It will rain and it will rain â™Ą

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The air simmers, blisters. Induced hallucinations.

The cracked open mouth of wounded earth,

Seeped with blood red and covered with rust.

Centuries and eons of memories clouded by dust.

 

The fragile lines were breached once long ago,

The tempest had once rushed into my shore.

It’s been long and time has swept away the resort

The floods and waves of tide haunted me to drown.

 

Then the sea is just a embittered memory,

And it was a heap of sand I’d leapt into. Not death.

See, the passion had been sung well to drone.

To arise and laugh back, when mirages mock.

 

It’s been long I’ve lived scared to scraps and bolts.

It, the post traumatic stress disorder in me craving blood.

But I’m ready to go all out again, for surfing in the sea of love.

And she has to come out too, the madwoman locked in my head…

 

The fighter in me. The rebel. The poet. The lover.

The unchained philosopher, her storm unleashed.

Night has finally settled bets with daylight

There right there, fate’s let my midnight sun dawn.

 

Now again the tempest blows ashore, from the east.

The distant roars of the hungry cranky clouds resound

After flashes of desire reflecting his heart and mine.

After a long time I know, it will rain and it will rain.

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Seeking thy Breath.

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Another composition. I was trying to write a rhyming lyric, here is the out come. An AB-CD-EF verse.

I will tear down the face of heaven and spread it around thy paradise,

I will steal all the stars to release them to roam in thy wake like a thousand fireflies…

The meandering streams of light will wash through the grassy meadows wavering in the wind.

The flood to the the fire, and all in between will merge and slake, when love overflows its brink.

The torments ending when fighting through the tentacles of time and snares of evil fate,

I will find you, your arms, your warmth and lips. And here, again, I wake.

This isn’t really nice or promising, but I couldn’t think of a better twist to it, than making it all a dream that breaks when the fantasy reaches it’s prime. Hope you all like it.

Have a great day ahead. 🙂

A Moment

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Here I tried writing something…so here it goes :-

My eyes wish to behold, again and yet again, the grace with which, thee, my sweet lordship, unfold thy deepest, most wondrous mysteries. My fingers wish to trace your fair skin, under which the blue veins snake their way through your flesh, more fragrant than all of Persephone’s grove, by far worth more than Hades’ treasure trove…

And it’s thy heart, made of the densest gold, harder than the hardest diamond, but it’s just that I wish to win. Thy lips, that speak so much, thy eyes, express. I wish to smoothe out that delicate tensed brow. I wish to sort through your beautiful long lashes and to fill thy sweet mouth with gentle kisses. And there lying around in some far away meadow, shall we have our sweet recess. We will share little sweet promises, sweet little breaths exchanged. How, lying there on the warm, moist grass we would make wagers on our lives.

It’s a sport of young lovers, such as ourselves to let Passion, Love’s hot headed brother override our sane rational minds. Take oblique decisions, the orders, our hearts fail to obey. I know this will someday end, the rat race of passion and morals clashing will end one day. Like thee, ever so gentle, so noble, may someday just walk away, for my goodness’ sake. But it’ll be me here, rooted to the scent of this meadow, and the lingering aftertaste of your kiss on my tongue.

I’ve really attempted to write prose after a really long time. Could use an opinion if anyone could offer any regarding the progress of the piece. Thanks.

Buried in the Heart of the City

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Agrasen ki Baoli, an old monument hidden in the bowels of the skyscraper encrusted heart of the city of New Delhi, Cannaught Place. Not known to most people, this is a protected archaeological site, an old step well. With 103 steps completely immersed in water, this used to be a storage house of water… The visible parts of this historical step well consist of three levels. Each level is lined with arched niches on both sides.

From an architectural perspective this step well was probably rebuilt during the Tughlaq period. However, the oldest existing Baoli in Delhi, the Anangtal Baoli located in Mehrauli which was also known as Yoginipura, was built in the 10th century by the Rajput King Anang Pal II of Tomar Dynasty. Anang Tal literally means reservoir provided by Anang Pal of the House of Tomar.

Regarding the name Agrasen Ki Baoli it should be stated that in 1132 AD an Agrawal poet named Vibudh Shridhar mentions, in his work Pasanahacariu, a wealthy and influential Agrawal merchant of Dhilli named Nattal Sahu who was also a minister in the court of King Anang Pal III. Rebuilding the old Baoli would have been within the means of a wealthy Agrawal community.

Although there are no known historical records to prove who built Agrasen ki Baoli, it is believed that it was originally built by the legendary king Agrasen[2] during the Mahabharat epic era and rebuilt in the 14th century by the Agrawal community which traces its origin to Maharaja Agrasen.

Water temples and temple step wells were built in ancient India and the earliest forms of step well and reservoir were also built in India in places like Dholavira as far back as the Indus Valley Civilisation.

(courtesy, Wikipedia)

Recently, I went there, with an unique friend of mine. Here’s a poem I wrote about the rendezvous. This is an important part of my life. This place, was already special since I’d already been there before a lot many times, from the first visit, last October with my best friend. And now after this recent visit, I have become quite sure, it has become one of those things in my life, that I cannot give up deliberately. This was already beautiful and now, it’s become special.

 

Through the many nooks and vents,

Wings of feather dart and flap.

 

It is a maze, through which,

I do not want to escape.

 

Through the topmost window,

We watched the sun slowly dying.

 

I felt your hands untying the knots among my thoughts,

I felt your lips burning through and through my stiffness.

 

I just wish the wheel of time would never have restarted,

From how you’d stopped it for us to intertwine and breathe…

 

Oh, there, right there, will I go back every time.

Because you showed me what real love could be like.

 

I would never have known.

And died and faded away like that.

 

You showed me that doors aren’t always needed.

To escape, we could just come out…

 

Leaping out from one of the many windows.

But this is a maze I do not want to escape.

 

I’m happy and so let me sing your praise…

It’s always been my choice, don’t make me sad.

 

Wish

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Dream of starry nights, on a fresh lawn,

You’ll wake up to a dampened dawn.

Wishing for love, friends and shooting stars,

Hurt you’ll be, never think they’re made for thee.

 

Dream, dream, within your gilded soul,

Sweet princess, so alien within this world.

Where nothing can touch you,

With a feather, nor ever a sword.

 

Within your spirit, you live, you rule,

You create, wonderful worlds.

You live for a greater cause.

Others just don’t get there.

– – one soul mate, that is me – –

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As I see myself so happy, I am hurt.

There’s no reason for me to be happy anymore.

When my lips wouldn’t stretch further in a fake smile,

I find something wailing, unbearably loud, inside.

That shrill noise goes on breaching all my fortresses,

Setting to fire, my mighty monuments of fantasy,

And, ah, hope after all these years of pining in the inferno.

Sometimes I wish I could just pull it out of myself,

The deadly masque, which like symbiote,

Sticks to me, plays hoaxes through me.

The masque, that has slowly started,

To imitate me, but in subtle ways,

So very different.

 

Dreams that are never going to come true,

Why, O’ why, my dear heart,

Still so busy weaving them?

Why, wait for imaginary footsteps,

While living in a palace of glass,

In the middle of a desert lake?

 

At last like your only well wisher,

Like a hopeless Knight in shining armour,

For you, he never will be,

I wish to tell you of a few truths,

You’ve already always known as have I–

In the end, you will be the one, starkly alone.

Only your joy and blood will be hurt when,

Which already is too late, you decide it’s time;

To see the clear truths, that had been untouched all along.

That now you pretend to see and ignore.

Breaking Free

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Had been locked up inside my own mind, as if,

Tied by rusting chainmail to the icy castle of night.

So, didn’t even have to  really struggle, to get out,

My spirit, unbound, just by mere thought, broke free

Like a canon-ball of shiny metal set to blaze,

Just shot out of sight…

 

Dashing past the clouds of mist and ghosts from the past,

Unholy things, those were, by inches, couldn’t touch my light.

Everything burned along the path I trailed in my way,

The purest form of energy, like fire, now flowing through me.

Firmly ridden on the back of the mad, mad wind,

I reach for the haloed sunbeams pouring in thick abundance,

Through distant holes in the wide blue-white sky.

 

My quest for peace, finally sated for a while,

I wait at the gates of heaven, to open up.

I haven’t seen my God, and it’s been quite some time.

Thrill of being Free

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Life is morose and life is dead,

Worries screaming in your head.

With lost hopes and all things worse.

 

From dawn to dusk,

Living and eating norms.

One smile, you wait, you die,

For a touch you’d fight and cry.

The sweet company that you crave,

Until freedom flies you to your nest.

 

Awkward first meetings around family and friends,

A stranger sits, trying to peep through your veil.

Cakes and cookies you never knew to make,

You put forward for your clients to take.

Furniture and cars accompany you to the grave,

In the baleful sound of trumpets you slowly break.

 

Thrill, you want when you step in the door,

Taking a hand and flowers on the floor.

Thrill is what you want all that first night,

Your stranger, for you, might not be right.

By the time morning leaves its shadowy cave,

You’re well into the unhappily married club.

 

There you wish that you were free,

Because there are sickles to your feet.

 

Or the thrill is when,

Zooming through posh streets late at night,

In the back seat of a little perky bike…

The air cool from late spring showers,

You throw your hands up in the air,

And leave the past with all its woes,

Behind.

 

Sin Cera

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What is that revenge if it’s not taken with a passion?

 

Of, what use would that murder be,

If it doesn’t satiate the bloodthirsty anger?

 

And definitely, is there a way that

Love will find the way out and into your heart,

Unless you learn to set it free?

I’ll be Me, and You’ll be You.

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It’s the fact that it’s you out there, is the only thing that keeps me going.

I don’t know how else I could’ve gotten past my laziness and thought of all the good I can do.

All I could do by myself was sit inside my warm room, indulging like Hypnos himself,

Or flutter around settling my scores with all the people who wronged me, like Nemesis.

You took that from me forever, with the gifts of humility, forgiveness and patience.

With your persistent rejections, you filled me with stronger determinations.

I’ll be Artemis – I’ll hunt you forever, and You will be Apollo, in your blazing chariot.

Racing across the skies for all of eternity, and though I know, you’ll never be mine,

I’ll be content to see you for once, every day, at dawn…to start my day with.

High

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O’ you, miserable, miserly wretched geek,

You are poor, even though you think you’re rich.

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Because numbers in your bank passbook,

Doesn’t stand for smiles that take your look.

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Waking up, you will see it one day,

You’re left alone, and the world has moved on…

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All cooped up inside your little nest, you are

Like an angry, very angry bird.

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As much you want,

You can peck and punch through your walls,

But no ear still, will hear your cries.

.

(You can’t eat your gadgets,

I know you will not ever–)

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Ashtrays will go on piling up, more and more

The dustbin overflowing with paper and rust.

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Decaf will always remain stuck to your mug,

But no one’s home to do the dishes tonight.

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Old and haggard, you’ll turn with time,

No smile you’ll get, just scowls and butts.

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Lying in your bed you’ll cough and toss,

But no hand will touch your forehead with love.

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Then only two options you have: rub your fat snout,

With a clean white sheet, and come out, right now!

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Or, live in it. And smoke up your life,

Puff by puff, soaring higher and higher,

Like a very angry bird.

By, Cyril Cliffette © 2012

Sunday Morning without my Glasses.

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Through saffron washed shades,

My sleepless eyes peep at the bright Sunday sun.

My familiar green purse with my stock of change,

I set out from home, this Sunday morning,

Without my glasses, my weekday eyes.

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The damp trees all stand, towering over me…

Smug and sated after drizzles for the last few nights…

Like a witch’s prickly hair and pointed hat,

The willowy branches seem to point at me.

Forming black curves against the whipped blue sky.

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Colourful paper squares soar overhead,

Tied to invisible cords spinning from spindles,

Held by unseen hands, all children out of sight…

Hazy lines of gleaming pinballs come rolling down,

The flyover down the road that draws towards town…

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Something special is happening  today–

Some kind of campaign, some race-like procession.

Horse drawn carts racing along with motorbikes;

Car windows shooting out overgrown men,

Scarves tied on the heads, flapping behind.

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Signboards I cannot see, my eyes are not with me.

But logos, and symbols I can make out.

I see the big M of McDonald’s, ’coz that was my destination,

As the hot aroma of butterscotch pancakes hits my sense of smell,

I cannot delay, my empty stomach affirms in a grumbled rebuke.

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Hmph! Again a queue, this straightened out morning!

Probably BPO employees were out now, for dates after shifts,

I fake an accent, to pull the attention to me, a lonely visitor…

Only later did I notice, by far, I do not look anything

But a plain, fat, native, DU student out on a morning stroll.

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A Sausage McMuffin, French fries and coke combined,

I have a decent meal to name on the roll at last.

Cuddling couples stare, I stare back; they don’t know, they’re not my eyes.

Like coins in my purse jingle, their accusing glares bounce right off me–

Never leaving it, like change, just piling up more and more…

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Sadly, now that the morning’s passed,

And without my glasses, I’ll have to return back.

Gems put out on display catches the light–

I look at the shiny jewellery shops as I go,

But no eyes here, to watch them shine.

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It’s broad and harsh daylight now…

And I have to get back home, before,

While crossing the wide road,

I’m trampled by a truck or a van,

I mistook for a shiny silver pinball.

An Aphrodite Reborn

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She lies about soulfully among the swans,

Wandering the mellow autumn woods seeking lost words.

She stands upon a bridge and sings of the freedom of birds,

Not seeing its finest example, mirrored in the creek below her flows.

She pretends of being built by rocks, shielded by steel armour;

Though she isn’t nearly tailor-made for the miseries of the harbour.

She possesses the soul of the purest virgin dove,

Deserves the praises more than any vain robin.

Wouldn’t utter a word against everything unholy for the sake

But just for the sake of holiness, do this mercy on her kind–

She is one of a kind, the Ichorine daughter of the innocent Psyche,

And of immortal Cupid, whose other name is love,

Treat her with reverence.

Do not violate her, and then slander her.

Name, body and blood.

She wouldn’t say anything still,

But nature will sulk and raise its voice,

In mutiny.

Nirvana

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Feels free like nothing can hold you back. Nothing upsets you, but everything pleases you. All your wrath and anger just vanishes, and you get this new insight that helps you let go of the past and take up this new attitude that nothing in this temporal world matters. Love the world and the world forgets you. It makes you stronger, you know…

Think of the ants, the animals, the birds. They live their lives and reproduce. Life goes on… Their likes and dislikes don’t intrigue anyone, nor does anyone care to see. In their quiet communities they exist peacefully.

I am just another living being too, so it shouldn’t mean anything different in my case.