THAT WHICH GOES UNSAID...

Today we sat in a pub With a beer glass each And a pitcher kept at our side Which miraculously never emptied. We were drawing our lines Each with a chalk They blurred... We crossed.. And came back to our lives Tipsy. fudgy . Mud headed. You said .. we are two lost souls Drowning in a beer mug I corrected you... Nah... Drowned in beer pitcher You said with a long face... Do not look at the outside... And then the universe started to expand Or so my other drunk friend said.. (Rang me up) So the tiny bubbles oozed up to the surface And burst Like stars in the sky... And spread like dusts Across our universe Settled on our eyes... As we walked past slumber. We did not count how many fell In my side of the line And how many on your court...

Does a room full of sound Of rain drops falling somewhere need a heavy shower outside? Can imaginations not paint for us the pictures That it has been raining quiet sometime And we are but weak quivering drenched souls?

Hey can we just put ourselves aside.. and think like two runaway boats  capsized in churning waters  of a blue stormy river? Can we remember how we felt drowning and saving ourselves instead of each other in the stormy churning waters? Imagine the rocks that we hit and the holes that were made.. the scars that would remain of that night in the blue storm? We would return home some unknown shore Laying side by side battered and lopsided. Masters and people would think  we were runaway boats, While we would know how shamelessly we shamed ourselves  in the blue churning river.

I am the nest of a migrant bird... The peace of a wandering soul And the wheels of a caravan life. You are like a flower blooming In a pot watered by a leaking roof Unattended and wild.

Can there be something as temporary and as final as death? Life replaces life, Incidences replaces Memories... But what remains true under these dusts.. That what has gone shall never be. I will put your crumbling Self that remains with me In bottles and put some fireflies... When the finality of your absence Comes home on a spring morning as this. I will look at the bottles and know That the fireflies glow only by night..

The hotel room had a bluish glow. Reflections of a sign board of another's existence. Infiltrating our rented nights With an ease of childhood innocence Or..In a way that only light can. The first time we saw each other On a December midnight. We were both looking out of our windows Bathed in blue. Down at the red neon washed Balustrade, Care went down the streets As we both stared at the torn jeans And smoke rings create fantasy .... Down far below... Someone played a mouth organ .. Faint music filled the December air. The yearning of soaking the red The euphoric moments of the red Was washed by the pale blue Of the infiltrated existence. I could see it in your eyes And of mine in the glass

Those days, hot and sultry as young love, ended with tea and smoke. I never smoked, though...or did I not? Smoke like love is inductive. When all around you, people smoke and drink and love... A yearning grows in you. Which satiates itself in passive inhalation. Much like falling in love with characters from folds of a dusty classic. Forgotten and imaginary, just like me. In the commotion of a roadside stall, filled with smoke layered conversations that oozed out of us, like the departing sunlight filtered through a mess of cracked wall and cobwebs, I had seen you. I had seen you through a gap within the smoke. The snakes and dragons of smoke curled around you and you looked somewhere far. It is as if nothing touched you. That mad unsettled look in your eyes had settled in some other world. You felt the weight of my gaze. I had always wondered how gaze feels like a touch. Like a deep slumber that has touched your eyes and you cannot see. And you looked at me...