Birthday Blues

A quarter century ago
I came to this world
Crying and kicking
Maybe it was wisdom
Mistaken
Maybe it was warning
Unheeded
That with every anniversary
The World will love you
A little less
That with every year gone
Life will slip away
A little more
But still, it is a milestone
And I mark mine
With my words.

Who can?

Even I can’t
Stop myself from
Seeing you
In my dreams…
How can this world?

Marrying Midas

How can I explain my 

Growing fancy for everything

Golden?

A golden bangle on my wrist

A golden twinkle on my neck

A golden star for the night skies

A golden life breathed into

All things I see…

I married a medieval Midas

So rapt to belong

To this sparkling land!

 

And then they dawned upon me

My two choices:

To be touched;

Or not.

Rose tints

Today, I discarded the black tints

And viewed my world through 

Rose-tinted glasses.

Exhilarating as can be,

I know this wouldn’t last…

But, just for now, the world is

Not so bad;

Not so round;

And not so endless…

 

 

The broken bulb

In a world of glowering tungsten
The lone, broken bulb
Couldn’t remember
Who broke it…

Everything was a brightness
A sheen so pervasive
Hiding crimes
And fails
With twinkles

Not even shadows
Could be dark here
And the broken bulb stood
Useless; faceless,
Like riches among the
Fortunate

Order

There is little that survives Time
Long enough to see another day
But with the World so full
The little multiply into fake multitudes
And we believe the order’s never been disturbed

Maybe this was the order- that
Those that die, should die unnoticed
And those that get born
Should never know when to exit with grace
It’s a delusional Time
A morbid World

Time to wake up

I stood dripping 

water, energy and

A strong silence

 

The world had grown

Silent too- the silence of

A bated breath

 

Looking around I saw

Nothing; no one

But just the elements

Watching me close

 

In this capsule

I felt every breath

Of wind; every little

Movement of earth

 

I stood there

Under the star-less sky

Watching it

Fill up

 

One star at a time;

One moment at a time

Till the sky was light again

Though it wasn’t time

To wake up

The happy will never know

There is purpose in being morose

It’s not as shallow as it’s made out to be.

The ones who see no point in melancholy

Are the most deluded of us all.

Failures in seeing beyond the hunky-dory

They try to heap the blame on

Doorsteps drenched in salt.

Those anchored by pain will hold ground

Sweep the world under their lashes

And wash it clean within their closed eyes.

It’s an intimacy with the universe

The happy will never know.