Graphic

in Milibhagat with mradul

The Best Paintings in the World Are Those

Where colours stay intact and don't blend

and with people spattered over, like those solitary colours

isn't this world, one of those paintings ?

White, Black and Brown together without mixing

A world which the artist can easily mend

and the blank spaces in the painting need not be filled

for there is always an elegance in emptiness

It helps when the paintings don't move

So they become new a thousand times for you

and a thousand times you fall over and pass by

without noticing how they, and you, have changed together.

And these stories they tell get better with time

Differentiating themselves from what the artist drew

they travel to far off places like people

and come back, only to laugh at how they all began.

This flat surfaced world enchants us

And keeps us happily locked within itself

like how it does not matter to those colors,

how they look from far away

The Middle is the Toughest Part

- in Milibhagat with Mradul

The dusk falls lightly on the king
and doesn't care for the peasant
perhaps it has always been just that.
only dusk. and nothing that obscures things.

The evening is a mellow time
to kill slowly, savouring the morsels
i want to ask you so much
but i just cant .

My name doesnt mean a thing
and my mind slowly withers away
dreams are strolling on the night beach.
they dont want to be a part of me

The middle is the toughest part
and it doesnt go away easily
why is it that we have to work so hard
for the simplest things

Each creation is meant to break down
deconstructed back to mud and water
perhaps thats why sometimes when we wake up
dying quietly is the only thing that makes sense

The Four Horsemen

Three horsemen at the end of time
Are friends that I have left behind
The fourth horseman rides forth
For other prey and absent friends

The four horsemen at the dawn of time
Herald the beginning of the world
They are thoughts and ideas that don't die
While other horses wait to fly

The four horsemen at the end of time
Ride away in search of glory
They gallop across the universe
And are part of every story

Three horsement I leave behind
They go in their own directions
They ride north, east, and west
The horsemen ride without rest

The four horsemen in the middle
Are friends you can never replace
These horsemen will stay with you
And they'd never change their face

Uneasy Love

in milibhagat with Mradul

Tonight, the mist creeped into my room,

smelling sweetly of dark winter nights.

and i wondered what is it about you,

that makes me want to stop forever.

Tonight, the moon climbs silently up the sky,

and it reminds me of the time that wont return.

of the time that wont be

however i might yearn.

This night if it ends would steal,

all the things i wanted to feel.

All the things that talk to me will stay behind

just like you.

This dawn when it breaks will take,

all my dreams that would never complete.

Why has the night in all its beauty

grown so heartless?

The song that swims uneasily inside,

leaves a destructive path that wakes me.

and i find that nothing has changed,

except. I have a memory more.

The Slowness of Summer

in Milibhagat with Mradul


A warm unforgiving rain falls upon us all
Agitated fingers rest on a crumbling wall
A singular light bulb on the lonely terrace
and a cupboard filled with talking mothballs.

Last year I saw some fireflies in a dream
Pregnant with moonlight
Only an unheeded light bulb knows
The unbearable being-ness of light

Staring at the slowness of summer
And deciphering it's colour
Fingers slowly turn into a fist
And weary feet move subconsciously

Mincing dreams carefully
To accommodate them in paltry pockets
I turn my eyes to the dark sky
And fill them with rain water

The Water Bottle And The Candle In The Darkness

in milibhagat with mradul

for the orange on my table
and the water bottle beside it
for the evening in my head
and no strength to fight it

for the rock song in the dead
and the urgency to ride it
for the candle in the darkness
and no desire to light it

is it about us anymore
or the dreams that went by
is it about the empty street
or no reason left to die

is it about the muddy river
and the kites above that fly
is it about sleepless eyes
and no tears left to dry

Departure

-Mradul and self

I need life like a ton of bricks
A beggar's bag of magic tricks
Where a simple sigh would suffice
I look forward to a tragic flick

A flick with an orange autumn bridge
Atop a forest, quiet and thick
and watch the birds return again
to the place they sleep, and talk and sit

I'll make a house with leaves and sticks
I never liked the smell of bricks
When I'm needed to move ahead
I'll settle down in the place I pick

In an open field i long to die
Beside some tree and maybe you
wherever i go whatever i do
this is one dream that wont get big