The Senseless Dream Of Reality: Made To Sense

Its time.
I think its getting nearer, whatever it will be... whatever it is...
closer.
Much closer than we (You and i) think.
I can feel it.
I could always feel it.
But its coming closer and getting clearer now.
Whatever it is... whatever it will be.
I can't seem to see it, but I have always loved to imagine.
I had always imagined.


But if imagination exists, so do the imagined.
I had always known that they could fly.
Or perhaps I had dreamt that they could.
But I had always known.
If we can see something and so can others, we believe it exists.
That's the idea, isn't it?
I could see them even before you said it.
Perhaps that's why I got it the first time you said it.
Perhaps you just said it but didn't know.
Perhaps you didn't know but you could feel it, without thinking you did.
Perhaps you still don't know.
But even if you don't, I DO. Yes I do.


I'm not saying I'm a psychic, nor a superlative of human.
On the contrary, I'm lesser than that.
I'm reduced physically.
I'm slowly being converted into a dream.
A dream that exists in my mind.
But the reason of my whole being, dreams about it.
Hence, I'm nothing but that constant thought, constant speculation, constant wish.. constant vision personified.
A singular. Less than a singular.
(If that is possible.)


Perhaps you will deny.
Perhaps you would try to fail to see it.
Yes, try. Because you could see it if you wanted it.
Or you can.
Like the Dursleys did. Dancing in denial.
Like Peter Pan couldn't see the food in "Hook".
At first he could't, rather he wouldn't.
Both stories are mirrors of each others.
Dursleys knew but wouldn't.
Peter Pan didn't but he would.
I don't know what would you choose.
But I can see it.
I've lived it even before 'the happening' happens.
I'm just trying to match it with the existence.
Not in the dreams, but they are existent out there too.
Very much existent.
I just want to feel it with my sense organs which will record it to my mind.
Rather than recording in my mind before actually using my sense organs.
.

It has been done already though, many times, in my mind, in my dreams
Or in real, perhaps. I can't tell which is which.
But it doesn't quench the speculations.
And the Love, as it feels better if it goes reverse.
Although its all in the mind. Yours and mine.
I just want the minds to combine.
As always, I want us to rhyme.
Our co-incidental matches read out The Sign
But you still can't hear it? See it?
Yes you can.
So I want our clockwork to wind.
And make it work in reverse, for a change.
But you still don't realise. Perhaps.


But I know its coming near.
I have no idea what is.
But it is.
Perhaps I knew and you know now.
Perhaps I know and knew it all along.


(Is it a flower that I see?
But I wouldn't know till its near.
As I can't use my senses to check.
But I think I can already do.
Its perhaps my other sense.
Hope it makes sense.
If it doesn't; I wish, it creates some)

Surrexistal

Yesterday I die. Yes I die.

Wait till yesterday, and you'll see.

But I doubt you would wait till yesterday, as you can't remember what happened tomorrow.

I don't remember it either, but sometimes like a faint picture in a frame, plays in my mind like chocolates taste.

I'm scared of being born. I've been scared of being born since the day I was dead.

I remember, I was looking for my dentures in the graveyard, and I saw a seedling, and I laughed.

I ran away from her, sat in a corner, and laughed as I was brave. Brave to the point I was still.

Like a statue, or was I shaking? Because when you are Brave, you shake, when you are daring, you stay still.

But let's not get into the future. Dwelling in future has done no good.

So yesterday I die, I just wish you don't come and don't laugh.

I hate you SO much I'll forget you, till I take my first breath.

But till I die, I'll still look for the dentures, as I'm still without a tooth.

And you without a body.

Welcome Dream, I bid welcome.

Echoing An Eternal Buzz

For he was a petal, what was he? He was just a part of the flower. For he was just a brick, what was he? Just sandwiched between; for the tower. When he was born, died he know what species was he? Why then he cried, when he came out of the womb, wasn't he free? But then, one petal lost, was rejected by the bouquet maker. One brick, killed a man, was thrown in the mass, by a hater. What changed? Who knew? Who made our thoughts? Who loved? Who lived? Who fed the one who rots? How thoughts come in the brain? Who moves, the trees or the train? How much can be called "some"? How big can be a crumb? Who makes the rules? Who decides we are clever or fools? Who divides ammo from tools? Who. And why? And how could it think? When we don't even realse, when we blink. Its all fickle, you're all insane. Its all a mirage, its just me, and my game. You don't exist, no one does. Its all in my mind, like an eternal buzz...

The End… The Wait…The Beginning. - Memoir Of an Earthen Goblet

There lies an earthen goblet,

By the window-sill.

 Its body cracked and colour tarnished,

With saline water in his fill;

The rain waters and salt has punctured his body

 which was once polished and whole,

But look at him now, colourless…

Pitch black, as if without a soul.

The goblet lies idle , retracing its past,

The end of his life, he thought,

The end, the very last;

In his heart, the depth, there lies a mark,

And he goes back to the day,

The beginning, when it went-all-dark…

The End

It was a blackout that day,

The whole house was tucked in darkness.

Like a prophecy, to warn him,

 of his future starkness.

But there came LIGHT! In the shape of a small flaming candle.

His master has chosen the Goblet for it to handle.

He poured some wax  at the center where the patch now lies;

And sealed the candle to the Goblet, in a bond that ties.

The love then started and he felt the warmth of the candle and her glowing face;

Its flame which was poised and was shimmering, full of grace.

She melted and her flames spread the glow,

And the Goblet thought she was bonding.

But little did he know, she was getting depleted with time, and so was their love.

His body cracked with the heat but he focused what was above.

And then the inevitable came, the flame started flickering…

The fumes blackened his body and the wax started cluttering…

And then the flame vanished all of a sudden.

POOF! It was gone! Leaving a layer of wax which couldn’t ne removed.

Her skeleton, her ashes lay in the form of a burnt wick.

Inside the crack, which left him sick.

His master had then scraped out her torso which he was hugging

And then it  put some salt and started scrubbing.

THE WAIT

But the ashes just won’t go off…

So he left it on the window-sill.

The Goblet remained there, 

earthed and still.

His thoughts came back to the present by the click of the doorknob.

His master had returned from its job.

He saw that master was holding a small bonsai plant in its hand.

Its saplings light green, clustered with sand.

Master picked up the tattered Goblet ,

Put some mud and fixed the fresh sapling it it,

The cracks were soon sealed by the root, it was a perfect fit.

  

Two became none, then two became one.

They grew into a Universe, into  nothingness.

There was everything and there was void.

They wrapped themselves and a touch was shared.

That eternal touch which didn't move… It was there.

(Epilogue)
He fell in love again… and it stayed.
They grew with each other, did not diminish.
Stories don’t need an ending,
Because life, love and infinity has no finish.

काश...

कल, पल सा आया, यूँ आया और गुज़रा,
बज कर अचानक घुँगरू सा बिखरा;
आज तुम अगर, कल देख पाते,
मेरे साथ कुछ दूर तुम भी आते.

अक्सर ये सोचा अजीब हैं ये पल,
वक़्त के साथ हम भी जाते हैं जल;
उन्ही पलों को समेटे हम चलते जाते,
काश कुछ दूर तुम भी आते.

बस रिश्तों का धोका, बिखरती ये यादें,
समेटते कभी हम, वो लम्हें, वो बातें;
अगर समझ आता, तो ना वक़्त यूँ गावते,
अपने साथ हम तुमको ले आते.

आज मैं वो चेहरा सभी को दिखाता,
मेरा वो चेहरा, कभी ना पाता;
उन लम्हों के कारवाँ, कभी ना भुलाते,
अगर मेरे साथ दो कदम चल पाते.

तुम साथ चलते तो शायद सम्हल जाते,
उस सदा से यूँ ठोकर हम शायद ना खाते;
तुम रोक भी लेते तो एक पल रुक जाते,
काश मेरे साथ, तुम चले आते...

An Unfinished Request...

Let me not die tonight,
For I want to live till Sunrise;
Let me see the silver skies,
The empty roads, the fluttering flies.

Its not an excuse to delay my rest...
Or it is, isn't it?
I crave to smell the sweet, mellow Shiwli for the last time.
I want to embrace the night,
Feel the silky smooth air.

Just one more time I want to smoke in the quietness,
The calm, where I can see, clouds forming from my breath.
One last time I want to see the silver flakes fall like snow.
For, the snow in winter, I could never see,
I want this to be my illusionary consolation.

Want to whistle one last time, for it echoes,
As if someone, is replying.
Let me sing one more time,
Where I let myself out of me.

Let the minty fog, pull my spirit,
Away with them, to the land of crispy ice.
I don't want to die tonight...
Or any night.
For night is when I live.

I am dead during daytime anyway.
So kill me with the sun to witness.
Make it noon, but not twilight,
for the hope rises.

When I die, let them know how I Loved them,
But, let the people I hate, be.
For its daytime, they might be busy.
Let me hear, one last song...

Look its coming up, the sun!!!
And...

The Song of Frank Enstien

Oh run! RUN! For the monster has come!

He doesn't eat, plunder, rape or vandalise;

He just TALKS to people for fun!

(Ignore... No, RUN... Back door!)

Has he a bad breath, or does his body stink?

Did he whistle, pass lewd comments?

Did he touch-grab or did he wink?

No, hate him, for he is lonely, and wants to hear and to be heard.

But you "KNOW", he's a rogue,

A beast, and yes, he's absurd!

So what, if he HATES his kind for their savage deed?

So what if he innocently walks, smiles and stares at people?

He's one of them, hence no one pays any heed.

He doesn't want to be tagged, he just wants to tag along.

He doesn't want to be judged, and this is his song.

(But he's wrong! It's wrong! He's WRONG!)