I Spoke A Walk.

I spoke a walk one night
A corridor long, crumpled in a pattern divine,
In a hand of smile,
A small flower in a concrete heart, stood stiff and proud.

I spoke a walk,
Tripping as I came across her again in a afternoon light,
Sun flashing through her eyes,
Aching to hold her in the shades to fight,
To build a pattern, to live or to die.

I spoke a walk,
Breaking a pattern, a whim like gravity moving all,
I went up and down her entire face, her spine and all her gods,
A ray came in as a messenger,
Shame, shame called the purple audience, as if I had cared.

I spoke a walk,
I lifted a desire, no longer
Dark horses could harm,
It was harvest, all could see
And reap, she laughed after the moan, the linen still remained white,
And now I was right,
The linen never cared,
The pattern remained dismissed.

I spoke a walk,
Long nights and small days,
From the thought that went flying in fury,
It wanted no bridges now, as
She was now a cloud,
Far away shining bright.

Story-Telling.

It was a play
A distraction that I took
No notice of,
In a printing press my

Name was printed in letters
Small and big.
“What am I doing?” she asked
In all her eagerness, I replied,
“I go to play, as
I never like to work”.

Throwing her hands up, she
Sang “ Your name
Looks like a train name”,
“Does it”? I laughed, “I
Thought it looked like a theatre”
After a long silence, she asked,
“Aren’t you going to put me in your play?”
“I could never play, if you weren’t in it” I
Smiled,
The story now reached to a point,
It had to leap or be killed,
It was the intoxication of a man
Being man, the creature who could not live
Without story-telling, without the playing.

It always took a kiss to know that it would be the only one that I would live for, the one that would change the materiality of my life, it would be the truth, it would be selfish, I would be free. The free is to not to feel anything other than the feel of being alive. 

Except life what exists is more than it is to feel alive. I felt, it was always there to be felt.

The Cold in me is the Life that throbs.

The Soul.

Wishes driven to wonder

Words drilled on paper

The  I remained  alone

The learning was

Written in rebirth

Of that which created a light

Where memories were  raised

In which a life become a life

The I could not be any

It had voice of none

The words  to it came in slow

They could make and build

To study and learn

For  days and for nights

One after another

Sustenance was the content

The content was the escalator to be built

To be integrated

The I identified it

Answered by a process

The process a devotion

To think and to choose what

And through it

The soul was then created.

End of a morning folded
An abandoned air in it's retreat
I moved now in half in-completion
Coming across like an unfinished life

I had always moved to un-finish
It was the kiss that leaned on
All my stanzas
That were now stuck in my brain 
A flower struggling to float
I thought to write a poem
On the night
And a window
So some day when she looked back in
I would still be there in a photograph
Coming across like an unfinished life

Actions of memory remain mystic. Verbalization is always challenged. I remain hence to myself, thinking through reasoning as to why the mind wanders in to memories where action stood still. The mind has to be stopped from being a market street. Not even allow it to be a museum of sorts. I have to focus and choose to use will for it. There are mountains outsides and there is a mind inside. I see all on the outside. I have to focus on the objects of the inside. I know you stay calm and go in to conflict at the same time.Then sometimes memory happens to walk ahead of me.

The mind seeking markets of the world,
In focus walking from them inside to outside,
Understanding markets belonged to nobody,
They themselves searching, rejecting all false,
Gradually resonating to a quality mind,
The self being aware of transient energy
Walks from markets to markets
On all days, all days then being
Working days, marketing days,
Both being vulnerable,
Both with a life force,
Somehow discovering it's existence.

a child walks,
it falls,
gets up,
walks again,
laughing every time it gets up,
after a fall
in what it has,
in what he can have,
i still have been doing that,
taking life in its entire indulgence,
in all my good, in all my values.

Raat.

Rumani si raat,

Do labo pe ek baat.

Na shikan, na roshni, ek aahat nayi,

Tanhayi bhi rooth kar humse kahi chali gayi.

Hum bhi khaali se hai,

Ke aap se kabhi dil bharta hi nahi

Teri bachpan ko bhi aaj phir bulaa lete hai,

Narm si galiyo me do pahar guzaar lete hai

Rangeen tere pankho mein aasmaan chupi thi kahi,

Tere udaan me ye baya hua ki meri pehchaan chali gayi hai kahi

Chup chaap akeli,

Wo tu hi thi, aur teri saheli

Jaane kaha hogi wo ab,

Jaane kaha khadi hai tu ab

Afsoos tho hai, Par Gham nahi,

Aap khayalo mein, ye bhi tho kam nahi.

Raato ko akela ab soya bhi nahi jaata,

Aap ke khayalo mein khul ke roya bhi nahi jaata

Aap ka chahara jo apno mein apno sa hai,

Tanha hai, ki ye raat bhi sapno me sapno sa hai ..

Setting your grave.

Are you done with your past?

Have you stored it some place safe out of reach?

Is your past done with you?

Now you can stick the stone marking the ground.