The Curse

It sank in the haunted loneliness

In merciless gloom of the divorce

It shrank into the limitless void 

Wondering at unforgiving wrongs

Weeping in dead burning tears

Lies crept under into its warmth

And dug the sacred scar

It bled till it could love no more

Silence revolted

The cottage was burnt down

The witch escaped

Placed upon the Waking Tomb

The curse of slumber

It slept through the plague

And answered no prayers.

Written in Early December.

Hands that pray for warmth

Come together to whisper

A silent wish of her being

The moon becomes the master

And she the willing slave

On nights of his silver glory

She hides in a trembling cave

The ghosts recite their tales

The lovers long to smile

She drowns in the weeping waters 

of an inconsolable Nile.

Ahead she never moves

Before she never loves

Draws the curtains of smiles

And listens to lonely doves

In blue she breathes her days

In grey she sings the nights

Away from herself in truth

Away from laughing lights

  From different worlds she rises

And sinks in the eager sands

All that remains behind

Are her prayers in a pair of hands.

What shall

The silent stare of the the night

Winds waltzing around with dust

Spirits singing to earthly mates

Burning in haunted lust

A fire breathing its last

In the midst of mocking ashes

A song from the womb of whiskey

Into his numbness crashes

A frown upon a forehead

The scent of evening prayers

Driving away an evil

That often pulls the chairs

The lamps that light for nobody

But for the whistling man

His family sleeps in his quarters

All of them who can

The bareness of a page

I clad with weeping ink

What will become of it

After the darkness shall sink?

A tragedy to be alive?

Or some comedy to pass away

In the middle of loving and laughing

One maddening November or May.

With Myself

Unwritten words are the best I write

Unsaid words are the truest I speak

Unseen sunsets are the loveliest of all

Unsung melodies are my masterpieces

An old wound decides to bleed once more

A spirit wants to sing along

A cloud longs to turn into grey

A wind whims into a storm

Then her prayers touch my skin

Through a bracelet of sacred threads

Her sleep she wishes off

Into my slumber less eyes

And from a place far off

I get a message that I am

And will always be dearly loved

And she who was given her breath

In the same womb as I

Holds my hand, or plants a kiss

On my mosquito devoured cheeks.

Or gives a hug  that warms my soul.

He doesn’t often say it

But I come to know

When he gifts me a book

And quotes lines from a page

And wipes off a tear

The lines that say

“Our daughter. Meanwhile was fast

asleep herself, one little hand showing

Above the bedclothes. Clenched in it

was my heart”

And this, what mortals call Love

Brims my being

And I smile and laugh into tears

Tonight when I met the mirror.

It smiled back at me

and said “You’re beautiful”.