Silence

An ocean of silence within my soul
Words, like pebbles on the shore
Unnecessary, extraneous.
The ebbing questions all this while
Now I know, silence is the answer.

Music

Come under the tent and let me show you the night sky that I have painted. Listen to the sound of the forests and the rustle of the winds, but be silent, for you do not want to disturb, the creatures in slumber.
You and I, are but fragments, of a larger fragment, and nothing we say or do is going to suffice. So, be silent and listen.
For when you listen, you will find a music flowing through everything. You will never find the words to sing, so let the music fill you too, all the spaces and silences and nothingness within you, that you attach so much importance to.
Lend me your hand and lie by me. Listen also to the rhythmic beats of my heart while I listen to yours, because you and I are nothing, but notes of this ever-flowing music.
Lets create a symphony that is above sorrow and disappointments, expectations and regrets. Let us just be music for once, for the sake of music. Because that is all there is.

Unnamed

I am here.
Between night and day
Between the domain of slumber and wakefulness
The day slowly and subtly dilutes, casting on my face
an innocent beam of sunlight
A beam that started a million years ago..
to fall on me the way it does now
from the opposite window of the bus
and to turn my eyes and hair
a reddish hue of brown
Me, an unknown face, wandering 
through nameless roads and fields
Why do some of these people
look straight into my eyes while the others
just pass through me
Perhaps life, being an undefined, unquantified force
is capable of causing flickers
and ripples by mere presence 
or absence, for that matter
The rays weigh my eyes down
and my ears are clouded with the whispers
of the trees
They speak of weather and color
and words that sound to me like
Patience

China Glass

On the verge of breaking apart
Fragile figure of China glass
Too much glue and too much tape
Too much effort to keep a face
Shabby layers of Persian paint
Covering up a shallow dent
Polka patterns in pretty pink
Peeping from an ugly chink
A crystal of a sand-like thing
Escaped the fusing in the kiln
And a certain handle of sorts
Twists and curiously contorts
It rumbles, rings and also rolls
All in very clumsy control
And had you not seen its tiny mounds
You'd think it almost round


Quite a tricky object I see
No shape, no color, no certainty
Peculiarly odd for a glass thing
To be no vase, no goblet, nothing


Its almost like it aims to be
just a random oddity.