The Last Ride with Her

 

This was our last ride together.

Though we never talked to each other;

Once in a blue Moon

I got the chance to sit beside her,

And found time travelling too fast

Until my stoppage would come

And the magical delusion turned over.

 

She used to sit

On her favorite window seat

At the corner of my sight.

And my eyes kept swinging

All around the bus

And kept turning back to her

In a dreaming delight

For a glimpse of her eyes;

The painstaking traffic jam

Turned sweeter.

 

She usually looked straight,

Focusing on nowhere,

And never turned left

Even by the flick of a sight;

When I sat right there

With a withering soul

Under a wavering ray of light.

 

She smiled sometimes

With her mind-storming eyes;

Either in a conversation

Or because of some funny things

In her busy cell phone;

Without ever knowing

How she set the nerves

Of an innocent soul burning...

 

Our eyes met sometimes

For a fraction of a moment

Until she took her look away

Faster than the lightning;

But enough for my searing soul

To float over a charming spell

And set the tune to raining.

 

I used to talk to her

For hours together,

But there was no word

That I ever had to utter.

She used to reply

With words, wit and smiles

As my mind find better

In the weaving of a dream

By a lonely day dreamer...

 

And that was my last ride with her,

With all my fooled imaginations

And the dreams of a beautiful lie.

But the feelings, be it one-sided,

I would always love to taste

The blissful pain, once before I die. 

© Atique R.

Life of a Grasshopper

 

I happened to fall in love

With a dandelion girl

In a long-forgotten past.

Do I still love her?

I'm supposed to think about it

In an arranged leisure;

Maybe in a late autumn night;

In somewhere quieter

With the spendable idle hours.

 

Maybe I could check

Some of her letters

She had written me

A decade ago

When we used to be friends

And hang around together.

But, I'm not sure now

If she loved me,

Or I'm still loving her.

 

I've got to search the file

Of old letters in my old shelf

Nearly submerged

In the piles of dust.

But, does it really matter?

I'm not a wayfarer anymore,

With a tender heart.

But, I've got to think of a leisure

I’ve got to shed off

The due drops of pain,

The frozen flow of tears

In the shades of a monsoon rain.

And where's the spare hours?

 

I do really need a leisure,

Maybe,

A quiet time along a lonely shore

To think

If I still love her

Or if there is any love left

In my life of a grasshopper.

But, where's the time to spare?

© Atique R.

Love and the Monsoon Rain

 

There are questions

That get spiraled inside my mind

Like trapped in the eye of a tornado;

Reckless.

There are questions

That squeeze my heart hard,

Enough to make me feel strangled;

Breathless.

And without ever sprouting out in words

Still they remain twisted, sealed;

Helpless.

 

There are feelings

That keep boiling through my veins,

Like lava

To be exploded out of a volcano;

Merciless.

There are feelings

That take every single bit of my strength

To contain

Like a hurricane

Inside the freezing soul;

Speechless.

 

And there is the love

That keeps my questions unearthed,

And twisted

In exchange for a soul;

Roasted.

And there is the love

That let my lava feelings

Fly unshackled and boundless

With all those untold questions;

With all those frozen sighs

To drizzle down the drops of pain

In the monsoon rain….

© Atique R.