The Long Winter

glacier_person_cold_alaska_14702_2560x1024[1]

I found
Leaves shivering in cold,
and showing pattern,
I once traced on your skin…

I found
sky vomiting gold,
searching for tree,
under which we had our first kiss…

I found wind blowing
just to float me away
from today to yesterday…
when your fragrance used to linger on me…

They all reminded me,
how winter once used to be…
of time when nothing cold was painful,
since warmth of your breaths surrounded me…

Even moon used to bow
in an alley we used to meet in…
where I touched your hands first..
stars kissed your feet.

But this is not the winter
in which we weaved our dreams…

We’ve slipped far far away
from the mirror – our axis…
we no longer know what
kept our heart racing…

I keep looking for you,
in my present,
knowing I buried you,
out in the world for centuries
shutting myself in a coffin
holding sands of a last spring.

I found
sand mixing with the storm,
unraveling my tombstone,
on which you said once,
“You’ll never forgive me!”

Now, I find stars too,
complaining to me…
for I don’t share with them anymore,
what I wished for our destiny.

couple_snow_rain_love[1]

– Dedicated to lovers unaware of long stretches of glacial boundaries that often grow in between, post beautiful snowfall they dance in…

Image Credits:
1. Glacier_person_cold_alaska (wallpaperscraft.com)
2. Couple_snow_rain_love (hdwallpapers.im)

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Her Eyes

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“Eyes are portal to the soul.”
If you ever feel confused, or unsure,
and want to find out if you’ve really begun
to fall for someone,
then just ask yourself this…
how much you adore your beloved’s eyes…?
Enough, to dive deep in them and
make the world inside them your own?
Wish you enough, to see what they see,
what they reflect, what they rise and fall on?

My friend, told me that…
But I for one, never knew how one can ever describe the eyes….

I mean, how can you do it?
You gonna define its color…?
You gonna express how they shine…?
You gonna fall for its shape or its size..?
Or you gonna describe way they close and reopen…?

Like, what possibly any pair of eyes can do differently
that would make them stand apart
from countless others belonging to similar species…?

And then one day it struck me…
I knew one pair of eyes, perhaps, more than I knew mine.
It was the day I realized, “I know her enough…”
Too clichéd, yeah? I asked my self the same…
But it wasn’t like I fell for those beautiful gems,
right the moment I gazed into them.
It took its time. But to be honest…
It wasn’t fair, from beginning to the end.

I think, it’s really impossible to ignore
the raw beauty they possessed,
after all…

How could one possibly ignore one that saw the pain
like a sky mourning for the Sun after the rain…
Like reminding us, how often we don’t appreciate
worth of something until its far too late.
Eyes that would not just mourn but burn
the Sun within to set things right the way they can…
Applying herself like a dawn of hope in dark nights
of those who’d rather wish to sleep
forever under blankets of numbness post pain
than remaining awake to heal and change
for what’s left still, what can still be saved.

How could I have escaped the effect of eyes
that were inclined to see something positive,
something worth saving and cherishing
in every soul they ever met.
Like a sprout of a fragrance that leaves from the flowers
irrespective of whose surrounding they engage.
Eyes that saw things based on their intensity, their essence,
no matter caste, creed, color, background, ethnicity,
social status, or religious difference.
Like a wind tending the garden, touching all the flowers
with the love and grace, without splitting or grading them.

How can one turn an eye blind at way her eyes would see the world
like a living orchestra constantly producing symphonies…
Way her eyes would manage to see and read something to be learned
and kept as a part of soul out of even catastrophe…
Like her eyes would know exactly where to look, to find
a voice in silence, to find expressions in stoic and music in noise…
In totally bland and apparently common things of life,
that we tend to ignore trivially… they discover sense and poetry.

I think I can define…
Its color…? They’re rainbows and butterfly mosaics combined…
in a way that one can never keep its full spectrum confined.
They give life to world, leaking warmth in seams.
Its shine…? They’re an ocean with sparkling glitter of skies.
Reflecting both the golden hues of day and moonlight’s silver gown in night.
They give hope, they speak of light.
Its shape…? They’ve a shape of the sea shells, enclosing pearls within,
they’re made to carry even anomalies, that can emerge into exquisite.
Its size..? They’re limitlessly deep… pathway to the cosmos,
way to the galaxies, deep and wide than anything ever seen.
They give intensity to those who dwell just on cursory or surfaces…
And way they close and reopen…? Well, they keep themselves open like wells,
to contain the wishes, to encapsulate the moments, the vivid dreams,
moreover, they open like the wings of angels… determined to help spirits.
And they close on like the gates of palace and castles, saving everything inside,
from those who’re unfriendly and intrusive. Who try to malign a soul or mind.

I just love the way they sees things…
And never once yet it happens that they rise with a pride
or drown with keeping an air of numbness or vanity…
They are curious like the baby’s, wishing to know more and yet
as still and weary as an elderly’s piercing the hides to dwell deep.

Yes, I know from her eyes, that I love the world
that she inhabits in them, all that’s read by them,
world that these eyes reflect on,
but above all, I love the way they convert pain
into something positive,
way they forgive, way they rejoice, way they stare deep inside,
way they make one realize…
there’s more to world then what meets the eyes.
I do indeed, love her eyes…

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– Dedicated to the beloved’s eyes… (this poem is an ensemble piece of several small poems written on same theme).

Image Credits:
1. Soul Washout by Clarisse Litiatco (Deviantart)
2. Colored Eye Drawing by Kate Louise Powell (Pinterest)

Love Inaccessible

This poem is a response to Tayyeba Irum‘s pitch perfect poem: The Lost Ones.

The Kiss - Eleanor Hofer - http://modernarti5t.com/

Your love is like a spell enchanting – a miracle, and I, 
I am the one lost behind the curtains.

Your love,
is like the galaxies in a cosmos,
enriched of stars…
And I,
I am like a satellite
with lost orbit.

Your love,
is like overwhelming rays of the star,
enlightening…
And I,
I am like an ice glacier
in cave blacken.

Your love,
is like a silver shower from the moon
at the night’s darkest…
And I,
I here am like a pebble
hidden in foggiest.

Your love,
is like a breeze chilling,
running wild and ruling…
And I,
I am like a flame in lantern,
flickering – dwindling.

Your love,
is like a dream
worth always remembering…
And I,
I am one who has found
yet no place for resting.

Your love,
is like a dew perching from above,
introducing spring…
And I,
I am like a leaf separated from tree,
since last falling.

Your love,
is like an only book worth reading,
time again when I’m sinking.
And yet, I’m…
A goldfish,
in lost memory
of where I keep it.

Cover paper - "Invincible", single by Muse (Band)

Your love is like an angel – pious in all aspects, and I, 
I am like a sinner seeking long for a forgiveness.

– Dedicated to the love supreme and lovers invisible.

Photo Credits:

1. Cover paper – “Invincible“, single by Muse (Band)
2. The Kiss (1994) – Eleanor Hofer

Her Place

http://www.wallsave.com/wallpapers/1366x768/kissing/134147/kissing-love-artwork-faces-wires-134147.jpg

What else could be a more pleasing sight…
Than lovers embracing one another’s light?

Her mind is a city of sprawling lights
where memories book the hotels,
moments seek a drive.
Her values cover the residence
as aesthetics own a palace high,
her grace resides in gardens,
as regrets keep a shrine.
Her pride has a castle on peak of the mountain,
as canyons depict her tolerance infinite.
Her fantasies ride and float in woods and lakes,
and conversing with the clouds are her dreams
that own the sky-line.

Yet when he is around the corner,
she shuts all lights,
and opens all the doors,
hinting a way for him to enter,
but yet not to experience her design…
Not from eyes,
since she desires him
to feel the walls like they are the caves
belonging to an ancient time,
where etched lines reveal the history
and narrate the stories,
beneath the closed confines…

Where dark corners reveal the events,
lone-some alleys have graffiti
that foretell the secret of time,
the disclosure of her demons
along inhibitions divine…
Wells have the storage of tears,
her set-backs too have
subtle monuments aligned.
She desires him
to wander inside like a blind.
To maneuver his way,
touching everything,
and leaving his sign.

She desires him
to enlighten her world with his own light.
He to be the one to water the gardens,
to nurture the twines.
He to be the one to climb the walls,
to re-orchestrate the lines.
He to be the one to cross the valleys,
and to embark on boats
that lead beyond the pines…
He to be the one to redraw the map
of her universe and stars sublime,
like before his arrival
they’re never defined.

Behind these are her desires,
like all the stars covering the sky…
So that when light erupts from them,
it’s difficult to know
where now wanderer is,
where he’s not in sight.
Since he’s everywhere now,
there’s no place,
where he didn’t leave his color,
no place,
where he didn’t leave his shine.
Her mind became his heart,
his heart, a place of her to reign.

Jarek Puczel, Lovers

Her mind became his heart,
his heart, a place of her to reign.

– Dedicated to a place of one that is engulfed and enchanted by the presence of the other…

Art/ Image credits:

1. Adam Martinakis, Last kiss
2. Jarek Puczel, Lovers

The Lovesick Gentleman

In face of all uncertainties, he wants his love for her to remain sure.

In face of all uncertainties, he wants his love for her to be a surety.

He wants to keep her love
embodied like lines in the palm
that whether time follows or not,
remains etched to him, always
reminding him of her.

He wants to bathe in her love
like a dry earth sunk in an incense,
before the rain perches from heaven,
for whether clouds ease or not,
he’s absorbed in her.

He wants to inscribe her love
like scratch of war gelled on body
that whether heals or not, leaves
perennial signature of ink that
reminds him of her.

He wants to preserve her love
like a character in poetic novel,
prose acquiring a life of its own,
for whether tale is happy or not,
he’s bound to her.

He wants to sink in her love
like a craziest secret, touching
depths of her unfathomable heart,
for whether world’s with him or not,
he remains with her.

He wants to carry her love
like monk carries the sanctity
image of the sustainer within self,
for whether enlightened or not,
he’s submitted to her.

He wants to be lost in her love
like an echo from days of the past
whirling around in crypts today,
that whether discovered or not,
still aches for her.

No uncertainty in the world
can keep apart two beings
that yearn to be together.

In face of physical boundaries
they would unite in consciousness.
In face of a mind distraction
they would unite in dreams – subconsciousness.
In face of sleep deprivation
they would unite in hallucinations.
And
In face of no consciousness
they’d still unite in a remembrance.

No wonder, he desired and yearned
for such stature of love.

Imagine a power you can…
Even one that can keep
beings physically apart,
Even one that can travel in time
to create a distance between the hearts…
Cannot keep souls apart,
since they’d still be together
as a silhouette in one mind,
as a fragment of history in another…
registered in time,
carved forever.

Valadmir Kush - Metaphorical Journey

No uncertainty in a world can keep two souls – once united in essence – as apart.

– Dedicated to love sickness and one of my favorite author Gabriel Garcia Marquez‘s subliminal work: “Love in the Time of Cholera

Art/ Image Credits:
1. Lovers of Forest – Stock-house Oil Painting
2. Valadmir Kush – Metaphorical Journey

Oh My Beloved!

I seek you my beloved, wherever I look. Come to me as "You", and not just as an illusion.

I seek you my beloved, wherever I look. Come to me as “You”, and not just as an illusion.

Don’t come to see me Oh beloved.
In days of the scorching heat.
Your veil betrays you and
invites the lover to find
refuge under your tresses.

I may desire them to be my shade permanent.

Don’t come to meet me Oh beloved.
In trance of the moonlit night.
Sparkles in your eyes giveaway
flames beneath your armor,
tempting me like a moth.

I may desire diving into ocean of fire and elixir.

Don’t come to call me Oh beloved.
In hours of contemplation & solace.
Chants of spell lure me to the
source, I crave writing a very
different poetry.

I may desire writing symphony for melting lips.

Don’t come near me Oh beloved.
In depths of the darkness.
Like an oyster, you heal me
in sheets, I wish to emerge
as the matchless glisten.

I may desire submitting myself in your service.

Don’t come to seek me Oh beloved.
In whirlpool of the wanderlust.
Your presence overpowers your
dreams, and I begin to seek a
stronger intoxication.

I may desire you to be a last wine in my chalice.

Still should you decide to come…
then come with all your might,
breaking all the rules,
forsaking all illusions…
perishing all sentries,
destroying all boundaries…
to stay forever in my embrace
forever in my sight.

To become my abode,
like my heart is thine,
so that you and I remain
no different,
like the colors that mix in
to create the light.

http://mysticisma.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/mysticism-blake-reunion-880x300.jpg

Don’t come, oh beloved, as I know not what I would do to make you stay.

– Dedicated to the beloved.

Image/ Art Credits:

1. Turkish Sufi Dance – Facebook Cover.
2. Mysticism Blake Reunion (mysticisma.com).

The Lover’s Call

What lover has of the beloved, and what lover craves more...

What lover has of the beloved, and what lover craves more…

My moments spent with you
are like trees that have
only seen the spring.
In night, I trace them again,
like a loyal gardener
watering the flowers,
to keep them unspoiled.

My conversations with you
are like a dance flamenco
or a salsa in ball.
In night, steps on my heart
like a hands of a veteran
performing on instrument,
rattling the soul beneath.

My all fights with you
are like juvenile tussles
of the teenage years.
In night, my pillow confesses
like an only pet subdued,
how much it desires a
partner to wrestle with.

My resentments with you
are like bridled candles
blazing in anguish.
In night, they burn and melt,
like an ice mountain in
sun-drenched day, resulting a
calmness post avalanche.

My memories with you
are like nostalgic songs,
music that never grows old.
In night, my mind replays
like the vignettes, of a flower
growing before my eyes
from a bud to full blown.

Yes, my beloved,
I confess that
you’re the last song that
I hum every night
before sleeping…

And you’re my last wish
before I step into
the realm of dreaming…

That these fingers
crave to slide
in those tresses
claiming each strand
as their own, like a wind,
they want to retain
the fumes
on the finger tips.

That these eyes desire
to see you, to admire you –
your simplicity and grace,
the benevolent charm,
lucid innocence,
with sparks
that grow in them like
pearls do in the sea-shells.

That these ears wish
to hear you singing,
the yesteryear songs.
Along endless narrations
of subliminal poetry
you choose so deliberately
to unsettle the restless
heart. Like a sea-breeze
tingling an already joyous
vacationist.

That these lips too
complain of their dryness
in your absence.
Like burgundy leaves
near crisp of breaking,
spending whole night
without a discourse
of heavenly mist.

That this head of mine
looks for a comfort
of your lap to spend
the solace of my days
and nights in,
like a canvas of a painter
it awaits you to captivate
and paste thy colors in.

That this heart of mine
seeks to sync the beats
to the rhythm of yours
pulse and the breaths,
that are taken under
the same roof,
being as close as a priest
with the holy figurine.

My love, I know not
what to say
to make you come close…
except this

that your presence in my life
is a fortune that I seek
each day, each night,
irrespective of dreams.

-x-x-x-

Let moon be full and its silver be abound. Let us meet under its glory to never be found.

Let moon be full, its silver be abound. Lets meet under such glory to never be found.

– Dedicated to the love song… that lover likes to hum every night.

Art/ Image Credits:
1. A Lover’s Dream – Synian
2. Lovers Dream Couple – Stock Wallpaper.