About Time & Taste

Held accord of the strings,
Searching for a mellow wing,
Flying birds forget to sing.

Resting on the bark of bay,
Singing of the mellow day,
The everlasting song hails.

We know her well,
We have known her not,
What journey, has she went across,
The skies, the cities and the sights,
Under the benevolent breath of time.

Dear Soul, why tither now,
Now that we are here,
Enough flight of time,
The deception of space,
Its no time to rhyme,
But to explore the escape.


Blind Eyes

Colors say that I have gone blind,
Have you known?
Music & Memories,
How loud they sound.

Senses blame my broken mind,
Did you see that?
That I might be blind,
I have been saying the same things,
But the words can’t physically collide,
What went in time.

There were memoirs,
Soaking oceans,
You were sailing wide,
With that smile. 

I am certainly miles in space,
Forgotten in blunders,
Yet I feel and I know,
That colors are right. 

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 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.

You know what, Sweetheart?

A band playing,
A night,
And a crowd,
Where I have my hand around your waist as usual,
And we see the little glimmer in each other’s eyes,
A little swift,
Then we kiss,
And as the song ends,
We both know where to begin.
In the car,
Headlights to North,
Hearts to sail forever,
Let’s go to the lake! You said,
I think you would like to drive,
On the passenger seat,
Like Sam to your Dean,
Let’s just be.
It all pacifies me,
Your eyes, and to look at the country side sleep,
What beautiful coarse for you to smile,
As our headlight crashes into the shadows of the night,
The lake you infer was deep within,
The mountains,
The empty roads,
The wind,
Your beautiful hair,
Some colour you blend then,
And I imagine now,
What would it be,
Blue rather than the sound?
We might have our common guitar at the back,
And ofcourse I will sing the lap,
Only to see you grin at those broken lines,
Only to find myself in our lonely time.
In the nights,
When we would be alone,
Like those walks,
We took abroad,
To trees that people would never know,
Dear death surreal life,
How it all restores,
Glimpse of the glimmer in your eyes,
I wonder how I will sleep next to the heart that is mine.


Hey wine,
Like yesterday, you were mine.
It was beautiful,
Brisk, old and forever like,
Dancing with my veins,
Singing of love.

Hey night,
Just tonight, come again,
Let’s make it alright,
Like the last line,
Scribbled in my heart,
– Your Name.

Hey Arka,
I will sing in secrets,
To unlock our doors,
Made of strings and stars,
Hanging on our hearts,
As we dance under their chandelier,
It tickles, remember?

Your dress was made of rivers,
I was the burning sun at times,
The other way around,
Warm in love,
Flying to the forever,
Let’s keep dancing,
Let’s keep living,
Keep loving,

Broken Mind Rhymes

I admire your confusions,
Like day like death,
Like sky like sin,
Like bird like breath.
How sea and silence are one,
How mountains and the mind are two,
How my heart is never of counts,
For when I find you,
Next to the veins that I tied you up with in my head,
For you to stay,
And never leave me,
I realised, it’s not all the same .
Your confusions ,
Makes me your father, brother and self at times,
And clearly, my mind,
Dont have to be right at the farme of the flux that lights the colours alive.
I mean, how wonderful ever I could certainly adore something,
But now, it seems, I have to love it all,
Every piece of my heart from the past,
Every broken notes that turned into a tear,
All of it, has to be loved ,
By a father, son and brother.
For my little one died in the game of knowing things,
And the elder one never realised that we were wrong.
Your confusions,
Lile your red dense river,
Bleeding darkness,
As I call it,
For confusions are bright .
There are knots of blood,
Not letting go of what I have known,
In your eyes,
I found myself under the clear skies,
Oh dear divine,
Why this mind, play games,
To understand this oft spoken reality,
And knots of blood.
Her hair now, they sync into the rivers of my rush,
Red and dense,
She reminds me how Rivers should be,
Says, it’s the ocean we all aim,
Little delight with tsunamis,
That cleanse,
My heart,
Her hair..
Constellations and stars..
And what have I known,
Of the stars that died,
They bleed like us,
Into the same ocean,
She say,
Her eyes,
Bright skies,
All colours,
Oh dear divine,
Evasive mistakes,
Her hair,
Colours that reminds of my days,
Calm, and secure,
Never to be known,
Now that I lay under the skies,
And the world glares upon my scars,
Those stars,
They cry,
It rains,
But I am healing,
Little do they do,
All these wet roads,
They lead to the ocean,
I smile,
It still rains,
Glares would curse the cosmos,
Only to flow with words,
And life.
Be lost, she said,
And I have never known,
Only felt the river and her bones.