Sands of time

The scorching sun follows me

Hot dunes burn my feet

I know you are waiting for me

As I leave the last oasis.

A grain of sand tears my skin

The mirage of love keeps my feet moving

your eyes on the distant horizon

the last drop of hope within.

My throat is parched.

Your tears dry

My heart sinks into the sand

Reaching out for your hand

As darkness engulfs light,

my life fades into the ground,

the memories scatter in the desert

and my love, 

floats into the sands of time.

--

Gyanban Thoughts : a few lines on the pain of not being able to be with your love. Memories are the only visuals remnants in the mind.You keep walking despite the imminent end. Love pulls you through till the end.

Petrichor

Houses in flames and hearts ablaze

Pain emerges behind the haze.

In hate lies a heart; in rage lights the mind,

Streets in scarlet and roads leaving milestones behind. 

Walking through the din and the noise within,

the light of hope blown by the wind

and the will to live flickering, or death lingering.

Life retreats from the world we live in.

Eyes closed and breaths slow.

Freeing the mind in a locked window

As a distant cloud sprinkles rain,

A petrichor of hope remains.

Gyanban Thoughts: these few lines attempt to capture the mood of the times we live in or the chaos surrounding us. How the pain around us drains our minds and the will to keep moving. It ends hoping to smell the distant petrichor of hope and neutrality(heathen) of beliefs below. 

Undwelling 2

 

Boulevard of broken dreams

Promenade of promises

Streets of lost souls

Neighbourhoods of numbness

Garage of gagged emotions

Home of hidden tears

Bed of  blues 

Pillows of poignancy 

Sleep of open eyes.

Home Alone

 

Open windows and closed domes

A quiet neighborhood and loud phones

Transparent windows and opaque minds.

Bright paints and closed blinds

Resort condos and motel minds

Manicured lawns and peaking blinds

High rises and short fuses

Big penthouses and small disguises

Socially vocal and mutually quiet.

Modular kitchens and mental riot.

Flowing curtains and stifled pains.

Soft lights and hard feigns.

Bright chandeliers and dark sins

Open gardens and sarcastic grins

White floors and dark rooms

Soft beds and dormant fumes

Crystal glasses and plastic gulps

Teakwood tables and emotional pulps

Homeless hearts and muted moans 

Beautiful houses, and so few homes.

Gyanban Thoughts: beneath the veneer of pretense lies the true meaning of home. Many can make houses. Only a few make homes. The life we lead in our minds reflects in our homes.

Invisibility

“Stop staring at me! 

Stupid cab, didn’t see the puddle.

Now please, eat baby, don’t fuss,” said June pushing the tray.

Just then Constantine appeared, “Sorry bud, I’m late, I was with your...”

Oskar’s tail wagged briefly before yelping.

The moist eyes searched for his parents, in the empty cage.

 

Gyanban Thoughts: Flash fiction after a long time. The subtext being promises broken and hope or the lack of it. We often set expectations without knowing the repercussions it may have on others...

Fade away

and then, just like that,

one day we will fade away,

aging books on empty shelves,

receding memories of ourselves,

sail away leaving the shores of love,

with no fear or pain,

as life empties the shell,

warmth turns cold

tears lost in those palms

those eyes which walk miles,

lost in silence ,

to the noise of it all,

and then, just like that,

one day, we will fade away...






Gyanban Thoughts : a few lines to take a pause and think about all those people we ve lost in time and the realization that someday, we will just like them, fade away.... huh, just like that....

In The Nights Of Fire

One Day I woke up, and saw the fire,

the raging pyre, burn burn burn,

but the one burning in me, my destiny,

will one day, engulf me....

I peered from the window,

Familiar voices, unknown faces,

scream scream scream...

with the forces,marching the streets,

I saw the flaming torches,reach out to me...

Children running,from the dark,
Mothers shrieking, pain singing a ballad,

Masking the pain, melancholy strain,

but in vain,vain vain...

As the lava, enters the city,

hiding behind the realms of reality,

Floating embers, flow like sorrow,

Love like there is no tomorrow,

In the Nights of fire,fire fire...

Gyanban Thoughts: thought of it as a paintbrush, just a streak across the canvas, with the paint trickling down the surface, not trying to make a statement, but just capturing a moment in time

BroWoken

Icebergs are melting,
Facebook vacations are cooling.

Business reviews are hot.
Whatsapp calls are not,

Climate is changing,

Global warming is happening.

Forests are dying,

Instagram is flying,

Venice is flooding,

News is yawing.

Tusks and horns disappearing,

Traffic is a social gathering.

Women are raped,

Politics is staged.

Kid drives a car, not on road

Humility is floored,

Crime filled pop culture,

Discount sale rapture.

Life keeps running on toes,

Blisters and woes,

Shrapnel & pebbles,

Slow motion ripples.

Nobody cares really,

Awaken,the woke,

the wise and the wobbly.

#environment , #climate #society #crime #life

Noise

If he dies young,he had a great future,
If he lives long,they hope he dies soon.
If he spends less,he is stingy,
If he spends more,he's obviously showing off.

If he travels less,he's a frog in the well,
If he travels more, he's a nomad.
If he mixes with people, he's a social animal,
If he lives alone, of course he's ostracised.

If he smiles at everyone,he's creepy,
If he frowns, he's grumpy.
If he looks you in the eye, he's gaping,
If he looks away, he's shifty.

If he talks less, he's arrogant,
If he talks more, he's over confident,
If he sits still, he's must be scared,
If he moves around, he's restless.

If he speaks loudly, he's brash,
If he whispers, he's shy.
If he is polite, he has no spine,
If he demands, he's a dictator.

If he dresses as he chooses, he's a rebel,
If he follows norm, he's boring.
If he has a preference, his orientation is wrong,
If he remains in the closet, he's a hypocrite.

If he has morality, he's prude.
If he is liberated, he's certainly promiscuous.
If he chose tradition, he's old,
If he chose modernism, he's an upstart.

If he believes in his God, he is a fanatic.
If he renounces religion, he is a traitor.
If he has no God, he'd rather die,
If this is truth, he'd rather lie.

Who do you listen to

and who do you ignore,
where do you stay
and where will you explore?

Gyanban Thoughts : We live in a diverse world, a world of opposites.It creates noise.We contradict every aspect of our existence. But if we didn't, would it be a better place? An assembly line is not what life should be, yet the chaos of differences brings unrest.Being peaceful and co-existence is key, the question is how? How do we quieten the noise and be happy? What can we do to make the world a better place? I read a poem a long time ago by Carol, and these lines are inspired by them.

Spell

When the forest rhythms start to play
Walk with me, make me sway
Like a dreamy cloud caresses the window
Dream with me, fly with me, nadir or crescendo.

Like a feather's touch or tease,
Strolling down with ease
Rests on the button,
and then dives in with passion.

Droplets glide by my side,
as the heady feelings collide,
a storm builds inside
whips up a hungry tide.

The distant bells waft in spells,

Splash of water & the thirst it quells.
Pine trees sway their leaves,
A warm breath in a cold breeze.

Mismatch

It's 5AM and the clock is late,
the rush to dress up and change my fate,
but the wrinkle is annoying the mane,
and the greys are flaying the vein,
I carry the mirror in mind,
leave the resigned sigh behind.

The train is packed with eyes,
I stand under the strain of lights
the dark skin is brighter,
maybe they'll like me better,
their shampoos leave no clue,
only the fan comes to my rescue.

Waiting for the elevator,
a minty breath drifts over the shoulder,
the noose around my neck chokes
gasps for breath and the heart pokes
the lights are incandescent inside
empty faces on the outside.

The tube-light and the guard flickers
People wearing strange monikers
floating close to the floor
a door opens, the stupor
he sashays along leaving them behind,
my eyes lose him and hope to find.


Clocks go by and the hours shiver
the cardigan shrugs off and the  lips quiver
a sudden surge of reason, cold air ,
aimlessly slides off my ruffled hair
witness  to the porcelain teapot stare,
bits and pieces of emotion broken glassware.

Lights race up and memories fall,
drifting pain and a searing call,
their eyes gasp and the jaw snaps,
the mind is free but the body clasps,
the coal-wood windows open their show,
lying below on a  streak of red snow...

 

Gyanban Thoughts : Mismatch is an experimental form of poetry, trying to connect the unconnected, but strangely they are , isn't it?  Much like the difference which connects us all in a single universe, or the multiverse which is similar while being so different.

Amore

Do you look at the same stars?

And see them twinkle as I do…

Do you feel the wind across the face?

As I kiss you too.

Do you miss me so much?

As much as I do…

Do you remember the swaying trees?

As I hear them sing…

Do your eyes follow the notes?

As they turn to spring…

Do you trace the footprints in snow?

As I blend with the rising sun…

Do you still keep the torn notebook?

As I paste memories of a lifetime….

Do you write with the color of blood?

As I live and die another life…

Do your eyes moisten?

As I leave my breath behind.

Do you wander in the same garden?

As I close the gates forever.

Do you seek the flower?

That I bury under the ground….

Do you love me the way I do?

As I close my eyes without you.

 

Gyanban thoughts :  I was listening to Martin Carthy's arrangement which Simon and Garfunkel turned to an epic Canticle/Scarborough Fair mix, it inspired me to pen a few lines of my own. Though originally a medieval English ballad with unknown origins, it revolves around a stranger visiting the town of Scarborough carrying a message of impossible tasks for the lover to perform.Carrying on with the same essence of love and war as a metaphor for what we have and have not, what we miss forever and what we treasure within us. A heart full of memories and a mind full of realities..I wrote these few lines as an ode to soldiers who lost their loved ones, and in some sense, we are all fighting aren't we?