art · blogs · chastity · depression · dreams · night · Painting · poem · Poetry · sky · stars

Light – II

For a while now
Clouds have taken over
They don’t rain
Just stay
Between me and my sky
I want my stars back
my lights, scattered
over a dark dreamy night.

Advertisements
dreams · love · poem · Poetry

Free Fall

I don’t dream of flying.
No.
The dream of flying
comes with the fear of falling.
Instead,
I dream of falling,
Along with my inhibitions
And fears.
I want to fall off a cliff,
A high mountain,
Stripped off my fears
One by one.
Letting go of everything
That I have,
Until I have nothing
Nothing but my soul.

As I fall deeper,
I become light,
A cotton wool,
A cloud.
Maybe on my way
I shall become a rain drop

Maybe when it’s time
To touch the ground
My wings will open
And I shall fly.

(Featured Image- Ron Griswold)

art · childhood · confusion · destiny · dreams · happiness · journey · life · roads · travel · travelling

Road back home!

The road back home is well known

Unlike the one ahead of me

The horizons are familiar

Contrasting the ones yet to see

The road back home greets me with smile

Every time I step onto it

Much to the dismay of the darkness ahead

The streets are always well lit

The road back home is full of scars

But my valor is what they showcase

The infidelity of the future succumbs

To the exhibition of these medals I possess

The road back home gives me nerve

To look into the eyes of the unknown

To walk past the fires and the bergs of ice

Which my path shall be prone

The road back home defines the legacy I shall leave

A record the moment of end shall see

When my soul shall decide to forsake my being

I shall sleep with pride glory and glee…

dreams · india · Poetry · pressure · society · unemployment

The Bus Stop

Standing by one noisy Monday traffic

He goes easily unnoticed chewing on his paan

Waiting for a bus to stop, a horn to blow

Scuffed shoes exhibit his passion for these paths

Experience peeks through his thinning hair

These roads are oh so well known

Sun looks down at him with all his pitiful light

The paled white shirt definitely deserves a hard wash

As he slowly drags himself out of yet another building

Denials don’t hassle him anymore

He casually hurls his credentials back into his worn out satchel

The twilight quietly sees him home

Ma looks jovial as ever

Over the years, she has mastered mending her face as soon as he appears

Her smile is his only escape, and she knows

A bedridden father groans feebly, for he wins no bread anymore

And by the way, who weds the sister of a loafer?

If only he could escape his mortification, even that is just a wishful notion

Nuptials were sung in neighborhood last night

Someone must have raised his case too

For, Ma did return abruptly

They say a man never cries, but they must not have known him

For his pillows are often wet, eyes frequently crimson

He does wear a disguising smile nonetheless

He often stares through the stars from his casement

Wondering if education was his sin

For his qualifications don’t allow him to carry bricks

The night passes in slumber, changing sides

Wishing if he could succumb silently in bed

After hours of tumult, sleep finds him somehow

The Sun wakes again, as he carefully leaves the alarm clock dozing

He shaves, shines his shoes, wears his best

Fates don’t shine with dates, do they?

Tuesday traffic is as noisy as it was on Monday

He stands by, unnoticed, chewing on his paan, waiting

For a bus to stop, a horn to blow

A bus might take him away and never bring back

He won’t be missed though, not for a day

Another chap shall take his place, with millions in the offing.

india suffers from the issue of educated unemployment and underemployment more than any other place.
I hope someone connects.

(copyright Anurag Chaudhary 2014)
destiny · dreams · friends · Poetry · talking

Hibernation

I beg your say apprehending appreciation

I have decreed to stay in hibernation

Not much shall be heard from me

Let silence be my semblance, complaint be a far-off enemy

For I have spoken way too much than the power I command

Let my words flow only when time demands

I have to offer a lot more to the world

So many stories left to be told

Stories about life, about death

Lore of love, tales of faith

Let my eyes be the casements to selfdom

Let me face my ego, let me gain my freedom

For long I have belied my truth

For long I have lived in Ruth

The questions within scream for empathy

For long I have given them nothing but apathy

No more shall I lie to my sinking soul

For long I tried to sneak in discordant roles

Let me observe, comprehend my existence

Let me bathe in light for once

For a while, let me sleep in the lap of serenity

For a while, let me fall back in ambiguity

For once let the answers flow by

Whatever they might be, good bad or wry

Let me face the elephant in the room

Let me visit my dreadful doom

Let me vanish from your eyes for a while

I promise to the realm I shall return my servile

Someday you might find my body deceased

My name forgotten, my legacy ceased

But,

I shall be present as an essence of friendship, suave

Smiling at abodes of compassion, places of love…

childhood · children · destiny · dreams · friends · night · Poetry · poverty · secrets · sky · stars · talking · winter

Talking to the stars

During those melancholy midnights when slumber sleeps far away

His concrete walkway bed seems an enemy as the night quietly passes

His eyes wide open, brimmed with dreams undaunted by the forces of reality

Reality that embraces his fragile frame with all the compassion and warmth,

While other kids of his age are treated with the tales of moon every night,

He is often seen befriending the neighbors of the lunar god who reside beyond the dark.

Stars like him back too, he is different, they often discuss,

Unlike others, he never tries to count them or find them when they are lost

He simply goes to them when he is lonely and his dreams are dwindling

He goes to them to seek their light and company

Unlike others, he is not finicky in his choice nor is he clichéd

He talks to them all, whoever is available,

Even to those who were left alone when galaxies were to be formed

And them, the miserable ones, who couldn’t fit in any constellation

They like him, o yes they do,

They like him for his dreams might be surreal

But he plans them oh so well in his little mind

Now, he knows a few dirty starry secrets too

For one, those tiny pin-ups aren’t quite fond of the moon

The self proclaimed wannabe lunar god who is smaller than the smallest of them

He has also unlocked a few myths with their help,

For one, not all of them belong to the Milky Way

That there is no such grandma with a spinner or a boy named frost on the moon

Stars have shared all they know but he must stay hush

For only then, his dreams can come true

They show him their scripts, as testimony to their vows

For they say about his destiny, it’s written in the stars.