Summer evenings

Then, there was
a summer
raining of lassitude,
burning off weariness.
From a brilliant shining
light blue
to a bright burning orange
to a bloody pink,
I sit,
see the sky changing colors.
The seconds hang
heavy on my eyelids,
full of ennui.
When you lie on your back,
on such evenings,
look at the sky,
its so clear
stars shining in clusters.
The cool breeze rises
up to your face, to
your nose,
taking your ennui
far away,
leaving you
suspended,
mid air, free,
in dreams.

After the deluge

The lightness
entered inside me,
last night,
as I lay,
wrapped deep in
dreams.
I woke up,
sat on a chair,
felt collapsing
on it,
like a
bag of
possibilities,
buckling from
inside,
on its own
weight.
And then you,
you, with your
hair sprawled,
laying haphazard
across your face,
eyes quickly
blinking,
then melting
into a smile-
all glee, happiness,
infinite possibilities
inside me,
lighting me.

Summer Verse

All the rush
is futile.
Ecstasy, Passion,
Love, Jealousy-
they come
when they have to.
Each day, Sun
kisses the Earth.
Once in every
few months,
comes the rain-
a final ingredient
to what's brewing inside-
and gives the beautiful
smell of wet Earth.
You see certain things,
smell them, feel them,
make memories
of them,
some sweet, some bitter,
some horrible, disgusting.
And, once in a while,
it sparks,
the fire inside you
burns with a demonic rhythm,
reaches a crescendo,
and you realise,
all the worries,
all the evenings
wounded by it,
all the dawns seen
by you
after sleepless nights,
all of it,
all of the rush
was futile.

By the moonlight

The wet
shadows
of the trees,
swaying in the light
breeze,
forming a netted
pattern on the
road in the
pale moonlight-
I notice
them more,
when walking
alone,
for you always
liked these shadows
as if shimmering
like the surface of a
water body.
With you,
now,
I am
each day
more closer
to
what I've been
to  myself
in my dreams.

The Shaman

He walked
in unbearable heat,
towards the snow
covered mountains.
He was alone,
didn't want to meet
anybody on his way.
But, he did,
meet a shaman,
in a cave,
as he was sleeping over,
one night,
after eating unnaturally
black ripe fruits
from a haunting tree.
He asked the shaman:
Is there winter, snow, mountains,
loneliness
ahead on the way.
The shaman looked deep into
his eyes:
Go on, my son,
there is no mountain,
snow,
what awaits you
is more and more
unbearable heat;
it will turn your
golden skin black,
your hair will be fall,
you'll want to die of thirst,
but suddenly,
you'll feel utterly lonely,
satisfied,
as if,
in a hut on the
snow covered mountains.