Strings of the Stars

I am weak. I struggled lifting myself up with each step on the stairs. I climbed up to my terrace. The stars were waiting to listen to my violin. It is 20th march, 2040 and I was aware that this was my last birthday. I took out my old violin, the strings were relatively younger than me, but I am sure of the wood being really old. Some tree, a beautiful tree and then an amazing artist would have crafted this magical instrument.
I was playing the strings since last three years, the sound was perfect but sensitive. I held it in my arms, placed the base on my shoulder, felt the wooden surface with my cheek and embraced the bow with my right hand. It was time.
Everytime I used to play, some part of me was transmuted with the vibrations to my past. As I placed the bow on the extreme right string, I remembered my first kiss, a sudden touch and everything disappeared. The emotions of the violin had filled the void of the night with a flush of reminiscence. I glided hard to feel my youth in the old veins of my heart being held by the neurons that have never been so kind when it comes to my sexual frustrations. I did not realise that my force at almost injured the extreme right string and with a sudden break in music, I found myself with three strings remaining to be touched.
By this time I knew how the universe was talking to me, I had to settle my impulses, tonight. I placed the blow gently over the extreme left string and dragged the two energies, the music this time was sharper, somehow more alarming. It was the rush of my senses reflected by the dawn of the night where I spent the time away in arms of a beautiful woman. The night went away faster than I could ever perceive. Somehow the music was hurting my heart. It was not the blood pressure but the symphony of my broken trust in the humane frame of life.
This string was strong like my memories of going through the emptiness of her pleasure principles. My pain had sucked in the air around somehow puncturing my lungs with the break of the sound. Another string had broken its effect on me. Somehow, my energy had drained at this point. The remaining two would be the most meladious, the two key strings I play on the most. The most beautiful music. Frequencies that held my heart since the day I got the feel them.
One of them was sensitive over the other, but loved the sensitivity and the frail sound of perfection.


The Fall of Spring

A.R Ammon’s Beautiful Woman:

The Spring
her Step
Turned to

Let’s dwell a little over the syntax and feel contemporary.

The Fall
Her Love
Turned To


We can go beyond the syntax and listen to the flowers singing the reality.

Only Ink In Between Life and Death

“Mr Poet, will you ever really love?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Jason. I fall in love almost every night.”

“Haha! That’s why you end up staining all those pages with ink, huh?”

“Well, we stain each other first in love and then write stories.”

“You and your fantasies.”

“Cheers, old friend.”

I got out of the bar, it was raining, the best kind of night in Los Angeles. Rain is rare in the city, but tonight was special. I walked slowly, feeling each drop that hit my face. The sky was alive, crying all the way to rejoice. The road was empty, the streets were held by the cold winds.

A girl stood towards the end of the road. She was still, I could only see her back, a blue robe flying with the wind. Her head was covered by the cloth extending from the dark blue robe. She stood still, one in the depressed lot. Everybody was depressed, but she could be smiling in madness too, her story held a strong vibe and I was pulled. She turned around and her eyes caught me in the skip of the second.

Blue, bright, I wonder if she was crying, but when the world cries, we can hide in the frame of time.

“Are you alright?”

She kept her sneer alive, no words travelled the air except mine. She stepped towards me, blue approaching the dark in the night. Her intentions never lived and my fear had died. Her lips overlapped my mind and I was kissing the rain tasting of wine. We ran, could fly, but the sound of the legs flattering through the water had a sense of delight. A narrow street alone in disguise waited for the light. We kissed and the thunder broke its might.

Each kiss became louder than the rain. My heart could suck out her pain. Not only the wet cover of her body was blue, but her dying sight, like the sharp poison of the dying night. I tore apart the lies on her chest, a quill tattoed on her heart, a heart held still in the dark. She stared at the thunder hitting my eyes.

“I am dying.”

My words never came to life, we kissed away the misery in our mind. The clouds fell down with her cloak, as I kissed the essence of her breast. My lips felt cold as if an immortal held my core. The streets died, the stars had committed suicide. Dark had enveloped the light in my eyes. Blind.

In the void of my desire, I held her in my mind. I could not feel my skin, numb till the silent scream of the divine. A shiver ran through my chest as I saw two blue crystal burning away my blind. Demons of the dark canopies, dancing with my soul, claiming the skies.

“I am dying.”

Some clouds had left the sound of her cries. We kissed away her life, a melody so dark that my ink could not survive. I was laying on the ground, looking at the moon. The blue had nerved my darkness into doom.

Chaos Theory: God’s Discipline

You were born on 20th March 1998 and you will die on 3rd November 2040. Now the problem is that there is no problem. You lived a life ignoring the thread that made you move, so the problem is itself not a problem but more like the reason for everything.

People call it faith, interesting word, then there is the concept of Karma, the action and the reaction. But then, there are practical people who will be having trouble reading this prose. Hold on, we shall get to maths soon.

The apple fell on Newton’s head and we know what is gravity. A few equations and we can predict the future of an asteroid that shall cross by earth in the year 2050. But I cried about my friend’s death. I did not ‘see’ it coming. No equation helped me with it. Hold on, I am not saying science is no answer.

A study in mathematics called the ‘chaos theory’ helps me understand the fact that I really could not save him. His smoking postulates end up in a life frame of 20 years. Yes, an equation altered with every variable that constituted the smoke particles in the air. The same equation held the number of times he drank an orange juice to help his lungs. The same equation held the genetic details for his cardiovascular conditions. The same equation.

But he died because of an accident. His death was announced, but he ran away from the hospital and died on the road because a heavy car hit him to death. Now, the same equation must hold the tactics of the stupid driver who could not control the acceleration at that point of space and time.

Alright, lets graph this question. What happened? Need more dimensions to impose the variations? And no, you cannot skip how the driver was drunk because of his desperate need to escape from his wrecked life. You see, chaotic. Faith? Faith is an equation you cant solve.

Its a puzzle, solve it and you are Brahma. The spirit that knows everything. The omnipotent.

Everything happens for a reason?

Thank God.

And the glass said, “You are young.”

I am turning 21 tonight. Sitting at the bar with a few of my friends. They all ordered cocktails, Roy ordered one for me, I was just enjoying the ambience, with my phone camera itching in my pocket, screaming out to take pictures. Well, It was my birthday, I am 21 now, but the only thing I want to do right now is to hang from the ceiling and take a picture of the wine bottles kept beautifully under the dark wooden shelf, I probably will do that soon. I am not really turning old, I somehow grew younger with all the smiles that countered my tears this year. I looked at my reflection in a glass of this dark maroon liquid, I felt younger, a little crazier to add on to my vague head. I smiled at my reflection in the glass, just assuring my confidence.

“What are you smiling about?” Roy asked me, greeting me with his plain humble face. This man is one reason my happiness overlay the sorrows of the past. I gave him a wicked cute smile and said, “I can’t even smile now, huh, Roy?” I loved irritating him, He was my own to exploit. But I loved him, so as he offered me the green apple cocktail, I said, “I am happy.” Roy could talk to me from his facial expressions, he winked both his eyes and smiled, one of those gestures that made me feel more alive.

Everybody stared at me, hoping I will start the drinking scenario. I looked at them and gave an awkward smiled and everybody laughed. Then I laughed. I loved how I held this comic stance in my group. I had the power to make anybody laugh with a wicked smile. But the glass of the alcohol, something didn’t feel right about the glass of a drink that helps intoxicate. I feel like such a child, why do I need to intoxicate to have fun. I was looking into the fresh green colour of the drink and all I could think of was to click a picture. I cant help my head running off to the perception I want to capture. I am happy, I thought to myself, I took a sip and as the liquid entered my mouth, the beautiful green apple gently burned.

“Huh, This is not as I expected, its faintly like a soft drink. But worse.” I laughed a little, clearing my throat. “It is alright.” Roy placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled.

So tell me, mister alcohol? I am a very crazy human being, why do I need you to dial out my expression? I am perfectly capable of crying or laughing. Funny social conventions. The reflection of my smile got me to think about all the positives that took place this year. Things were finally shaping up, I had a love story, an itch to photograph, I scored, I am more patient, I worked, huh, overall, it was good. Thanks, Mr. alcohol but I shall have fun without you, for now.

Young. Wild. Free

Happy Birthday! Subhi. Check out her amazing blog here.


My Tsunami and Tears

When I looked into her eyes…

I heard violins bleeding melancholy. Her eyes had trapped a poet. The music that held my mind poisoned my senses to the outside world. It was a cold breeze that entrapped my soul, I felt as if I am standing on the edge of my existence.
Waves hitting the perplexed consciousness brought fret. Fever. Forlorn. Keats. Wait. This is my own head.

I broke out of my focus and realised I was lost. Somehow the music stopped and I could listen to the crowd around. I had to listen to the violin again, too compelling to be real, but surreal to my instincts.

“Do you mind if I stare?”

“A paraoid poet, huh?”

“Kind of. I am a little weird.”

I could sense the breeze again. Waves were there to comfort my numb senses. Slowly, the waves grew stronger, as if trying to reach me. I looked around and found myself alone trapped in my hallucination. I saw a huge wave approaching the shore. More like a tsunami as it approached. I said to myself, its alright. After all, this is just a play of time. 

“Just remember that all such troubles are now gone and the scars are healing.”

“Yes, but there is too much rush of memories and I almost suffocate myself.”

The huge wave had caught me, my heart trembeling to adjust into reality. I was losing my consciousness, everything faded with my heart beat. Slowly with seconds, I returned. 

“You dont have to cry it out.”

“I cant help it, when the memories hit the shore. I cannot control.”

“I see.”

“Tears are real. I dont like reality.”

“Tsunamis are worse, beautiful.”

A gentle touch on the pulse will hold us both to the limited reality we want to suffer.

A Letter to Love

Dear Diary,
I might die with words that belong to your pages. Some pages that belong to her, hopefully, she will understand. I was born to a beautiful life. Lived like a song and hit highs that no one shall attain. The song got too loud to ignore when I asked questions about this universe and therefore, I kept asking. The questions would make them dance, the society. They don’t like them, people like breathing in the same air that fed centuries of ethos to this planet. I wanted to know the source of it all, I tried science but nothing hit the chords of my heart, nevertheless my head messed up after reading the troublesome textbooks. I was living for questions and dying for answers and then, I met her.

She was a flower bud with flaws all around the submerged petals, and I fell in love with the flawless fatal scars on her face. I waited. Maybe, I am still waiting. But I am waiting for nothing, I know the beautiful silence is the answer to many questions. You see, she never reminded me of her dead past, she reminded of God. She gave me a direction to my answers. To my death. She can understand my need of leaving for answers better than most. And she needs to know and therefore I write tonight. It is very simple, I love her for what she is, and I don’t deserve her for long. She called me, ‘paranoid’ for being in love with her. But my life was too sane to appreciate the fake smiles, I fell for a broken one. A beautiful broken smile. A star that never shines? I can’t help, but rhyme. Love and light in the night, our walks would tell you more. Everything is engrained in space with the ink that formed up in tears and precipitation of my love for her.

I shall leave anytime now, for I know the path. Time is tricky to understand, years without the answers hurts and I am trying to go away. But there she is, loving life, terrified. My family is perfect. Equated well with their questions and answers. I will be one with them, on the other side and it will be peaceful for once, forever. There are pages filled with stories that feature my family. For now, I want to tell you about the flower. Fragile? No, she called herself a “bad-ass”. Who was there to blame her? Nobody knew her. God lies in each one of us, as a poet I had to carve out social codes to greet the God in a person. But, it is easier with the people who never took on the cloak of social conundrums. I met her when we were young, her eyes were naked beyond universes. Don’t blame me on my hyperboles, they are important to the sense of serenity. We got together thinking as if it’s the right thing to do, to the little that I owe my identity to this stupid world, I was happy to propose. Happier to run over the more such events. But there were restraints from our families on the bounds of time as a dimension, we wanted the spirits to bind and run away to God. Surreal? Yes, that is the name of the tree that we spend some time with.

Maya is beautiful. Magical is Maya. And I would leap around the karma if it was not for the universe to hint my way home. Through a pair of eyes that spoke more than the pair of her lips. Just thought, I would let you know. It has only been a few days, but I am leaving soon after fixing things that bound my spirit with her’s.

I am Keats, after all.

Indian Lilacs