At the End of a Winter

 

The white misty layer

Sprang up out of nowhere

Just after the twilight

In an early winter night.

The Moon was on its ninth,

Picking up the pace

To be in full bloom,

Amidst the shuttered rays of light.

 

I was all alone in a foggy lawn

Watching carelessly

The shy drops of Moon,

When I met her eyes

In a sudden sweep of rain

On a derailed monsoon...

 

She was drifting in like a bunch

Of light white foamy clouds

With a sweet autumn breeze;

And I got stuck by like a magical spell

To see my fall in a pair of blue eyes

Floating past my heart ringing a bell.

 

I used to write sometimes

On borrowed emotions

From the poems I seek to find

How it’s like the poetic passions.

Now, with all the maddening feelings

Brimming out of my mind

I kept looking at the blank page

Staring back at me with the blue

I got enchanted by in that fairy wind.

 

I loved to weave dreams

With winters fluting the summer rains;

Bridging morning dews

With the lonely nocturnal pains.

And all on a sudden

I found myself in the layers

Of dreams in search of the eyes

I lost my soul winging in.

 

At the edge of one winter

There will be no sign of

The long-forgotten spring.

The trail of fallen leaves

Will get drier and heavier

With no trace of greening…

 

All the tales of the world

Will come to an end,

With all the colors fading out

In a devouring bend…

 

And there will be just dreams

Over the ashen blue sky,

Floating like bubbles

In the colorless layers of streams…

 

And there will be an unfinished poem

Riding with a pair of blue eyes

In one of those dreams;

 

The eyes with a straight look

Swinging between a nonchalant smile

And a mystery of the Forgotten Isle;

And a poem in a mess of failed words

To paint a passion so deep

In my empty manuscript…

© Atique R. 

To Be Or Not To Be…

 

-So, you are active here?

-Hum.

-And in the Facebook?

-Sometimes.

-Are you surprised or annoyed?

-Why would I get surprised?

-The same question for the latter one?

-I don't get annoyed so fast.

-But, I see you sometimes looking straight

Focusing on nowhere:

Slightly annoyed

But more of an apathetic look…

 

She got silent like many

Other times, leaving me confused

Yet again;

Making me keep wondering

Yet again

If I was bothering her

With my caged emotions

Leaking out some buried feelings

In an unguarded conscience...

 

But, I've got so many things to know,

I've got so many questions to ask.

And yet I just don't know

If I should text her again

With the last one gone

Lost in an abyss of pain.

 

I can start again

Just by saying "hi" or

May be "what's up".

And I know

She would reply

In the succinct most way

With one or two words,

Or with silence.

But I could explain

Why she wasn’t surprised

With my text messages:

Either she doesn’t give it a shit

To the unwanted messages;

Or she somehow knew

I was going to contact

By a hard found number to hit.

 

And I could hope against hope

That the latter one was her reason.

But, then she would opt for

The silence mood, yet again,

Without answering

The multiple choice question.

 

So, it’s better to switch on the darkness

And light up my evening sky

To do all the talking with the stars,

Dead and alive,

And to shed off all the heavy words,

Laden with hopes and despairs.

 

If she hears, she hears….

© Atique R. 

Truth on the Other Side

 

The Moon stops the clock

And tunes it

To be in the midnight block.

But, it's not night anymore;

For he has gone past

The nights of life...,

Past the body

He'd been dwelling in so far...

With all the shadowed memories

He used to water…

 

The shredded drops of Moon

Falling in pieces

Onto his swinging body,

Can no longer trigger a flight

To the world of the nightingales;

For he has gone past

The crowd of nights,

Leaving behind

A bunch of withered dreams,

Adorably preserved

Under the darkness of borrowed lights...

 

The wavering touches of the blue

In a tranquil seclusion

Under the dwindling light,

The southern breeze

Flowing in from the bay

Through the unprized shades of night

Will no longer give him

The thrill of a free fall

From the wuthering height;

 

For he has flew past

The bays, the beauties,

The tale of an idiot

And the Styx river,

Leaving behind

A thousand splendid lies

To catch up with a truth

Lies on the other side of the border...

© Atique R.