Sugar Love.

Love that will not come
Love inside all curled up
Love of the two year olds
Love of a teacher
Love of a preacher 
Love that dares
Love of a knife that slits clean
Love believed when in puberty
Love of candles
Love of a boy who freaks out
Love of pitiless nights
Love in waiting of seconds
Love in random car ride
Love of almosts
Love of clipped wings
Love in a belly
Love of fading footsteps
Love outside living
Love to be reading about
Love in morning muscles
Love shaped in new words
Love of a bored wife
Love of half baked gods
Love in celibacy kicks
Love of sexists
Love that wants itself again
And again
Again
Again
Making me live
Opening me up
Making me come closer
Closer to closures.

Time.

Ask me what it is

I know and I don’t know why

Driven from a past into a future

From instinct to make love

To the drive of sex

They are me

Connected to life

From seconds that moved to hours

To memories and the contemplation

Past remains in the present, as I see

I ask myself of my events

Of the one-way motion

Carrying impressions, of being

To survive, to a purpose and its end,

From a birth, turning around

Not in a life that began in a sperm and an ovary

The sun and its heat, its light

When it was born, I was born, in time

The events aren’t a puzzle, moving in time

Always connected to a birth, in a past

A past that remains in present, in future

In a small needle hole

In a snake, that has never existed

No, that could never be the cause

The events have been personal, not the sounds, voiced - unvoiced

To all the blood that flowed in wanting to make puppets

In whatever faded away and disappeared, a nothing made to nothing

I cannot see it anymore

Neither can you evaluate

Jaws clenched, fists in a prayer, ready

Light comes out of my eyes and travels into space

That is how it moves

Ask me what it is

I know and I don’t know why

Why?

Why aren't I in love? Why don't I unearth my heart? Why don't I climb in of me? Why don't I drink? Why don't I smoke? Why don't I sing and dance? Why don't i lose my shadow? Why do I look at the sky? Why don't I look at the cloud; the wind that moves it? Why don't I punch? Why don't I spray? Why don't i wait and write? Why don't I wake up? Why don't I wake up? Why don't I wake up? Why don't I laugh loud? Why don't I travel inside? Why don't I love? Why don't I shoot? Why don't I be human? Why aren't I in love?
Smokes rises, outside in flooding thoughts, full of scars and wounds. Imaginations stringed too close, stars that look at us have died long back. I am still here, asking why aren't I in love?
I was,
I am,
I will always be.

Into this...

Into this, the beauty held itself,
The dance in her breast spread in all spaces,
Life came into this, corners curled, kneaded gently, hearts became the hands.
So much so for what was fear, she walked through it, into this.
Haven't we heard this before, the feet can dance, the wings can fly, songs written from dreams and pains, life came into this.
I think of you, of strength, of your pieces that made the hands pump and eyes look up.
Into this.the rains will come, into this the flames will fan the passion, into this...

What I want about me?

I don't know.
Why we need to know our self,  need people, relationships,  want to be careful, be safe? We experience fear, take care of family, never want to apologize. 
We want to trust. Deal with fakes, and find true love, nobility. 
Imagine the emotions raging through us, within us, the entire range, depending on the premise our mind functions on, surviving with or without guilt through our actions.
Could one defend greed? Yes. 
Could one base its philosophy on greed? Yes.
So on and so forth with all emotions, can be defended, philosophized and argued upon. 
Feeling safe, to be trusted, to trust, are our basic urges. 
How safe do you feel and with whom?
How trusted do you feel and with whom?
Who would you trust entirely?
Could I close my eyes, see what face hits my perception the very second my eyes close, whose name do I hear first? 
Then what do I do?
I don't know.

Yoga

A possibility of letting go the power of choosing exists every millisecond. The dream wakes up every morning. The desire goes to sleep every night.

The Little Boy.

The little boy looked at me again and this was after many years of mine. The treads of his eyes contained all my journey traveled.The dust on my shoes from my journeys spoke of my mortality and his immortality. The little boy looked again at me.

The Dimension Called The Dream.

A dream has to have a trigger from the real world. 

The trigger too has to have an agent from present. Dreams from such triggers leave no trace when I wake up. The agent could be from a recent past, but that past too has to have some recurrence in present or some emotion of future. There is nature of the dream that tells it's a dream to me while dreaming and these are dreams that are common place, that don't remember or need to be remembered when I wake up. 

Then comes a dream, that lingers on for some time after waking up, it takes some time to brush it aside because the agents that triggered it come slowly to mind, the mind thus indulges in some limbo before it can wake itself to the daily grind of waking state in real world.

Then out of nowhere a dream hits you, it comes and engulfs you, it grips you as if that when you wake up it takes a lot of time to regain senses and still its losing continuity with opening of eyes is not considered by the mind. The mind cannot or refuses to give you the agent that triggered that dream, but this line of thought starts much much later. Till that questioning hits you, there are series of emotions that have to be dealt with. Emotions that stain each action that you want to engage in your real world. The grip on reality seems lost and I am at loss as to how to exactly put it in words. 

Dreams for one which makes us realize about dimensions, how many are there in real world and how many can be in dreams are what we indulge in. I don't want to get into the scientific explanation or mystical explanation of dreams here.

But when a dream whose triggering agent is in past or a future (one says future, only after the mind gives up trying to recollect the past from where the trigger could've come from) hits us, we realize that they (dreams) could be itself a Dimension that has triggered the evolution to take such a course. (The concept of evolution I think is a paradox as I am free to choose to dream and build a dream.) 

The Kiss.

The flame teased the dust, it threatened too, to burn it by dawn.
The dust too laughed as it still bargained for a kiss from the flame.
Was the dust a seeker, was the flame divine, both were though empty, both in love, drenched in the silence of the night.

Sleep.

Sleep now...the sky above you has let go of noise and din and light to help you rest. So rest for the day that the sky promises to bring.