never been a right time to say good bye

Why did my eyes swim in tears
when you said good-bye?

Why did my face shed its vigorous smile
like an abused child?

Why did I frown like a king
without a crown?

Why did my heart wander in the loneliness
of a motherless chick?

Why do I feel drenched like a homeless hawk,
on a leaflesss tree in the rain?

What does good-bye mean?
Does it really mean
we aren't gonna see each other ever again?

silent screams

This is simple... really!
I mean, how hard can it be?
Across 7 inches of ply,
and border of two iron arms.
On a lazy February morning,
Wrapped in the last of the dying winter's fading fog,
across 7 inches of ply;
It's the silence that's chilling,
that's filling the space between with vacuum;
An impenetrable wall of uncomfortable twitching.
But, how hard can it be?
Across 7 inches of ply...

recollections on a dying winter's afternoon...

someday...someday I will walk down that road that eludes me so often...eludes me, yet calls out in the enchanting voice with their claims of solitude and promises of anonymity... someday I will walk the familiar streets of that unvisited city where all the yesterdays seem to have taken refuge... someday, I will listen to that unheard song that have kept me awake so many nights.... someday, I will walk by those unfamiliar strangers and think of those old faces that crowded my memories...someday, I will leave these streets where I had skinned my knees and elbows and take the forbidden road... and away from friends and family rediscover what I let go...what I lost..what lost me... someday I will feel all that I have felt... again...someday, I'll think of all that I have thought...all that I've known....loved...hated...liked...lost... and that day....someday...there will be no more regrets...the memories won't sting anymore... that day...I will have come full circle...someday, I'll come to terms...with what has been...what is...with myself...someday... when I've come full circle...I'll be home...someday…

Introspections of a Reluctant Smoker

I dont want to go down that lane.
I dont want to smoke that joint.
There was then; the dancing smoke that rose was mine.
But the butt-end is all that's left,
And I don't want to go down that lane.

The ghost of our smoke has haunted me for long.
For sometime the ghost was restless;
It has long since given up.
The last cigarrete has been smoked.
The lane lies covered in butt-ends and ashes;
But that is all; the smoke does not dance anymore.
Each butt is a memory. Puff on.
But when the last cigarrete has been smoked,
I dont want to go down that lane anymore.

I stand at the mouth, and glance down:
The lane seems alluring,
Smacks of some long forgotten aroma...nostalgia.
I can see the scattered butt-ends though.
What is the use of smoking old butt-ends?
The years together were like cigarretes;
Once it has been smoked...the sweet sweet cancer!
And now, all that's left are butt-ends.
No use smoking them;
Just butt-ends, that were once cigarretes.

REQUIEM FOR AN APOLOGY.

Time to let go!
Time to forget!
But not yet the time to be forgiven?
Broken heart, dried up tears...
Memories clouding the long lost years;
Words of love, hope turning into fear.
Nothing left to say...Just
Wish you were here...

Under the naked sky,
Sun-dried tears, incomplete dreams and a hopeless sigh;
You will never again let me try.
Though I'll never have you near,
wish you were here...

Old school of broken dreams;
Lost promises and forgotten hymns
Deserted corridors and the unclimbed stair,
Wish you were here...

EDUCATION

Again! Can it be...true? Again?
All over! And I thought I'd learned
from the last one...
But then, I must not have;
it couldd not have been the last one.
I would have learned.