Poets and such nights!

                      Poets and such nights!
    

 How many poets,
have written of such hopeless nights?
Nights when the stillness of the skies,
Crept into their writing tools
And they ceased to write!

Have they lived through such nights?
Nights that seemed beautiful in their stillness,
That they'd lie back and close their eyes,
And pray.. pray for the ink in their bottles
to be poured into their veins
Such that they'd pick their pens and write
Write about the stillness of the night!

Or have they searched the empty walls?
Or the lizard creeping through the windows
Searching for some movement that'd wake their pens
And help them leave their fairy dusts,
On sheets of white!

But oh! Like fireflies would they light this night,
Their breaths would breathe in
life into such lifeless nights!
With their pens laid still
and their heads in rest
Their golden glow will ever illuminate
the dark night!

The stillness can't freeze the poet's soul,
As he falls to sleep
His eyelids heaved down
With the intoxicating scent of poetry!

Who was he?

                     

                               Who was he?

He wasn't adorned in kingly attires
And neither did beads of ruby and pearl
glisten on that rusty neck,
And yet this man..
He caught my sight,
As I stood staring, gaping
And painting his image in my mind!

The brown cloak
hung loosely along his sides,
I squint my eyes and then do I see,
It wasn't a cloak but a sack,
A sack tailored to veil
his royalty!

He sat there and his
squalid eyes did meet my gaze,
Unflinchingly did they
stare down upon me.
He raised his ruddy fingers to
his lips,
and watched the ringlets of smoke
dance in air,
as he smoked his cigarette!

There were scars engraved
on that coarse brown skin,
They opened like little mouths,
Mouths that fed on the city dust and dirt,
And such was the pallid image that
this stranger
Present before my sight.

And still he made me feel so small
He had no palace,
And yet those eyes looked
upon the busy street,
Like a monarch who would
look upon his Royal gardens,
Thrilled at the beauty and splendour,
Held in those violets blooming bright!

The footpath became his throne
With those hands rested upon his knees
and the fingers that momentarily
stroke the rugged chin
He was a heir to a million thrones
And bewildered me,
With his obscurity!

He seemed aloof of my existence,
As he gazed at the ringlets he drew in air,
And then he became one with it,
Leaving me alone to fight my ambiguity...
"He's just a wanderer"people
do tell,
But I ask myself, who was he!

You my love!

                             You my love

 The little cuckoo,
My frequent visitor,
seemed devoid of her high spirits
She stares at me but is now
A carving in the wood
as the winter chill creeps on to her
and she clings her feathers closer,
Seeking warmth and comfort in them.


Like a dry autumn twig
would I be,
I'd lie in my bed,
Like my visitor friend,
The cold embracing me with it's wings
Wings that entrap me
As I resign and find solace,in
this cold little space of mine...

But, you my love!
You gift me warmth
Those rings of smoke entice me,
The aroma fills me with life,
And oh! You pull me out
From my cold little space,
cutting through those wings of lethargy!

I look at you,
How beautiful can you be!
A golden brown with clouds of white floating in between.
I breathe in as your smell immerses in me.
You fill me with life and my love for you is unconditional,
Yet how inanimate can you be!

I draw you closer to my lips
My hands wrap around you
embodying the warmth
that you gift to me.
The rings of smoke make circles and dance
around me,
And my mind too, twirls and dances in circles along with you!

Bitter sweet,have you always been,
But as your warmth melts into me,
I am drawn to you,
I close my eyes and cherish your taste on my lips,
The bitter sweet does make me smile!

You are well acquainted with everybody
But oh! To think that they see you as ordinary!
To me,you are the energy that surges through my veins
In many ways, do you own me
And hence I say,you have enslaved me
You,my dear cup of coffee!

Sweet melancholy

It's after a long period that I resume to updating my blog...my absent mindedness had lead me into losing my password..

Although I did write in this duration as well and I am hence going to update my blog with this poem that I have titled "sweet melancholy"

"Melancholic" also happens to be the first word that my teacher at preschool used to describe me! I have always been a person who enjoys her own company and hence I dedicate this poem to my oldest friend who is always there by my side...melancholy..
The word doesn't hold any negative connotations..the way I see it..
It is in these moments that I tend to closely observe the things around me. I might look dead and dull at these times but suddenly even the inanimate objects around me are brought to life...I see nature through a different lens altogether and the moon now seems to resemble a peaceful infant in a cradle!


                                             SWEET MELANCHOLY!

            

               It is that winter night again..
              And all these stars do look down upon me..
              Some shine bright and look down with fury
              While some with their twinkle
               Greet me with benevolent smiles,
                And hush down the melancholic strains,
                The chords of which no Mozart had mastered
                 And the notes of which,
                  Lulled down the chirpy sparrows to sleep.

   
             
                 The leaves too,droop down their heads in sleep
                  And,would only wake with the golden beams
                  That would come by morrow
                   Oh! This music that played within me
                   Had perhaps lulled them to sleep!
                   Or were they heaved down with these drops of dew,
                    That clung on to them...afraid they'll fall
                     Sparkling like precious stones on the leaves..


 
                     And midst this the moon
                      Dressed in serene robes of white
                      Rested on the peepal branches that stretched out wide
                       The branches were a cradle
                        And the moon now lay on it
                         She dozed off as they swayed her
                         Casting their shadows in her divine silver light!

                     

                        A smile now drew across my lips,
                        Sweet melancholy do visit me again,
                         For you visit me, and these sights
                         That else reside in oblivion
                         Flash upon my mind.
                         I see the moon in her cradle
                          And I see the quiet sparrow!



                          Sweet melancholy! Do come again
                           You put music to this verse in me
                            The little poet in me is now awakened
                             And dwells in your blissful company!