MY JOY HAD DIED

Last summer, my joy was born to me.

I embraced it with both my arms.

How glad I was, gladdest under the Sun.

And now I held it before them to see.

My heart gladdened as my joy I shared,

With my family,friends, and foes even,

How glad I was, gladdest I could ever be,

But no look at my joy had they spared.

Every day, for several Suns that went down,

I wondered if my joy would meet another,

How wrong I was, more wrong than any,

My joy was visited by no soul in town.

It died soon, and then sorrow was born,

And this time, I chose to keep it within,

How hard it was, hardest I had ever done,

Like a dagger in the heart I had worn.

Memory of joy had come to me soon,

Like an autumn leaf refused to be raked,

How anguished it was, it closed its lips

And  was heard no more in the moon.

She Danced Upon the Shore

She danced upon the shore,

What need had she to care?

The wind and water did roar,

And caressed her silken hair.

I smiled at her from afar,

Waiting she would turn to me.

Child I was, like we all are,

As artless as one could be.

She seemed as lovely as spring,

And I couldn't stay apart,

With joy more than I could bring,

I gave her all my heart.

I was told by her that love

Was hardly worth thinking of,

That every kiss and the early bliss,

Died with each broken promise.

That she would rather walk alone

Than give her heart outright,

For love as she had known,

Was a brief, hazy delight.

In a little while, all I had won,

Had been savagely undone.

Now to me, truth did seem

A lie I had chosen to dream.

 

Untitled

Strange tales of love I've known,
From one friend too many;
And there is one, of my own,
That you may choose to see.

It was on a fading Friday
That we shared a glance
I had a smile, she was grey;
I dared not to advance.

To her I did not stride,
But she was not the same.
I was looking for a place to hide
When I was asked my name.

Upon her, I didn't fix my eye,
I was shy to say the least;
My eyes met the Sun ,low in the sky
With my back facing the east.

She seemed to have lost her way,
And I asked where she was headed.
Not anywhere close, but far away,
From no shelter had she fled.

She needed no help from me,
I learnt to my surprise.
Instead followed me to the lea,
To wait for the Sun to rise.

'The Sun hasn't gone down yet
And till the rise you wish to wait?'
It was laughable and I did fret
But she moved with a swifter gait.

I did follow her to unbeknownst land,
She didn't look, but took my hand,
I recount myriad faces looking at me.
As if I was the only one to be.

It wasn't a dream, the tour
Which ended with the light of the day,
I was far from home I'm sure
And she was far, far away.

Her allure haunts me as I write,
Maybe she is here, to my right.
It's not her absence that I grieve,
It's the presence I refuse to believe.

WEDNESDAY

Sitting by the deserted aisle in Plunkett Square, she smiled , as the Sun set behind in restlessness. Her presence strikingly conspicuous. She knew not the dreadfulness of the world before her, but I believe she was afraid. She was very afraid. Too afraid to be conscious, so as to involuntarily dismiss it altogether. She slowly rose, with reluctance, and unaccustomed anticipation, as I could see. Maybe I chose to. 
The truth be told, everything else seems like a gigantic lie. But for some lies, you choose to believe in them. I did, for what seemed like an imaginary yet intuitive haven. Never considered the illusive nature, and that such a lie could ever knock the doors of possibility, became my fertile source of happiness. 

It is often in her absence, that I look outside. Not an absolute gaze at the dilapidated depot by the corner or the worn pigeon-nest on the cemented edge of my windowsill, but something farther. One can judge by the look in my eyes, the emotions of a hunter. A hunt too early in its time, farther in it's approach, though I know she is not coming back, not so soon. Nonetheless, I look outside. I seek what is no better than nothing. Waiting, hoping, for her allure is the most hauntingly beautiful thing, I have ever known.

A SILENT MEMORY

“Far amidst the lovelorn leas,

Or here by the silent seas,

In every nightingale’s tired song

That to me seems forever long,

Every smile, upon the crystal moon

Or the silken sunbeam at noon,

Violets smiling in the mossy vale

And tulips singing their daily tale

To you, they made me carry;

Now time seems only to tarry

Ever since, I stand amid the roar

Of your surf-tormented shore,

The trees have lost their rapture

And the sky now fails to capture,

The flame of dusk, the lusty light,

Unsmiling, does give in to night.

My hope has not flown away,

In just a night, or just a day,

You still lie, half hidden from the eye,

Bright as a star, shining in the sky."

And I rose, and walked from her grave

And stopped to see, if she should wave

What a difference, it would make to me

Though I knew she had ceased to be.

TWELFTH JULY

It was on the twelfth day of July,

Beneath a warm, indolent sky,

In the highlands, of stone and scree

I saw her, reserved and dreamy.

The wild indigo bowed , only to reveal

A faint countenance, under the Sun’s seal

Was it her indifference, or her sorrow,

That she held within, I didn’t know.

Yet she glistened, though flickering

Even the Sun seemed curtailing,

And the meadow, the bird and the hill

No different from me, stood utterly still.

For once, there seemed no fret, loss or pain

That surpassed this heavenly strain.

The light ceased; I could no longer get

The sublime glimpse, as the Sun now set

The darkness peered through my heart

And whispered to me, that I must part

For the blackish glow, and the faded sheen

Now ruled, and she, was not to be seen.

And with a heavy heart, from the plains

I trudged back, into familiar domains

Even today, when the Sun prepares to sleep,

I recount the glow, and walk to the door

Yearning in memory, I do weep

Long after she was seen no more.

Somebody I used To Know

The last train from Yorkshire
You took on the merry day
The last form of my desire
That faded into the clay

Time hurried on wheels
And rushed towards the end 
Wounds preserved in reels
That took many a year to mend

Awaiting a sweet gentle smile
Sometimes I look outside the window
To catch a glance across the aisle
Of Somebody I used to know

I get reminded of the train
And the last echoing cry
Which still refuses to wane
Or the teardrops to dry
Awaiting a short and swift wave
Sometimes I look outside the window
That light I try hard to save 

Of Somebody I used to know
Of Somebody I used to know
Somebody I used to know....