The Night We Stayed

I saw your eyes closely in the light of the night,
Whilst they looked at me, two stones of jade,
And lest this be washed away by the sands of time,
This is the story of the night we stayed.

I think of the past, how funny it has been,
For us to come to the point where we are,
Been through memories that are thorns to the mind,
And some as sweet as lekvar.

For being in love is a strange affair,
Dreams weaved out of other dreams,
And love, like the sun, in the bright of the morning,
Falls in sleepy streams.

But come night, Absence,
Makes its presence known to the heart,
And the mind bewildered knocks on every door,
Looking out for its sweetheart.

The night we stayed, I learned you’re precious,
And that I cannot afford to lose you,
But the morning came soon enough,
And I had to bid you adieu.

I write this letter hoping you’ll smile,
Think of me for a minute or two,
And shower me with all the love you can,
For it has long been overdue.

Unrealistic Wishes

There she stands looking at the skies,
The purple streaks on her hair,
A perfect contrast,
To the orange ones in the sky,
Atop a hill, faraway,
From the rest of the world.
She looks at me,
I can see her eyes welling up,
If I don’t go now, if I stay a bit longer,
I will never be able to leave.
Her skirt billows up in the breeze,
Encompassing the knee-length grass around,
My life only a blade of it.
She is looking towards me now,
But I know it is not me she sees,
But her eyes go past me,
Past the trees behind,
To the sun, which now sets,
And I know,
That the night will fall on us,
All of a sudden,
But my heart so wishes,
That this day be prolonged beyond infinity.
But that’s what happens,
When one lives too much in dreams,
I remember once seeing,
A guy wearing winged boots,
And still staggering to cross the field,
So all’s not real, and perhaps this isn’t either,
And perhaps it is,
Who knows?


Happiness is not money,
And they’ve said so,
But what if money could buy you happiness?
They said, sure, it can.
I asked,
What if you don’t have time to buy it?
They kept quiet.

I’ve realized over time,
It doesn’t really matter,
What you do or where you go,
Or where you are, and how you do,
It only matters if you care,
About what you do,
And if what you do,
Cares about you.

For no one really cares how the day is,
Bright, cloudy, sunny, or rains,
But when the black of night sets in,
And when you want to dream,
Will the dreams come easily to you,
Or will you have to struggle?
That matters.


The dark of the sky has not yet gone,
The sun has not yet gleamed with joy,
The clouds have not yet tired of hiding,
The moon behind them, where it lazily sleeps.
The stars don’t blink, they stand still today,
And all around there’s an eerie silence,
Not a sound of man, nor bird nor dog,
Only the whispers of ghosts prevail.
They whisper to each other in creaks of windows,
In the rustle of leaves, in the whoosh of the wind,
And when all is said and done,
When the morning will come again,
They’ll go back to sleep,
And no one will believe me when I tell them,
I heard the ghosts around me yesternight again.


Mothers, with their mortars and pestles,
Crushing red chiles on hot afternoons,
The aroma of spices, floating in the air,
Their smiles, their chuckles, and the whispers,
Their daughters come back,
Pails of water on their heads,
Their gait ever graceful,
Their faces benign.
She sees them from her cot,
Too old to rise up now,
Remembers how once she was the daughter,
And how once she was a mother,
Now too old, her only children,
Are her hopes, which she nurtures,
With loads of care, as she once did,
For her children and her husband.
She closes her eyes,
The heat makes the dark turn yellow,
She can feel the light with her eyes shut,
And her children float by, in her visions.
She hopes one day they will come back,
Their heads on her lap,
They will narrate to her stories,
From cities long forgotten,
From borders between nations,
From mines deep down.
She can smell already,
A tinge of love, floating in the air,
Her husband sleeping on the cot beside,
The toothless smile, the grey beard,
His auburn eyes, which can only stare,
She turns and finds it empty for now,
But hopes someone will sleep on it,
Before the night ends,
Before the winter ends,
Before her life ends.

Thoughts of a Thirty-Something

I think of the times, when I wore orange,
When people loathed me for what I had done,
But deep inside, each knew for sure,
He had a little of me in him.
I fought, ay that’s true, and fought for good,
But who accepted that in public?
None, but only a few true at heart,
My wife, ever so loving, one of them.
Today as I sit, my daughter on my lap,
I weave a thousand dreams for her,
And think of the times when someone,
Did the same for me too.
I smile within, but then a horror,
Strikes me deep in my heart,
If I didn’t keep up to them even a bit,
Why would she do so?
She asks me of her grandparents,
I have no clue what to say,
But I tell her they are somewhere around,
And at nights I do fervently pray,
That it be true.
For life is simple, and only meant to finish,
Much like the dinner we have at night,
But how tasteless it is, how insipid right now,
Only my heart knows, only my heart.

#10 – A Cold Night

The hills used to be stagnant, though no one could tell how long it had been since they started moving. The clouds burdened with mist, made their ways into the lands and seas. It rained today, and it rained heavily. Pellets of water came first, but pellets of ice followed soon after. In a moment everyone was rushing to the nearest shelter. The Headmaster’s daughter rushed to a tree beside her. She staggered now and then, her strength not yet revived from the birth she gave a fortnight ago. Then everyone saw her guy come and pick her up and take her beneath the nearest oak, to shelter from the winds and the ice. Only a few days ago had he saved her life. They had always shared the same rugs after that, until now. A huge creak sounded and everyone looked up. It was falling, the heavy trunk was uprooted. In a flash it happened.

It took some time to pull out the bodies of the two from underneath the tree. Their eyes were open, blood tricking from the forehead towards their lips, yet frozen beside the ear. Ice and blood, the duo was lethal. They buried the bodies, and moved ahead. The road was covered with ice up to their knees. Tonight would be a cold night. They would have no choice but to light the fires. And when they did that, they knew the signal that they would send. Fire. They already had ice and blood that day, and now they would have a fire. Everybody knew what the three together meant, except the ones who were so young they still suckled at their mothers’. They had no choice. They kept walking.

The road was long, and for boys who were young, it was no easy task. Janas limped, even more than before, his leg aching, his hands frozen, the stump of his other leg turned into an icicle. But he never stopped. He knew he wouldn’t make it for long. But he would have the night’s dinner, he was hungry, he would eat and he would sleep, and then he knew he wouldn’t wake up. That was no reason to give up. He would walk. He prayed to the gods, to let him see another day, and wished fervently that they would listen to him.

Night approached them like a hungry wolf. It encumbered Janas even more. And then someone did him a mercy. The air whooshed around him and the next moment he looked down he saw an arrow through the place where they had learned the heart was. He fell to the ground, trying to look behind, to see who did it, to see who the gods had sent to mock him. His eyes had almost closed by the time he turned around. And then he saw. Through the quarter-opened slit in his eyes, he saw. He was carrying a bow, though he looked too old to use one. Could it be true what he was seeing? He came up to him, bent a little and said, “Remember me in your afterlife, boy, and remember I taught you about death, once today, and once more long ago. Do you remember?”

“Yes, when we were in school, Headmaster,” was the last thing Janas muttered.

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