever in the song of the streams
In the colour of this sky, in the fragrance of flowers
In the Glitter of the stars
In the gleam of the moon
In freedom

For me, be the promise of the world