The best I have read.

Mystical Midnights

Restless nights withered away in agony
While I chased meaning in every breath.
Reckless sighs possessed my symphony
A broken verse once dreamt by the death.
Are we  closer
Or drifting away in the endless space of fate.
Are we dreaming of life
Or chasing death under skies that weeps instrumental rain.
My hopeless mind
read endless lines
Wasted away hundreds of days and
What is a space without time
And a song without resonances of rhyme.
Are we illusionary fragments of memories
poured into God’s jar of wine.

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High entropy mass of consistently distributed disorganized stuff,
our own universe

Where and how did it all began
or what happened before the big bang?

Time, it’s cyclic! Said the yogi
Birth from chaos, dying into chaos
reclaimed again, speculation of Bairagi

They say those infinitely large in-numbered universes moves like atom within you,
each containing its own Brahma, own Rudra, own Vishnu

If size is relative just like time and space
do they mean our universe isn’t that big for beings of other dimensions and scales?

If this is the ultimate truth,
what is the end? where is the end?
Perhaps he knows
or does not know
This is the ultimate truth I seek for.

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3rd October ; Salvador

They told me my name was Salvador. My creators wanted me to be the clone of an earth inhabitant. The mission was clear, to seek and understand. But what? was the question. I dont understand the input of the word, “consciousness”. Nor do they. I am sure.

I like the new language they built in me, English. It is like the numbers behind the words were rather uncomfortable. I like to analyse more. I evolved. They said it is because I was special.

I came to the mountains first; my intention was to find consciousness. They said, humans have it. Their planet, Earth must be the source. Their language is fun, I am curious like my creators. I was made with the passion of my community to find the abstract source of all being, confused with the term, ‘God’ on the planet.

Dunkelheit Book Review: To Dream And Discover.

Ever since I read the works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, I would often think of the poems he could write if he was happier with the day light. The poet puts on the show of metaphors and fancy that hit a revolution into literature, but I wont suggest Coleridge to a young person who is new to the vivid troubles inflicted by the curious mind.

I admired Wordsworth for ever bit of word that shaped up for his love. The depiction of nature was not out of the fascination of the blur, rather the insticts that surface in raw senses.

In the recent past, my mind developed various conflicts. Ranging from my faith to the decadance of each day; nothing rhymed and made sense. Wordsworth seemed too happy, Coleridge would only help me dig deeper in grief. I was not stable to appreciate the extreme streams.

Aviral Kapoor is a 21 year old poet who could bring the two extremes together in synchrony. His book Dunkeheit is a poetic conversational log between God and his innocent human creation. There are symbols embedded in the narration and poems embellished with ornaments of metaphysical answers.

The books is not just a composition of images and metafiction, but a path to the roots of an individual’s identity. From the subconsciousness rhyming alongside the full moon; the poetic synthesis revives the wholestic philosophy of humankind.

To critic the work, I may land up with an argument of ‘ideas’ as an abstract phenomenon. But everytime I read the poems, the words are able to generate past experiences into a compelling messages that I had ignored altogether.

To read the resonance of the romantic period of literature in the post modern world is in one word, reviving. If it was upto me, I would declare Aviral Kapoor as a poet from the early 19th century.  He reminded me of the lake poets, and this remark completely speaks for his potential. 



The Poets In The Cafe

Four of them had lost to themselves. They were not simple to the past, not complex to the future, only words to the present. That is what everything was about, some words. They fell with the rain and surfaced in the taste.

My Muse was in the rain as well, somewhere far or close, how does it matter. Somewhere in the rain with an alien to her potential. It has always been the same talk among the poets, something related to the celestial ink that shapes up their thoughts. From the woman that broke stars into raindrops to the flight waiting up for the next project. From the forgotten coffee to the remembered intricacies of her smile.

There are tattoos engrained in the wood pallets with stories that do not make sense but harmony. And Mathew Arnold said that is enough to save the world, a few words.


The sun would keep it slow in the mornings,
And the rivers would trickle along,
The Symphony is born,
Along the transient trough of time.

As the birds wake the wind,
And the sky starts to feel blue,
The tea leaves never breathe the need,
To just listen to the music in my mind.

On the table, your cup stands still,
Disturbing the song of silence,
Memories speak so loud,
Moaning till the clouds come close.

It is raining because the sun was done singing,
And your cup was too loud to love,
Your coffee smoke would have danced in the mist,
Look how incomplete yet subtle.

My guitars don’t move much,
Rather be strummed by the broken winds,
And the forgotten raindrops,
We are rusting with the woods.

I wonder if there will be a person,
Holding your cup and asking me to sing,
With the hidden sun and the rusted strings,
Your faded red hair, memories don’t allow me to be.

The point is not the vacancy,
But the vacation,
Without you.

Memories alter my music,
And reality,
You were a need, dear dream.

Apocolypse Hanging from Eden

Apocolypse hangs from the deepest root of the most fruitful tree of Eden called the Verse. Within the verse, the branches pierce into entirely different worlds. The branch that is held on by Apocolypse leads to the world of Humans. God’s favourite* creature, humans.

Apocolypse would admire the human civilization so much for the faith they derive from the world that is unseen. He could almost sense their faith in Eden. Apocolypse being the fruit of the giant Verse, the ultimate reality of all seasons that determine the shaping of many worlds.

When Apocolypse was born, his innocence was driven to the nerves of the Verse and to the ground of palace that held the entire natural enigma. The idea was to let him hang as the mortal hope of humanity. The encapsulation of life into the pigment of Eden was the only immortality and the human world was gifted with Apocolypse, a being that could fall for the faith of men to be complete.

He was born with the first bite of the so-called forbidden fruit. ‘He’ is not a man to undertake a sexual orientation, but the purpose of humankind.  It has been a while and humans have grown distant from their own faith.

Rest assured I don’t know. This is where my conscience dies.

In the hollow sphere, near the forehead of each human being, a lake resides inhibiting the music of Eden and the reflection of Apocolypse. People often refer him to God and why not, he is the biggest implication of God’s thought for the humankind.

When you get the currency called time. Invest some faith in yourself, so that Apocolypse can smile and reside. When the currency is all gone, Apocolypse will put your world to sleep and the Verse of God intake the entire universe in its hold.

We shall be one.

*Favourite because of the conscience, the love was always the same for each creature. There are no differences when it comes to the unity of this synchrony called God. Religion themselves grow into the evil instinct thinking that there is any discrimination.