on the shore

Lover of dark nights, unexplored woods, and restless seas. And like the last of those, her heart was fickle too. Happiness made her cry, so did love. And yet, sometimes, it would all just breeze by, and she would feel nothing.

His stories make her smile, for she's heard them before. She's heard herself repeat the lines in her head. He is her, turned inside out. So much should be boring, she tells herself, but what she doesn't know is that the moon has always made the sea restless. And yet, there is something comforting about the way it draws the waves to it, unceasingly.

There are moments she feels empty, even with all the love around her. And then, as she lies awake on a moonless night, her sleep stolen from her, it strikes her with blinding clarity. It's rather ironic, the answer she's been seeking.

She's built a fort of stone. Of bravado. And it's kept her safe. Except, there are cracks in it now. Cracks that let in slivers of light.

He will not fight her battles for her. He knows she can do it.

It's funny how letting light in works. Whole patches of it. And then, there are no canopies, no stone walls she hides behind. Love hits her in the face, and makes her dizzy. And fear slinks away, leaving her unchained.

She loves nights, moonlit nights by the shore...

fogged windows

there was an age when
i would have closed my eyes
and trusted you, when you said,
to the moon and back.
when the smell of grass
and borrowed books, and
fresh paint and dreams
brought my songs alive.

i've traded sunburnt smiles
for unspoken words
and now, there are cold
October nights
without nightingales.

i, with my forest trails
and dark misty woods
now find in half moon smiles
and unshed tears,
broken poetry.
there's no trace of me
i've stopped waiting,
waiting for yesterdays.

and just when i'm sure
i want this day and no more,
you give me moments..

moments
with lilies outside fogged windows,
the warm glow of old love
you dance me around the room
your eyes talking of spring

there's the sound of water over pebbles
there are tree trunks by the shore
and as my feet sink in
miles of glorious black sand
there is laughter, all mine.

and in your eyes again
i know pain and quiet loss
and whispers, and dark moods
and there's this tightness in my chest
as you hold me close to yours
i'm learning to cry again.

Fates

You know what depression does to you? It sucks laughter out of your soul. It hurts and you can do nothing about the pain. It's like a gaping hole in your head. Where thoughts are incoherent, and your feelings all muddled up. All your thoughts spell death, and still you stand there unable to do anything about it. It's like being buried alive, terror mingling with darkness. And then once you escape it, all you know is numbness. You've seen it all, you say.

Well, ironically, it isn't the worst of fates.

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Astray

Your thoughts, they jump,
from branch to branch
Like wayward monkeys
And i am left grumbling,
Weary and stumbling
As i run after them.

I try to entice them
Bring them my way
But they escape me
Tease me all day
I have half a mind
To throw a tantrum
Until i realize
You're grinning at me
And then i jump up
And follow them thoughts
For i need to get to them
Before you do to me.

It's part of the game, i learn
And i keep my eyes open lest
You steal my dreams,
From my open eyes
And yet, I don't put up
much of a fight
It's like i want
to be led astray.

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Like beads of joy, strung on sunbeams
Her laughter, made of elusive dreams
And he in love with her,
Her laughter and her sunshine.

Till shaken, she falls to the ground
Broken, like a tree, a petal ground
All her smiles sold to the shadows
And her heart, pitiful and unbound.

He looks into her eyes and senses
The sea change in her soul
She does not see his smile
For grief has numbed her heart

She is not the girl he knew
She has eyes that speak of pain
He knows he loves this girl
Her eyes no longer bow to the sky.

mermaidish

i get all sentimental,
whimsy like the fool i am
i wait for hours on end
to hear your voice
my thoughts, they worship you
follow you, like shadows
and still i stand,unable
to tell you who i am
and will you to read my eyes
my voice, it's no longer mine.

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silly, isn't it
that you, the skeptic
and me, the cynic
should create cliches together?

on second thought,
i love cliches.

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