Tag Archives: #rain

Silently the Rain Spreads

silently the rain spreads

washing the words away

left under the whisper

left to be forgotten.

sitting on the grill

of southern windows

wet sparrow chirps

deepening quietitude

of the words not spoken yet…

Advertisements

Pen, Storm,…

 

The storm is here.

 

I’ve been playing cloudy, stormy, rainy with my solitude

For all day long from the time I can’t remember now at this point.

At the end (though) my loneliness wins over the all.

It’s another game I play. We play, he plays, she plays, they play.

 

Loneliness, solitariness, acceptance.

 

Escape, flee, capture.

The storm has arrived out of the cloudy blue of the city of mine, of ours.

Of many of us. The poet added up the bit.

The tired soul wants nothing now. But, wants all. He–no, it was I, say(s)

Like the world in the mouth of Krishna.

To move forward there’s need to be moved forward, leaving–

The rotten smelled tie-backs.

 

Denial, adoption, let-it-go.

It plays a vicious game. The life. The thoughts. The choices and opinions we take–

Though they change with time. That’s when another game starts.

Returning home or not. Shall be he, be she forgiven. Shall be the vanity immersed–

Like the idols at end of any festival…

 

The storm is raging. Reaching the crescendo. The brontide, the thunder muffled–

And whistled. The solitary drops of cloud coming down. 

Will it worsen the moment? (Or) will it embalm the gush of hurts, of dejections

To be opened up later, when there will be petrichor, when there will be calmness.

 

Paper, paper plane, paper boat

Where shall the poem be written on ‘fore letting it…fly or float or just keeping it–

(The poet asked me suddenly as I was going to light a cigarette)

In the hope one day, someday someone will read it.

 

Pen, cigarette, idleness–the raindrops whispered in ears of the poet, as the smoke–

Of the cigarette tried in vain to swirled up



National Poem Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) 2018: Day#2: A poem that plays with voice

Happy Birthday…

Looking for the words that I can say to you

Looking for the topic that I can listen from you.

I know it’s an exaggerating way to express

My thoughts through my poem but really I want

To say will you be mine rather want to ask.

Love not it is, solitary it is of mine that wants you

That churning out thoughts over thoughts.

Am not a guy whom you can expect to be happy always

To be one who can fulfill your dreams as you wishes.

But, one thing for sure I’ll never let you down

No, I’m not promising but giving you a chance

To judge, to thought over as you know me now a long.

Night is cold; unwelcomed November rain drizzling.

I’ve nothing to say again lots to say but for now

Happy Birthday to you…

Sangbad [11/15-16/2017]


Honk