The Figure and Her

Like a perfect morning Spring breeze,
Like a rare galactic celestial star,
Like an iron heart beating for a lost twin,
Mesmerising momentarily in greater depth,
At a figure, she paints from the unknown,
A mixture of shadows, a masterpiece, a landscape,
For her to soar, like a bird,
For her to cherish, like a treasure,
For what life brings her, like this figure,
And so, it starts to dance to her smiles,
Stargazing at her beating heart that twinkles afar,
And in turn, she snows nearby landing on its cheeks,
Hearing its whispers as she silences the world,
For seven hours straight, the figure is her all,
For many more at night, she is its delicate soul,
Without her, the figure is emotionless,
The son of a concerned mother,
The brother of a proud sister,
The aging father of a little girl,
To it, she becomes the definition of home,
A place to hold onto and to always return,
A shelter to its heart, a constellation to its mind,
An ongoing novella depicting the merging of souls,
Linguistically phenomenal as both start to realise,
A preface of dubbed barriers to never lose a translation,
A chapter of tones to reach complete perception,
And yet, a different chapter consumes all emotions,
Like a breeze that comes and goes,
Like a shooting star nowhere to be found,
Like a heart that switches to a highborn,
The plot thickens and the twist befalls,
A heavenly meeting was decreed for a resolution,
Three decades holding onto nomadic tents,
Leaving few years thinking to never come back,
And yet, this figure, out of nowhere comes back,
Part of the desert, earthly merged for eternity,
For what reasoning this soul comprehends
Is beyond the logical laws of a galactic universe,
The figure and her are just a story of a great return.

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For My Self

Reluctant was I to stand ground,
My own self in total disregard,
I may lift weights overhead,
Yet, mine holding me down,
And I may talk to others nonstop,
But will the ‘silence talk’ ever start?
And I may read others’ faces,
Whilst mine buried underground.

So here is to the era of recovery,
To the morning light of my moon,
To the midnight rise of my sun:
An early bird – for a lasting lullaby,
An invention – for an open mic,
A dew – for a refreshing smile,
A postcard – for a self-reflection,
So here is to how I stood my ground.

Heavenly Treasure

Life, the evaporation of Time,
Solidified to share her beauty,
Fog hazing her Eastern curves,
Boiled within my heart’s depths,
Condensing on the morning dew,
Upon flowers, upon a white lily,
Upon her hips, upon her lips,
And I touch, and I breathe, deep,
Closer, warmer, into our naked souls,
And then she evaporates into life,
Redefining the nature’s wilderness,
What was once an earthly being,
She, now, is my heavenly treasure.

Morning Dew

Ladies and gentlemen:
To-day’s morning dew
Ventured out of my flowers
To send fresh smiles
In a colourful bouquet,
And my leaves (in trusting
The natural flows of gusts of love)
Have prayed for Eastern winds –
The warmth of many summers –
To embrace this friendship; bound westward,
Soaring over earthly matter,
And among heavenly matter,
And higher and higher,
Tune in and bemuse,
Muse on the music box,
Tuned in to her flowers,
And enters – the smiles of
To-day’s morning dew.

On the Verge of

Tell not the mind about the palpitating heart
As it surfs freely onto its emotional waves,
Keep the logic at bay to feel a heatstroke,
Just once, and maybe give it a sunburn, too,
Something that would bring joy after sunset,
Like an aromatic summer sun-kissed morning,
A breakfast to my longing lazy hazel eyes,
And as the world utters heart-full songs,
(An adventurous journey of many silences)
Mountains cry aloud many silences,
Waves crush wildly into many silences,
Thunderous lightening shocks many silences,
Until many silences shake the earths of our whispers,
A volcanic earthquake to erupt the
Palpitating heart while the mind is still at bay,
And then another heart-full song about
A hopeful journey of a dehydrating branch
Of a disillusioned tree that follows
The rotten stars into massive graveyards,
Tombstones carving elaborate false banners,
And as the morning cries many more silences:
Sacrificial ones, peaceful ones, hopeful ones,
Ones that would rehydrate that particular branch
Towards the heavens to soar over clouds of bliss.