Friday, June 30, 2006

The hues of dreams

While the glass of wine trickles at its edge,
Violet dreams are often born in silk attires
When words bridge over worlds at night,
And the old lady to her silent room retires.

When black and white thoughts break even
Into the scarlet coloured wants of men.
Roses often fall short of things to be said,
While questions of what turn into when.

The meters of a song fading from afar
Blend into the whispers of my hands.
And speak to your fingers in the dark.
When time's not a metaphor with sands.

The better halves of people sleep at home
Those of desires are diminished by the hour.
What could have transpired after dusk?
But the lack of a candle and a lilac flower...

Crimson dreams sometimes die at dawn
While ink blotted blank papers are lined up
On the table in the want of magic words
And hues of dreams are lost in a dry tea cup...


Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Of steel sheets and children

Steel sheets cannot smile like little children
Nor can they dance around with blue shoes
Laces untied in a carefree manner...
To fall and to get up in a laughing chaos
Is a privilege that only red ribbons flaunt.
Meandering thoughts reflected in curious
Wide eyes. Questions followed by questions
Seeking answers evermore. Never more
Than less. A thought; A thoughtful recess.
If only concrete could contemplate with
The same honesty as the little heads
Wearing maroon monkey caps in winters.
In the built up alleys of wooden splinters
There won't be a smog hanging in the air.
That smells of thoughtlessness and despair.
Another wall built higher than the reach
Of a little hand. Another dream of sand
Obscured by the want of a better world.
Of men, match-sticks and paper boats
There would no more be stories told.
Tin soldiers once fell on grass lawns
Beneath whispers in hushed tones.
They did not know the colour of blood
Till the better world dawned up on
Their squeaky little dreams. They
Were told of fear and blood. Steel
Sheets would keep them safe now on,
But they cannot whisper to tin soldiers
And dance in blue shoes. Can they?


Monday, June 26, 2006

Another ungranted indulgence

You can be just a beautiful dream,
If I let you realize into my reality
You might just melt in the spaces
Between my fingers. No traces
To be found when I look around.
You can be the sunrise or dusk
But if I try to fly like an albatross
To reach out to your hands.
You might just vanish beyond
My closed eyes like yesterday.
How can I touch yesterday? Tell me,
If I can hold a dream in my hands.
Or if my time like dry passing sands
Can be kissed on its lips in the dark?
How can I fiddle with images that
don't even exist? You tell me if
light travels faster than sound...
Why is it that I hear these voices
but I don't see a thing at all ?
Can I fall from the lowest spot
That I've known? I still feel that
I am falling through the gaps
In your fist. Clenched hands
And teary eyes do tell a story
To my dreams. How can I
flee from my past? How long
Will I last? Through the song...
Waves of emotions hit the
shores of reality. To hit through
Half closed eyes and make me
Realize that breaking free
Is an indulgence that lost
Lovers can no longer afford.

- Anubhav

Thursday, June 22, 2006

To forget or to remember

To fly? To float? Maybe! But
To forget is not my desire.
There now lie my rough notes
Where I once forgot destiny
In the undercoats of thoughts
To be lost for once and all.
To remember would thus be
A privilege that I should seek.
Or so it would seem from far
A whisper captive in a jar
Is not a beautiful sight to
Dream of. But to forget it
Turns out is a bliss. To leave
That which I cannot believe.
And let the dried up wounds
Remain covered up with silks
While memories fade away
Into oblivion. A stroke of
Destiny to silence desires.


Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Grey skies

The shades of grey light up the skies for me
Every afternoon when I look out at the bright
Sun. Am I really done? Or have I just begun?
A part me cries out aloud "Come all undone"...
Some part of me is allayed, some aggravated,
Wondering if this is what has been awaited.
Over time, under the bridges, holding the red
rose in my hands. It has been white daisies
Too at times. Summer sunsets hidden in your
Eyes. Winter dusks closed beyond mine.
What did we find? Grey shaded sunshine?
Coloured seasons pass me by in my mind
And I am overshadowed by the grey skies...


Friday, June 9, 2006

The colour of your thoughts

What's been the red colour of the day for your mind? What's been the green? Strange questions to ask. Stranger even to answer. And yet they could spark off such thoughts that you could probably not imagine out of sheer sanity! How meticulous do we get at times? That we almost forget the beauty of being abstract. The flurried high of the blurred vision. Your wrists pulsating in tandem with your forehead. Your heart palpitating. Sprinkles of perspiration in the folds of your surface - Don't they make you feel giddy? The drugged slur of uncertainty echoing through the brain is something that precision cannot surpass in any quanta of perspective! There is magic in the unknown. In the undefined is the answers that hold the secret to all that we seek. To begin with red and green. To end at the absolute truth. The unraveling of the mysteries that one would behold. Subtle if it could be, loud as it always is - Reality is far more abstract than we would ever dream, want or expect it to be.

Ask yourself when you go to sleep. What has been the red colour of the day for your mind and what has been the green? Dreams would follow. Different dreams.