My friend’s home

Suvarna in darkness

Me deserted by my friend.
His house once a home, now locked.
Shadows though not even a street light,
The walls may have some memories,
Of who hesitated to enter , now barricaded,
The dust on the grills have rusts, of who dared enter,
Searched responseless for a friend, and withdrew,
Told, he a migrant now.
Toiling hard, fortune seeker,
Even in the searing heat of noon,
Must be feeling cold in sweat,
Seeking out to live a life of grandeur,
But here is where we laughed rich and loud,
We now just live our lives so quiet.

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Waiting for you by the window…

Room with a View

As you hurry to leave for your office,
I am weighed with short parting’s sorrow and sighs,
My heart is a room so cold and damp,
The heater though stacked like books,
On time’s rusty library is now cobwebbed,
The hope of your return, keeps me glowing warm,
I stare out through these blinds my window,
Of fond anicipation, seek to wait , bide my time,
Count countless cars flip past,
Hear the threats of time’s treads,
Sense the fog of my thoughts rise,
See hooded students cowering like me, from solitude,
Running into the future with expectations,
Your return is all that I wait for.

As you introspect-

On the travails of sweet somethingness,
The heart of the horizon is now wet,
Splashed with tinges of sensuousness,
Rollicking colors of emotions ,
Riotous in a myriad ignited sparks,
Lighting up the sky of my dreams ,
Thoughts in seagull patterned flights,
They swoop down on me from among the clouds,
In their shower of flowers I now drift,
Wafted by some strange feel,
I retreat to sense in silence.
As you introspect, I meditate.

Grit…

You say I know not,
I know, I cope cannot.
In your mind, I cease to exist,
In my mind, you just desist.
Striving my best,
Tired in the least,
Being nice in the most,
Helplessness at its worst,
I shall smile yet,
That is my shameless grit,
Struggling to earn a toast,
Unfulfilled hope so distant,
Make you proud, if I might
An Average student’s mite.

I am a Slow Learner

As you talk all around the dinner table,
I cannot comprehend that which you elucidate.
I cannot understand , they are all disjointed syllables.
I listen, I sincerely strive to know. It is all hollow.
I yearn to be on your level field. I aspire empty.
Now helpless, I look down at the disarray of my thought.
I pretend to eat but deep within, I really want to cry.
I cannot, because I am a man though a child in your eyes.
As you laugh, I smile in instinct to preserve to earn approval.
I am standing at the base of the flue , of the chimney.
I desire to be you. I know I cannot be you.
I am just me.
Me and my rage.
All that I see is the hope in your eye.

Dust Storm

Dust Storm
Dust Storm (Photo credit: expom2uk)

Winds knock on our door,

Hoping to push it ajar,

Seek refuge from the dust they stirred,

Hesitant then, now so hurried,

Frantic, chased by a fearsome foe,

By their own making, a lament, a woe,

Brown tinged,  sands spin in a swirl,

From the heated hills, a horrid twirl,

The eerie cat cries, no place to hide,

From the caves, the dogs whine in fright,

Windows darkened, sound cracked,

You and me,  and hope so huddled,

We hope to wear this dusk out,

Into a long, uncertain night.

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Dried Petals in a Book

I opened your  book to read,

Several years they had rusted,

Shelved– lost, sad, trusted,

Tonight, at the crest of solitude,

With my feeble breath, I dusted,

In tenderness and in quietude,

Uncovered , unveiled, flipped,

Inside, found  flowers dried,

Now freckled, they winked ,

Your message conveyed,

That you had read,

Left but loved.