Saturday, December 12, 2009


This evening longs to meet me.
In her dusky countenance,
Conceals a maelstrom of my own darkness.
And I, a docile child, spreading arms,
Hoping to survive or metamorphosed.

Hazardous journey now
Palpitates me not-
What havoc the roaring store in?
I've given no thought.

How many centuries have died undone?
My procrastination 
Even to take a barbiturate
-To have a wink; thinking,
This sixty - watt bulb or electric tube
May not get fused.
(I checked everything meticulously.)

How many centuries have died undone?
While listening to the music,
With tears in eyes -
Fighting some imaginative battles of life,
The pillow under the head
Gets wet..and a dream, after defeating me,
To other world of impossible, flies.

I was to lock the Pandora Box.
Only didn't know its place…
but every room and every corner had a sunlit sky
Then it opened my third eye
And you know !!!
'Every sun has to die !'
Why not to put out this light
And to see myself in centre of my own light…

Thus, I've reached the box.

It's therefore, I say -
Time always chased me
Barefeet and bareheaded
Only this time arrested… after a long strife.
To be ready and waiting with open arms
Hoping to survive or metamorphosed or de-armed.

For death ,I care not
It will die if I do
It will never die …if I'm undone.