Pitter-patter

Pitter-patter.

The raindrops splatter.

Salty drops find some means

to stream.

Window is gaping

at the lost stand-still view.

While I'm here

just like I was before-

empty,

without a beat.

Winds

The winds,

The troubled winds billow,

Once again.

Now another aroma of a stranger's breath

Fills the void.

I know-

Temporal peace it is;

ever restrictive.

Have to swallow the desire with the rest.

The graveyard is getting smaller with each winter and spring,

The mound of the delectable fallacies are tolling,

High

Too high.

Photo Courtesy

The Ravages of Yesteryears

Photo Courtesy
So, a year has already elapsed, I am older now
And things (of course) don't remain stationary,
The ultimate truth slowly creeps in,
The illusion is fading.
The already evanescent dreams are getting blurred
(or may be I'm going afar).
The weavers just spin the same old streams of clothes
It's been over year I'm here
And I don't feel like making sense anymore
The lines of discomfort arouses no fear
The rhythm is less obsolete
The tunes are so more haunting
Let me say anything, please. Like:
The sun is brutal,
The ravages of yesteryears have been dug deep
And I walk on
With everything that I always carried with me
Dollops of hope
Bright dreams
Soulful tunes
Pleasantries
And a soul in no hurry

After listening to Coyita from the album Ronroco by Gustavo Santaolalla.

FALLING

Fool- falling
Slipping by(for the first time)
Have to be steady
Otherwise …
You know...

I don't want to be the owner
Of a rough terrain-
A blotched organ of RED.
Don't want it to decapitate
But still...

I make the same old mistake