And I wish i could wake up.....

Photograph taken by the Author of this Blog.

And you think you are a poet...
you think you are a dreamer...
your words paint pictures on water...
while your light gets dimmer...

Your hope is fake...and your smile is vile...
and your poem stutters...as they drizzle...
cold...and numb.

You dream??? Of what???
Of days and nights...
and lights???
of love and hate...???
Of life and death !!!

You dream of mornings..and dawn and dusk...
You dream a lot...my friend...wake up!!!!


Look around...its not the world you paint...
These poems are not the doorways...
and noone shall ever walk through them...
noone will ever...smell those flowers you bloom..
or taste those fruits...
or feel those butterflies fluttering away...

You make a lost world only for yourself...


Not a dreamer...you're a loner...
Dont dream....

Wake up.

One Morning...

Pic. Courtesy: Internet

These are words...
words that i find...from deep inside...
To show you the world...through my eyes...
the soil I smell....and the silence I hear...

I love to dream...and paint them...
with colored smokes..and crystal glasses...
but when i touch them...it shatters into pieces...
and pierces me...slashing...telling me my own muses...

And i open the window...one fine morning...
It had been raining...
and i breathe in....mouthful of red..and yellow and green...
the freshness and the dream...
and the silence of the pitter patter of the rain...

And i saw a man...sleeping at my door...
the fresh morning sleep....
tattered clothes...soaked in rain...weiry...
The same old face....with wrinkles of denial....
with his bowl being dragged away by some dogs..

I went down...and shooed them away...
brought in the bowl and washed it...
and then took out a paper..and wrote...
wrote a poem maybe...and then tore it apart...
Its not for me...it never was...
and then kept an apple and a banana in the bowl..
and took it back to him...

Was this the answer..answer to my wordlessness...
answer to the rains...to hunger...to dreams..
I tucked in a 50Rupees note his tattered shirt...
and he opened his eyes....with so much calmness and peace...

and I said..."Wonderful morning...isnt it??"
and he smiled..

The Broken Effigy of a Poet...

Pic. Courtesy: Internet

And he kept the pen aside...


The pages tattered,
scattered.

And then there was a violent
laughter...
and then cries...
The cry turned into silence...
pitch dark silence...
The silence that chokes man...

and we drank...
we drank to his freedom...
we drank to his victory..
to his death...
to immortality.


Cheers,

His pen...cold again...
inkless...
lifeless...