Past Future.

Time travels in me as I sleep, into a past, into a future, on a trail, bringing back to a future never seen otherwise. Connections in Cells in brain don't work when I am awake, most of the past if not those that propose a threat or challenge seems wiped out, so does imagination, with past goes the power to imagine. Things change when sleep takes over. In sleep this time travel cannot be controlled by me, sometimes I see me wanting to stop but seem helpless. Few days back when I wasn't able to open  my eyes, but then somehow I forced myself to open my eyes, there seemed to be two sets of eyes, eyes that saw the objects of the room and the other eye that was still watching that time travel, somehow now I could switch these eyes at will, I could watch from my time travel or choose to watch the objects of the room. There seemed to be two sets of ears too, one that could hear the fan swirling and the birds outside and one that could hear a voice, mine, in the time travel that was asking to switch the set of eyes from time travel to the objects of the room and then back.

Harmony in randomness comes through my senses, the randomness though eludes me.

She told me that we would meet again, that her shadows won't leave me, her tears would stay in me, her nights would be lonely with me and yes certainly we would meet as if we were strangers again.
My eyes remained empty, the throat remained dry, like some frame on the wall with dust on it, I looked at her walk away.
Her walk stirred memories frame by frame, each step she took away from me, time stood still in me, I saw her so clearly, as if I hadn't seen her at all for some years now.
I once heard a morning song, a song of heart, songs that happy people sing, I was romancing her, in love with life and she with me.
I had to leave that evening back home, but her beautiful hair that was pinned back, held me back, an act that told me things would never remain the same.
An evening that was spent without dinners as her face that quenched all my anguish, hunger in me was from my head to my foot and it tore me outside in. The heart set itself on a journey and I wanted to capture my vigil, I saw she demonstrated that she could provoke passion and trouble with her voice. Her eyes were ruthless and revolutionary and she was in love with herself and she wasn't at ease with her past. She was a mind reader and there I was realizing I was one too, In the sand there I wrote her a love letter, all my hopes in those sands that held a promise that they would hide it from time.

Today the letter read itself to me as if the sands had kept the promise, each word killing me in my head.
A life was traveling back and building a bridge to tell me that there was never ever that she came or she left, a face held itself and so did a voice, crossing a street and a flowing floral skirt flirting as her face was to my walk to her. She was amazed that I could hold her in my eyes and that her love could make her see me hearing her.

Sunyata.

Stiti sunya hai aisa ehsaas hota hai,
Par koi toh isse bhi pechaan raha hai,
Apne aap se alag huun yeh yakeen hota hai,
Phir aapne aap ko dundhe ne mein,
Uss shunya ki stiti se alag hota hoon.

Phir nayee soch leti hai janam
Phir wohi soch hoti hai khatam

Chahatein unn soch mein aati hain nazar,
Unnke puure na hone ka phir lagta hai dar,
Issi dar se ladta hoon,
Aeey zindagi tujhe paane ki, tujhse
Ek hone ki keemat deta hoon.

Iss suniya ki stiti se issliye alag rehta hoon.

The path remains unknown to paths,
Cause, I move from a past to pasts, always.
On knowing this,
I am certain now that,
The journey thus
Remains known to me.

Dream to dream
There is a time travel machine in my mind,
There is energy available there,
That energy slows the time, or makes
time take quantum jumps,
In my waking state, too,
The energy available is
which slows down my working time,
To do more or get done more,
This being then a process where
a dream is made,
Dream by dream,
I sleep working in energy channels, these are
movements within an electrical potential.

I stay awake in my dream, to
interact with the flow of time and the energy that radiates the dream.

All Alone.

The air carries the ashes too,
And then there are thoughts
That carry giving up, an ending, and
They carry changes,
Of the who of  who I am,
Then there is a why, round the corner,
A life waits there in that, in that intelligence,
And the air is certain of the changes it carries
And brings it on all alone.

In my dream state I needed no external light(sun) to see all that I did in my dream. I was the light itself witnessing the dream that was me too.

My Thurst.

I lost it
To find it
A game that I indulged in

I lost it again
To find it again
Each day bought me that opportunity, and
I played it, it felt new every-time I indulged,
I liked it
I hated it
I felt it.

It had a story each time
That had to end
Before I slept every night.

I have had choices,
That helped me sleep,
I remembered mostly all my sleep.
Wanting what I wanted,
I was living them.

Voices thus spoke of,
Reflections of my mind,
The rhythm of its body, that
I am in the instinct of my desires, and
I have so much more to do.

The Gifts Of Gods.

Not only I can, you can too, see, that in night, you still can work yourself out. In abundance of moments, value of each exceeds thus in which I work these seconds of the night.
Flames burn bright and bring the past and future down, at last a weapon in my anger, my love is discovered for a morning that exerts to come to me before its time.

All moments empty, then fill themselves, if lethargy is sacrificed in the night,the wealth thus multiplies.