Shame

As the last rays of the sun
Folded in her eyes
She stood still, still as the sky

Gnawed upon by silence
She fell into an abyss filled with blackness
As silence wriggled and writhed
To join her

The evening set the fire
Fire set things in motion
Motion set fire to entropy
And silence was the ultimate leveler

 Tonight silence will revel

Hold, hold me close
For there's no tomorrow
Tomorrow is dead

Weep, weep all you could
For there's no one
No one left to care

Cling, cling to the end
For that's the last
You'll ever see

She became one with the blackness
As silence cushioned her
To the bottom of the abyss

Her senses still alive could
Feel the leftover delights
And like fireflies, they took flight

The last of her that was found
Was soiled in shameful pride
What transpired was not to be
Told or to be spoken of

As silence had ordained

Scars

The lull sky of dismay etched across

The fruitless orchard of mulling notions

Bereft of thought; transfixed in slumber

Ridden eyes, facing an uncanny breeze

Into the whirlpool of strange consequences

He was inept in telling her

What was there in the air

He mumbled listlessly to

Reluctantly point at the veiled

Consternations

He did not sleep

He couldn’t sleep

He knew why he

Couldn’t

Oh! He knew it well

On moonless nights

All he did was lie

By the weeping lake

Gazing at the raven

Sky, till dawn decided

To interfere

He knew sleep would

Lure him one day

One day for sure

With or without her

And in hope of the

Former, he kept staring

At the sky

  

Heterogeneous

When the last chord of the old band
Rustled the leaves of the story-tree
A bypassing frenzied flutist broke loose
And thus she chanced upon what was
Supposed to be forgotten that autumn
In distrust, distress, dishonour and distortion

Did the obscured story talk about negligence?
Did it talk about the effervescence of conflicting eyes?
Did it take her through old newspaper stains?
Did it kill the songs of her era or rather choke them?

And she retired.

From the epiglottis

Well, it was not exactly what you would call serendipity. It was rather premeditated. Convoluted connotations set into the right spots like the multilayered blue near mountain tops. It was not easy to camouflage or was it supposed to be thrown into the open sea? Questions, dialogues and midnight monologues.

Her paintings hung from the ceilings in a room of enamoured endeavours. Her voice curled into the room like the lush sound of nocturnal rain. She was absolute yet she didn't move. She was within yet distant enough to fall beyond the reach. She coalesced into the paintings and the sound of relentless rain.

She promised to be found in that dawn which would strike down the last harbinger of the dark night. In prologues, she would blush and in the preceding chapters she would make me run away from the maddening crowd.

In pictures, I did see what colours might suit her glee but I kept them to myself.

Photographs

Photographs, that's all there was
Hanging onto broken doorknobs
Lurching perilously into afterthoughts
Caressing the unruly hours

Photographs don't move
Yet the forgotten cigarette
And the smirking ashtray
Had a different story to tell

On vagaries and the night

As we strode into
A voluptuous black
Dark hole of insecurities
And blasphemous desires

There is an inner silence
Reverberating to lead you
Onto a vacant correlation
Of speechless monotones

And she laughed out loud
Speaking of gullible desires
As she turned on the stereo
And she flawlessly conquered
The nuances of the invigorating
Night

On Not Meeting

And the last straw
Made it certain that
The zephyr will not
Cometh this way

Although the piteous
Bird has given her
Consent to hunker
Down on the streets of
Poetry-less dysentery

Had the locked trunk
Whistled in the rain
And in endless traffic
The sultry tail end of
A nonchalant day
Broke into a jazz quartet
"Nonetheless" sighed
Bonolata in dismay