The lights go off,
Someone around me shrieks ‘Watchout!’
Headfirst I go,
a split second when nothing matters,
until someone gathers,
are my fits of euphoria,
the sinking Concordia.
Darkness often blinds,
I fly and fall,
body and all.
Fall and awaken,
From a deep dream of peace,
I awoke to find no Angel.
Only curious minds,
all caring and kind.
Woe is me!
For no peace I find.
someone held too close,
walked past with no acknowledgement,
of ever being known,
for when amends were right under the nose,
he chose to keep love for another day,
she decided to let him have his way,
and when they met again today,
a cold glance,
an infinity of distance,
rained down heavily,
on forgotten romance.
often loud and jittery,
of what has been and what is yet to see,
of vibrant hues and musical melodies,
of places from another world and fantasies,
who captured our smiles,
who brought despair,
who would’ve gone those extra miles,
and who would no longer appear,
are now parodies.
An unsigned card beneath a shut window,
sprayed with little perfume droplets,
and the wait is eternal.
For the love way back became just a shadow,
of moments basked in moonlit glory.
That might as well,
be your story.
A half burnt letter smelling of rose,
in verse and prose,
a charred odour
and the stench is ethereal.
For the passion became so huge, so real,
that no longer the heart could venture to feel.
The ending words say ‘I’m sorry’
that might as well,
be my story.
You love to play with words,
twisting and squeezing connotations,
in contexts that play havoc,
through my thoughts,
amidst subtle distortions.
You love it, don’t you?
To see me,
struggle with the difference,
between implications of
and all the while that you left me fuming,
over uncomprehensive inadequacy,
I played along,
and threw words around me,
when I had the crossword all wrong.
We make so many allusions to ‘life’,
calling it a journey,
through tempests and calm sunny days,
and often a tale in a book,
with its sea of characters and shades of grey.
I add another one,
for life is one long masquerade ball,
and the masks never come off,
so while we go fooling all,
we are each nearing perfection,
the masters of camouflage,
our own selves we do enthrall,
like a temptress,
the mistress of seduction.
One long parade of pretentious men and women,
feigning benevolence and malice alike,
dancing to tunes in our minds,
joining others in close proximity.
And if perchance the mask falls off,
they will talk, laugh, sneer and jeer,
and leave us alone,
singular in a deprived vicinity.
We love being,
objects of desire, attention and obsession,
stay mysterious to the rest of our own.
And while each one of us would want to throw away faces,
For our partners,
would still wear a pretext.
And beneath a mask though we must seek,
we can never do it,
and we couldn’t.
Morning brings me to yet another humdrum affair,
of trying to make the day count as if,
it was the last I had but,
it ends with an acknowledgement of the next on the other side of midnight.