Dead lives,

Dead lives, dead leaves,
Scattered across the grey streets,
On a soulless journey to nowhere or everywhere
with the winds sweeping them onto different destinations
With the time decaying them back into life;
Just so they could fall lifeless once again.
What do you hope to find in this circular maze?
How are you different from other carbon corpses?
Dead eyes, dead voice,
After all, a beating heart was never your choice!
Like the stones, like the deepest ocean bed,
You are silently waiting for the end ahead.
Don’t think it too loud!
The stars might overhear!
Time might end today or after infinity,
But the blood must continue running stale in your veins
The thoughts must wander lost always.
Dead leaves, dead lives,
sleeping indifferently on the streets at nights.
Make sure there’s never anything to see
Make sure that the eyes are always wide shut
For if they blink open, if they ever do,
It will all come fiercely rushing through,
in all its unfairness,
tearing apart your blissfully protective wall of indifference-
The storming life,
The warrior love,
valiantly destroying your ignorant existence,
Your living death.


Your human existence?

Your human existence
is running out of evidence
as your tales fade away when I pass them to others,
and others, preoccupied, don’t pass to another,
as words die at the tip of my tongue
when I try to recall the songs since long unsung,
as I toss and topple through a restless night,
and people who knew you depart gradually out of sight…
as your same old stories are recycled over and over
camouflaged as new ones, drunk and sober,
as my own judgement dresses up like your possible advice,
In moments of uncertainty, that’s a cunning disguise,
as your clothes lay, never touched, never worn,
degrading slowly, yearning to be given away or thrown,
as your photographs smile like you never left any dots or dashes,
Conveniently ignoring that your flesh and bones are long gone burnt to ashes.

And, you are far from being mattered now
Hence you exist like a god;
Never seen
Never heard
All your mistakes are forgotten
All your missteps are wise
Your fury is symphony
Your love is a way to paradise
Your voice is a miracle
Your smile is the turquoise ocean
And all my tears are my prayers
All my sorrow is my temple
You are worshiped here everyday
You are glorified every hour…

But then you are not a god
Just a handful of memories;
Fading and dripping,
Now only the best ones remain in the filter cone,
And they too are eroding everyday, millimeter by millimeter
Lost in the wind, lost in the history, lost in our ironical transcendence into  nothingness…


Death is a frequent visitor

Death is a frequent visitor
I have seen him walking  by from time to time,
Sometimes I gaze at him through my window,
Hide immediately when he glances back,
Sometimes at my neighbor’s, he drops by,
And with a charming smile he waves me hi,
Like a teen-aged girl my heart flutters
And a moment later it screams in horror,
And like that with a minuscule gesture,
he throws my life out of order.

Death is a frequent visitor
Always, he arrives alone,
But doesn’t mind the company when he later departs,
Together giggling and making merry
He tags them all along on an unknown journey,
Death tells them not to look at the porch where mothers and daughters lay sobbing,
Death tells them not to think of fathers or sons or friends or wives,
Carefully, they all now have been cut out of their nonexistent lives,
Happily they agree,
For nobody disagrees with death,
Charming, attractive, combination of rare beauty,
Once enticed, his hypnotism can’t be broken…
Words contradicting him can never be spoken.

Death is a frequent visitor
And yet he is still a fantasy,
I saw him in my backyard,
Suddenly he came and went,
Befriended a man I had once known,
Now he exists only in memories.
Death once dropped by for a cup of tea,
Looked at us all from head to toe,
Picked out the healthiest one and walked him out the door,
Touched my arm as he left,
Felt his breath on my neck,
His cold fingers,
His gorgeous face,
Tears ran down my cheeks but I saw glee in his beautiful eyes,
Forever lost the same in my own; I covered it with happy disguise.

Death is a frequent visitor yet he surprises every time,
Makes you praise all those beautiful poems which would never again ever rhyme.