I have been writing some thoughts on this blog
It is words I’ve inked today
brought up by chalked fists.
It struck like a mile
when you guided first alphabet,
the alien glyphs and numbers.
Colours that your palate blends
surprised my senses everyday.
You knew how to make my day.
You could buy my dreams,
let yours fade away.
You heard my dreams of pilot
and dream I spoke of planets.
You heard my singer’s dream.
You would watch a lake with me,
and count ripples in moonlight.
You journeyed when I was alone,
but you smiled while I walked away,
for years I have gone.
Your lessons still travel, Sir.
Our morning newspaper
pressed earth with vapour.
Sounders have marched,
on a pugmark parched.
They’ve emptied their butts,
after raiding ground nuts.
The headline read a Python’s track,
the drift alleged it had a snack.
A flaunting Peafowl sirens the scene.
Treed up but gloats his long preen.
We read news of all that moves,
we set to track the limping hooves.
We stalked its gait to sheared thigh
of a survived deer from feline’s try.
We grasped the math, it gasped its breath.
To surprise us both stalked a rosette death.
Everything is a trending news
compiled at night, printed at dew.
A Pack’s polity to an ant’s obituary.
Every sign reveals a story.
The day I confessed,
I thought it is redemption.
You held my hands
I believed it an exemption.
You insured your freedom too,
in covers of my confessions.
You left me as a culprit,
in guilt of my perceptions.
You threw my senses off the loop,
I dazed who cheated who!
It does surprise as it does to you,
Tell me what was true.
Brimming the eyes
purifying the ties,
that fissures all the innocence.
Sailing the tides
Casting long strides
winging the returned albatross.
Take me somewhere
that asks me to dare.
On today while undoing tomorrow.
I ask you a story,
you make me it’s author,
and you join my carousel of glory!
How do I return
I’m tired filling the urn.
It doesn’t echo as it did anymore.
I talked man to man.
Things of me – that never began!
Truth is here with me. Deadening.
Keeping up with quartz
skilled me it’s arts.
Have I known too much to return?
The tides are low,
my eyes now glow.
The fissures remain on innocence.