An Ode to the Fair Lady

... and then she came to be

unfurling herself like a white lily

and painted herself on my soul

Her eyes twinkled through the morning mist

The dew adorned her neck like pearls

The september winds lifted her hair, and butterflies kissed

her cheeks that turned wild roses green

She sang, and tulips danced

the rivers bubbled and gurgled

the sun warmed the grass

and embraced the land with beauty

The fair lady sprouted wings and flew away

to mystical lands that promised much

she turned around one last time and smiled

It cracked my golden sphere, and out flew a white pigeon

The Seeker

Do you believe in The Beautiful Isle

that defies logic and the human mind?

Tune yourself to the altered reality

and unfurl into the infinite design

Touch is a senseless sense in your dreams

But you can still feel my breath

Breaching the barriers of understanding

We stand on the brink of a bleak present

To only fall into the blurred future

Who are you, friend?

What is your purpose?

Is it to create?

Or worship the unknown Creator?

Who am I you ask?

I am above you, I judge you, I control you

For I am the seeker.

A prediction

The embers are being extinguished

blow on them not

For it is happening for the better

Can you sense the intangible cold?

Succeeding the cause

Preceding the effect

Is the uncertain

And the answer, unknown.

The Painter's Palette

He sat before his canvas

and pondered upon what his next creation

would be.

Confused he was, for he wanted

to paint 'truth' but he did not know

if the truth was true

Days and nights flew by

the sand in Heaven's tall hourglass slipped away

as he sat still before his white board

He doodled with his brush,

raised a quizzical eyebrow,

a smile crept across his face.

He dabbed a little red, and erased it with black

highlighted lines, and shaded vividly

everything he sketched, he blackened

After hours spent, his hands were stained

with vile paint and turpentine

he gazed at the canvas, as though he was possesed

It was the blackest of black

Like truth itself.

Farewell

I have lost the plot.
Which I chalked out once on a green board
I have lost the plot
which i discussed with myself on those silent nights

When i look up at the ceiling
and stare at the flaking paint that reveals
the naked bricks and cement
the light dims.

The aged filament bulb now glows orange
and shadows painted the mood of the room
the clatter of the noisy fan
occasionally spoils the dead silence

Forge a reason, demand an answer
swivel like a top on a village tar road
that spins out of its axis and topples over itself
It is just a matter of time

I know, that I could be wrong
And the wind blows in affirmation
shut the windows
pull down the blinds.

I reached out for the switch
paused and looked up at the bulb
and flicked the switch off
As it made contact with a little click
The after image of the filament lingers
It is time to sleep my friend.
Farewell.

*a post from my old blog :]*