The Awakening Dream

 

I happen to find in a strewn mind

A piece of breathing silence

As I was eavesdropping the wind,

Whispering to a clamoring storm

To blow off my tinges of yellows

In an unbreakable alliance

In my sizzling silver soul

Caged in a translucent cell

Made of bone, blood and flesh.

 

Then I started scrolling down

The layers of silver clouds

In the multiverse

Of my self-driven dream.

And I met a lovely view

In the splashes of melting gold

During the twilight

Just before the night to unfold.

 

And it was magical enough

To ride past the lurking inner storm,

Winging on the petals of colors

With newer dreams to form. 

When Blue Turns Gray

 

In an unfamiliar town,

In a different pole

I saw her once again...

In the wake of a monsoon.

With the vapors

Of my dried out pain,

I paused for a while

And walked past her,

As I got to catch up with a rain.

 

I glided past her,

Calm and quiet

In a shuttered mind;

Feeling a shell-shocked

Pair of eyes behind.

And then she called me

To turn back to her;

Back to

The long frozen memories

In a worn-out attire…

 

I used to see her in blue

With the evening zephyr

Playing with her hair

In a magical golden hue:

Like the melting Sun

Splashing all its gold

In the western sky

In an enchanting flow.

 

She was in gray today

Putting on the same old

Mysterious beauty,

And the eyes lost

In the shades of glittering ray:

So close to me

Still far far away

Where the horizon

Keeps losing into the bay…

 

We exchanged ‘Hi’, ‘Hellos’

With the surprised looks and smiles

Which couldn’t reach out the eyes.

And then all our words dried out

In a silent hollow

With thousands of unearthed questions

To follow.

 

“Isn’t there anything left

From the days we lost together?”

She asked in a parting note.

“All the glittering stars of night

Lie deep beneath the day light.”

I replied before bidding goodbye

In a tone barely afloat

And a smile containing a hurricane

Of sighs.

© Atique R. 

Lonely Man under the Moon

 

A lonely man

On a lonely bridge

In a gray gloomy night

In the dwindling light

Saw the image of a loner,

Who has never been a moaner

As he look down far

In the ashen blue water,

While floating with a stagger.

 

And he walks on alone

Spilling droplets of blood

In the petals of his pain.

And the Moon over his head,

Instills in the drops of Moon

Through his shrinking veins.