Reality....

The pavement borrows romance
From dry smile of a dying moon;
The night bleeds in unprovoked assault of moments
Redefining the mirth and birth of hunger...
The dawn remains an elusive dream forever.

The Barman’s string

As I grow beyond myself, I grow up within,
Searching for if I’m not what I am;
Else if I am what I’m not
And I grow up faster in and out of me.
The spirit that I thought to have won,
To be of my own has so silently
Caged me beyond all margins of liberty;
And, I stay immersed as motionless,
As vanquished as the hulks of Titanic.
Yet, do I crave to crown the name,
Or fame or the title or laurels or thorns?
Or do I only dare to immortalise all passions
Of youth latently spread upon my memories?
I look for, perhaps, those years and decades,
Those moments of mirth and sorrow,
That carried a proud identity so intently
Along stretched stairs of my follies.
I read on scriptures of life, of my own
And, attempt to explore a man in its image—
Of an incomplete man despite Raymond’s
Boastful cloak—to renew life’s licence.
Yes, Barman, as I am; Not a man alike the
Bur of a creeper, but of a bar for a sipper.
I was born amongst countless men, women,
Children—dead or alive—in this grand pub of world;
And at a tiny counter, half-lit, under a smoky veil
I have endlessly failed since to sell a pint;
Yet they keep me there as they wish
To see me fail and fail again until resigned.
I press my soul in, dress me up, and brace me
In that tavern floor; and the revellers join
And the Bar girls start the show, and
I fail not carrying my shameless self.
Upon my glistened eyes dance the images
Of society, relations, its myths and triumphs;
And, within my quavering soul burn pages
Of society, relations, the past and the future.
I stare on bids that swirl in gust—
Fluent as a kite severed from its string—
And, bargains flowing from lust to lust;
I watch on dancing swans of light
Leisurely fading out in murky night.
When the bells go, beats are gone
I journey back to my dingy prison—
Of hundred years of solitude—
And, put my blistered conscience on
Beneath the sacred Cross alone.
In quiet flame of candle’s glow—
As decayed as have I or Bar girls been—
I hear a placid tune’s flow
That’s played so near yet kept unseen.
Hours go and the night goes too,
The candle dies for dawn to rise;
I ponder who and what was sold—
The Barman, Bar girls, moments or soul.
Upon wings of morn dance shining ray,
Dipping night into dins of day;
I listen on to hymn that plays
And whispers, “Neither you nor they;
In nights of delight, lust and pain,
Sold are not even the girls in chain;
But those who revelled to set bargain
And, souls get bankrupt, moments are slain”.

O Sleep ! The queen of Night !

I hear you, dear. I hear melancholic rings of your bangles. Through the open pane I gaze upon the lonely moon...she floats gently through a silvery ocean of dreams to seduce leisurely laid middle-aged night. My eyes savour in gentle smiles spread upon the sleeping beauty beside. And, I turn again to observe your stealthy intrusion. I await the tryst passionately. Every chords of my heart yearn to string notes of your melodious footsteps. Why do you stay afar so long? I atone for my frowning glances slapped upon your passionate craving, for all means of neglect that wished to abandon your presence so close to my eyes and for my shameless embrace to quench a thirty pride. I hadn’t left you either for I needed you so much to sustain, flourish and secure myself in life with dreams that you had so wantonly offered. My becoming into myself is only for you. Behind you fragrant dark hairs I have always searched for sparkles of the truth. So much I prodded your advances; you kept on captivating my sense, bits by bits. You remain honoured amidst all my losing entity. The life has eventually blessed me with a sacred longing for you, my dear. I can see a lustrous horizon behind your silhouetted profile. It is neither I nor you that our rendezvous lasts for. It remains only a ribbon that binds us together for the voyage that life has paid for. Time is not far enough; and we will soon set sail for an endless journey together—unhindered, unquestioned and unanswered pursuit of infinite completeness of a mission. Before curtains drop, hold me again, touch me now, and float me in that final dream for a while, my dear. O my sweet sleep ! The queen of my night !