THE HUMAN ANVIL

Tag: answer

  • Incandescent

    I was born out of the blue
    Like a star without a face
    And shall one day be falling too
    As dust without a trace
    In hope that when I am gone
    Those very few whom I knew
    Kept something of the light
    With which their wish came true…

  • An Answer to the Abyss

    This moment
    It is endless
    There is nothing more to be
    It is the past you predicted
    And future you didn’t see…

  • Nescience

    I wait at the newspaper stand
    Reading, the morning is grey
    Ash tinted
    Like an old man’s asthma

    Buds of people are sprouting
    From windows and eggshell alleyways
    Dressed in yesterday’s dreams
    And tommorow’s promises
    Faces creased, bespectacled
    With white hairs a halo
    From the century long sunlight
    Age ever ached to swallow

    A ballad pours from the the barbershop
    The old stereo is crooning about
    Footsteps falling on azure fields
    And carts on country roads
    I can smell the aftershave
    At once bitter and sweet
    The razor once again vacant
    Without the borrowed heartbeat

    There is a fallacy here
    Between the words and vision
    I read and see
    The stories seem vibrant but life colour-free
    Perhaps it is the weight of being
    That makes it so
    For all of us do wither
    But only some of us grow

    The children have gathered on the footpath
    A bell in some temple tolls
    The priests are praying for bliss
    And in laughter a football rolls
    I watch, I watch
    The world divided in unison
    Each hour be day or night
    Being a part of every season

    So I pay my fair share
    It’s time for me to leave
    And be one amongst the masses
    Who in eternity believe
    Of everyday man and their everyday deeds
    In the cycle of fruit from the flower and flower from the seeds
    If only one would question; Does the roots if ever know?
    Of the world that blooms outside from their breaths buried below

  • Seismic Soul

    To speak
    Without being heard
    With words like wind
    Asleep in windchimes,
    To be far away, breathing in a distant past dyed sepia and smelling of crushed leaves:
    The aroma of time dried through the ages,
    To taste a fruit away from the tongue
    And let it linger in a seedless ecstasy
    On each pair of lips
    In every burnished breath between the lungs
    To weave sunlight
    In the skin of dewdrops
    And bare a rainbow upon the floor
    Brought home to a full circle
    To smile at the madness of it all
    And mean it in the mirror of mind
    Grassroots enveloping
    Memories I cannot find
    Now leads me to believe
    That life with all its thorns and petals
    Is more in the act of living
    Than waiting for it to settle

  • The Man Asleep


    Life, look out
    This man asleep
    Is walking a dream
    His pulse, afraid of inimical things, dance
    At the incoherent din of the cattle bell,
    For he knows only the time of tommorow
    Prophesied by blind sages
    Sages left by the world to marinate in old age
    And he carries it; the cattle bell, it’s dead weight, it’s rue weight, like a talisman
    Through the thick fog of promises
    To the other side, where the light, yet unseen, seems to shine differently
    For the sages who have looked on the winter
    From far, would know something of the snow
    Or so he hoped, with his face coddled within the blinkers
    And crowned with a horseshoe

    Life, look out
    The man asleep
    Knows not that he is sleeping
    And so as waves he worship the shore
    Unaware that he stands with men
    Too afraid to blink at the sea
    And soon he too would be watching the waters
    Shiver with each breath of the seagull
    Till his own wings wither and rot away
    Leaving him; this epileptic Icarus
    A common man among the common men
    Left to watch each sunrise
    And every sunset
    From the shade of a dry sacamore
    The hinterland of heart
    That burned in winter
    Knows both fire and ice is the same;
    Perhaps, in the slow dance of the dying fire
    He seeks the heat some more
    Perhaps, his dreams are dreams of a dream
    He dreamt he has dreamt before…

  • A Line On The Sand


    Amidst the dunes of Rajasthan
    I breathed as an ocean would;
    Endless and eternal

  • Ambit


    Outside my window
    A caterpillar crawls
    And I watch as it gains
    Inch by inch
    An eternity
    On me

  • Reflections



    All the letters I wrote
    Came back to me
    They were poems I had written
    And addressed to poetry

  • Answers?

    To each word vibrating with voice
    I say you have no choice
    But to be uttered
    And then be left in the void
    To dissolve
    Into the common silence
    Of myriad things miming
    Life’s unwritten serenity