Saturday, November 28, 2009

On the gallows of wishful thinking
i redeem my sordid moments and wail
i swing suspended in clouds of wrath
and take a swig of hope to fail
the rites of life in the holy fire
the incantation fickle and frail
as i paint afresh my earth
with blood dried and colored pale

3 comments:

Toon India said...

but memories are like forlorn ships
they leave behind an indelible trail
so not point scratching
let nature do it's course
and fill the wounds with love and care..

oceanic mirages said...

no theres no pain or sadness its a slow feeling that is everpresent... is part of you

adee said...

u know what, its like the case of bagal mein doolha, nagar bhar dhindora... itte dino se vikram seth vikram seth kiye ja raha hoon...why do i fail to realize that my love for English language that resurfaces often is a result of reading and re-reading and deciphering and enjoying and living these words of yours!!! spread across so many of ur poems.

i looooooooooooooooove these lines, the music inherent in them, n then this all prevailing sadness that hurts like a mystery unsolved...

u don't write dear, u hurt, u enthrall, u pinch, u make me go weak in the knees, make us lesser writers feel the insignificance of our output and then after all of this comes a wave of proud joy... 'cos of u r and i am and then we are...

Zindagi.

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