Rings of Smoke

These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis.

change?

Posted on | October 6, 2009 | Comments Off

the days you gave us,are getting shorter,
the darkness of night keeps spreading its cloak,
beyond the trees,night no longer waits for the sun to set,
before the shadows lengthen,starless,it arrives.

the world is changing, Lord,
the rules have changed,
did you ever imagine of this-
this shape of your world?

I have become a stranger to myself,
trapped among staggering,stumbling souls and hot breaths,
everyday,in the mirror i see a new face,and wonder-
is this what you created, My Lord,
this-in your image?

the rivers have stagnated,
wind no longer stops to whisper words in the ears-
no longer receptive to them,
the flowers no longer giggle at our sight-
as if the soul of the world is petrified.

you knew,that one day i would tell you this,
return to you-filthied by the grime of your creation-corrupted itself,
i no longer want-
this muddied cloak,this excuse of an existence,
take away from me,this sullied soul,
sunken in the mire of peremptory sunrises,
blood red and slatey black,
unhappiness-es mixed with sanguine hatreds,and petty loves,
take away from me-
this burden of survival.

PS: I am alive and well. Took long cuz had nuthing to write.This in itself is also an incomplete poem,just some random lines scribbled on the back pages of a book at an airport in the back of nowhere.


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    The lines generally are from some poem which I have, at some point of time or the other, loved. I do not mean, by including them, to be snotty or pretentious- but I would love it if you could identify the lines, and take much joy if you were interested enough to search them and read the original poems. If not- you can ignore them.
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