Living Is The Only Philosophy Of Time

The night has thousand faces

And I know

I am none of them tonight

I am stranger to millions of stars

The day has thousand hands

It tries to find me

With a dagger on its shoulder

Exhumes me

From my sleep-tomb

I speak like a half requited ghost

I haunt the night

To find the exact constellation of love

I mourn the day

Like the dying of a beloved friend

I write hope

On the back of my palms

To remind me of birds

Free to fly

Finally

Day and night rest

Together

Like twin babies inside my head

What a strange invisible mother

Time is to us all!

What Do I Do In Love?

I sculpt your face on every mirror of my house

With the sharpness of my eyelashes

I etch your face on the back of my eyeballs

And see you every time I close my eyes

I sail towards your lovely mouth

Like an obsessed sailor

Shipwrecked

But without losing the knots of hope

I swallow the circle of your moon

Only to find oceans spying on me

With high tidal waves of your hairs

I use your name as a verb in my poems

To hide it from every desperate noun

Stalking you forever

I rest my faith every night in your arms

Finding God is otherwise delusional

Without praying all night

Every night!

Midnight Call

Long back

She left

The healing hand of time

Painted my broken heart

Twice, since

I was learning to sleep

Again

Then

One midnight

She called me

Initial hellos couldn't stop silence

To hang in the wires

 For few moments

Like an old pendulum clock

About to strike the hour

She broke the pause

And said,

“I don’t like the idea…”

Her voice almost choking

“What idea?”

I replied irritatingly

“I don’t like the idea

Of you sleeping near that doll

Besides your bed.”

SILENCE.

“Go back to sleep

Or I’ll replace the doll with someone real.”

“No you won’t…”

“Good night…”

SILENCE.

The pain in her voice

Echoed long into the night

I drifted off to sleep

With difficulty

Next morning

When I woke up

Struggling to squeeze

My last dream

Out of my eyes

The doll besides my bed

Was gone

SILENCE.

Metallurgy of Love

Your lead memories are growing heavier in my head

The iron of your love is rusting in my veins

Your absence has forged into a sword

Inside me

It cuts through my soul

Every night

I’m the last blacksmith of love

Every day

I cast your passions into a silver kiss

I galvanize your golden skin with my rare lips

The alloy of your hugs gives me steel courage

And at the end of each tiring laborious day

I melt into your arms

Like an undiscovered love-metal 

Swallow This Poem Fast!

This poem is not meant to be read

but swallowed

Like a bitter medicine

For an undiagnosed incurable illness

My love,

My verses have no power of memory

No muscle to fight demons of oblivion

So swallow it fast

Before it’s eaten away

By hungry strangers on the street

Time Jump

I wish time jumps

From

9.00 pm to 6.00 am

Every evening

And I could safely save

All my nights in some time bank

To be used later

For us to be together.

Therapy Room

Surrounded

By four ear-like walls

I sit in my chair

At my clinic

Like an old phonograph

Recording grief in each session

Tuning them all into songs

In my head

−      Sometimes sad

−      Sometimes hopeful

At the end of every week

I collect enough songs

To play an orchestra

Or compose symphonies

Ah!

But then

There are songs

That come from you

And I can’t help but play them

Over and over again

At the end of every songful day.