Like a ray in the mangrove fields,
departing from one to another;
there is a time that lives between two memories —
a chase toward the one, and a chase away from the other.
Tag: English
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Clashes of Memories
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Come to Go
The dream sleeps with the dawn,
and when nostalgia grips the soul at the day’s end,
when the world rejoices in the pain of being someone in disguise,
I find myself in the past of time.When, at the shelter of love, they grow hate —
mania and garishness are their intake;
though surrendering to the darkness all around,
all alone, I ship my way.People come, and go away,
just like another season of a year;
with the change, they drift away,
but I look on, silently, at everything, like every day.When they shout at the fool of a day,
I wonder who is the better one of the day;
the same interests, so many others —
but all of it, when I come, only to go away… -
On the Mirror Side
A long way of time, but another line just like it,
dubbing the self so gracefully;
I quest for myself, on the mirror’s side.The opened threads of memories,
delicate enough to tear apart —
disillusion is another life,
with the person living on the mirror side.I throw myself into him,
and lose my reflection in the grey;
it ends with the start of a new quest:
who is living on the mirror side?Holding it back with a few faint clings,
I sit on yet another cliff of time;
I am ready to leave behind, to begin —
but the person on the mirror side? -
Trembling a Life
My eyes stop at the passage of time,
but all they perceive is a pushing, all around;
everyone is moving somewhere,
but nobody knows where, or why.I try to deny the lie
that I am just another part of this life —
but the thoughts answer back again:
everyone is trying to deal with the same.Holding a tail of fire,
they fail in their tries to cool the pain;
they try to live their way —
but this is not the far-off battle of life.I glance at the sky,
and wonder what the driver of the sky wants;
dust in every eye, all around,
yet they shout out the lies of their rightness.Everything passes by,
until only this hazy world remains;
I stop myself at that point,
and linger, wondering at this life. -
At the Dawn of a New Horizon
The clock says 1:07 a.m., 1st January — and I am wondering what I can offer in the dusk of the departing year. A farewell? Or should I begin with something — an offering for the new horizon ahead of this dawn? But the point shifts to something that amazes me this time: the timeline itself.
I posted my status online, wishing everyone a Happy New Year, but with a line of my own: “A single joyous moment of life can overcome many wells of sadness — and we are all just in a quest for that one moment.”
With this end-that-is-a-beginning, I notice one thing: how small happiness can be, and yet how the fulfilment it offers compares to nothing else. A stranger’s smile, a loved one’s goodbye, the adieu of a good or a bad year — a farewell is always welcomed with something new in life.
I have ended some of my years in the easy comfort of losing myself, or of losing others; but the strange thing is, I never quite encounter it. It means that whatever I attain in life will, one day, perish. We forget this with time — yet when it comes to action, we meet the greatest fear of life: being alone. It is this fear that makes us weak and vulnerable.
There is nothing worse than satisfaction — but longing is equally bad.
The essence is this: life is just a fountain of moments. Whether by the muddy way or by decoration, it has to find itself again.
Often, the subject most talked about is the one I understand the least.
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Mesmerising
He is lost again, in the world of love,
sailing a long way — but with the one he loves;
and every time he looks into her eyes,
all he sees is an endless ocean of time.She stretches her arms around him every time he cries;
though he pauses to dip into his thoughts,
nevertheless, he tries —
like a man mid-sea, with nowhere to go,
all he needs is her love, every time.He sailed his boat to part,
but fate is something no one can deny;
it all meets at the point of love, every time.
Sacred, and beloved — a lover, not just another;
he longs to be a part of the story —
the lovers, and the happy ending. -
Running Ends of Clock
I am walking plain roads, but leaving my steps behind;
reasons, or wants — but quarrels and love in all.
Never a pearl, nor less than any precious memory —
yet I am lost in a garland of them.
“O you, the traveler of memories — where do you stop, and shed your nights in the same place?”A silent way ahead, but at the cost of what?
Maybe some lost friends,
maybe some buds of love,
or just a few pieces of my own soul,
lost on the highway of it all.I am travelling on plain ground, to leave a few more steps behind,
hoping to last this journey with the known;
but the steps of the day outlast the thirst of my every moment —
joyous in nothing ahead, again, but these steps I have walked down. -
Chasing Old Dreams
The long time, and the long way —
but all I feel has passed in a few short hours;
all is clear, yet forgetting turns melancholic,
and still I walk, instead of tempting loneliness.Instead of tagging the best moments of life,
all I hold is a restless struggle with myself;
it began with the start, toward an end —
but with the endless journey of arguments,
day after day passes, like an inheritance. -
Trail of Shadow
As I move far from my shadow,
it only seems to close on me more each time;
the moment of standing comes with the grave of a lamb,
and life ends with the sorrow of all left undone.Gestures only lead somewhere deeply lost,
but the quest is to lose yourself;
though it gives way to a better tomorrow,
the question is — what is worse than satisfaction?The more you try to answer, every time,
you weave another knot of paranoia.
I know it would never end like this;
but what I want to know is — if this is not the end,
then what is it, and where? -
Was It Me…?
A lone way, shredding itself apart,
though the steps felt firm as a shell;
descending, yet into the tomb —
forward was the only step down.Every attempt held a nightmare for the night,
lugged with fears, and hidden away;
but when thoughts dive into time,
all they perceive is a lie.Yet as the smoke clears off the timeline,
life is beautiful as a single drop of time —
far too little to spill it on hate;
just add more love to every space.Life will perish, but not the thought;
and the journey of hate is the sorrow of the soul.
Everything will pass, but the quest will last —
was it me, chasing every thought?