Tell me...

Ideal meanings;
What words speak of;
Imagination?

With a loved one under the evening sky;
Silhouetted couple at a distance;
Affection?

Break a promise;
Never promise;
Escapism?

Idols idealised;
No idols;
Extremity?

The tangible lost;
The intangible thought;
Nothingness?

Shamanth,
19th july, 2009.

Sleep Well

It was about three in the afternoon. His eyes pricked like two pieces of hard rock, pulling his eyelids together, tighter by the second. The clock in the corner of his eyes slowly faded to black through the mesh of his eyelashes. The following moment waited silently at a distance for a while, lest it woke him up. But when it arrived, it felt like his head would roll off his slumped chest and hit the desk. The horror of it instantly threw his head upward, pushing his eyes wide open. Wearily, he looked at the clock with his mouth open and dry with a salty thirst and suddenly sprung straight in his chair before any one would catch him napping at work.

Looking around foolishly, he chuckled as he realised he was home and not at work. It was a Sunday. Slumping in his chair, he lazily turned his heavy head to his bed and held still, gaping at it for a few seconds, listening himself breathe. Were he any closer, standing up he would have let his body fall freely ahead, landing flat on the white fluff, and not a muscle would he have had to move.
Not all your wishes come true.
So he moaned tragically as he walked an entire four paces to reach his bed.

The world spun as he crept under the sheets. Lying in his bed, he looked straight ahead at the ceiling. The clock was nowhere in sight. His lips were too tired to convey his smile, and so were his eyes to stay open. What followed required no effort, none whatsoever. If he had to animate 'Sleep', he would have thought of it as a ripple so delicate that it invited no resistance. It began with his head sinking into his soft pillow till his ears drowned and silence grew within. His neck followed the shape of the pillow's pressed edge as it rose and softly dropped down to merge with the bed. His shoulders, and eventually his hands, fell silent as his back seemed to melt into the bed. For a moment, his legs seemed detached and motionless, lying far away from his body, just before they fell asleep.

Selfish

I love every standing tree on earth, except perhaps the innocuous tall one, conveniently rooted outside my balcony. Occasionally, at dinner, it munches on my favourite part of the night sky – the moon. Mockingly swaying its branches, to reveal hints of the moon's luster flickering off the leafy edges, it hides only a few stars.
The rest simply blink with amusement watching me walk back into the living room without a glimpse of the hare.
Laziness is probably the only reason not to take a stroll on the streets at night without the tree in my face. Instead, I rue the lack of a terrace to our building.

Shamanth,
14th july, 2009.

Precious

Beads of sorrow
are unsung heroes of acceptance.
Heralding assurance,
they emerge,
destined for oblivion.

But, acceptance learnt
before the surge,
mocks their immense pride.
Selfless tears, loyal,
they stay,
dried up inside.



Shamanth,
13th july, 2009.

Often

The simplicity I seek,

is the most difficult to perceive.



Shamanth,
7th july, 2009.

Poised

Like a bubble, blown
From a hoop
On a stick's end
Dipped in soap water

The mind,
Drenched with emotions,
Yearns to drift
In pristine poignance.

Can it, but reflect gingerly,
The world it sees,
Whose image appears
Poised in the bubble.

Shamanth,
6th july, 2009.