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     Molten Eternities, p.1

       Sanam
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Molten Eternities








Molten Eternities

Short poems by Sanam













Dedicated to my little man
‘Arjun’
















Don’t love with borrowed poems

Poetry is a half-thrill,
like all those things that are rehearsed,
and, chiseled into a glorious perfection.

So, if you were to fall in love,
for the very first time,
let it not be in the shadow,
of a borrowed verse.

Set yourself ablaze, and run
through the dense woods.
And when you are done with it,
look back at and pluck the verses
from your own scars.

The words may be half-burnt, perhaps,
from the ordeal,
yet,
they would speak of a love
that is familiar.

A love that you would’ve endured..

Conversations

The best conversations I make
are with my seven year old son.

Each time we chat,
I add a bit of a meaning to his
inquisitive little world,
and,
he lends a pinch of innocence
to
my all grown up world...
For you

There are days when this world,
overwhelms me.
Shadows defy sunlit afternoons, as
they encroach every bit
of my skin.

Unsure fingers turn fidgety,
as do my anxious knees.
My fretful heart, too, skips its
rhythm, drenched in concern.

Then, you appear,
from the far corner of the street,
and wave to me.

And every bit of me, somehow,
falls into place...




A second chance

One day, when I run out of the ledge,
I will pause for a moment, and
look back.

Just to make sure that a sunset
is keeping you warm.
The goodbye too,
will be a mere whisper,
left on the ripples of a warm breeze.

Then, I will have to
jump off ‘time’
into the awaiting chasms of
an eternity.

A second chance perhaps,
to love you again,
in some other universe..







‘Time’
(..and again)

The night curls inwards, and,
spits out a dawn.

The sun melts away the day, and,
a dusk is born.

That is all there is to 'time'







Moments are just like people

Moments, are just like people.

A few friendly ones always stick around,
eager, to lend a cheer.

Some others, mere acquaintances,
pass us by with an inglorious indifference.
Unworthy of being remembered again. Ever.

Then, there are the spiteful ones.
The foes.
Leaping out at us from the wilderness
in our spines.
Reminding us of the scars that exist,
on our skins, and,
why they won’t heal,

anytime soon...




Superstition

Love, too, is superstitious.

It is known to have tied
several wishful pledges on to
dying stars..






You can’t have all of it

That night,
time trickled down on me.
Shy moments,
pricking my skin, one drop at a time.

Indulged, I reached out for it,
arms stretched.
Hoping to hold it in an embrace.

It sprinkled down on me,
a bit longer, then,
withdrew.
And, moved on.

You cannot have all of me. It said...




My beating heart

Often, when you hold my hand, and
walk besides me,
along the ocean shore,
I wonder who’s the loudest.

The raging ocean, or,
my beating heart..




Her eyes

Often when I am adrift,
thinking about her.

My words sneak out for a wander,
to the far flung reaches of the cosmos.
Exploring distant worlds,
hopeful of finding shimmering stardust,
befitting,
the wizardry of her eyes..





Sandcastles

Often, on sleepless summer nights,
I take a stroll,
along the drowsy pier.

Often, I find the ornate moonshine,
and the seduced ocean,
wrapped up in a clandestine romance.

Shimmering, silver streaks of moonlight,
riding the polite waves,
all the way to the sandy shore.

As if, to light up the crumbling sandcastles,
abandoned by the days..



Of love

Time is stubborn.
It loathes footmarks left across its chest,
by carefree travellers.
Footprints, annoy time.

So come, hold my hand.
Let's tread all over 'Time'.
Denting it a bit.
It ought to know,
that love is obstinate too.

That love seldom cared,
to look back at those footprints,
it had left behind,
on that wet sand..




Loose ends

The thing about loose ends is that
they shrivel and curl with time.

Tying themselves up
in knots..



Lifetimes

Days, like spent candles,
spill into molten evenings.
Only, for callous nights to take over,
and freeze the twinkling twilights,
into a monotonous black.

The nights, too, are short-lived,
burnt down, by a furious sun.
Lifetimes will pile up,
one year after another.

You and I, will run out of time too.
Time, that never ticked.

Time, that always stood still..



Riding a rainbow home

Often, afloat an airplane,
when I see them from
the other side I am tempted,
to step out and walk over those clouds.

Joyfully hopping from
one to the other.
Then, as I edge
closer to horizon, and,
I run out of clouds,
I hope to ride
a friendly rainbow, and get
home by sun down..


The busker

He played on.

Late into the cold night.
There wasn't an audience,
for him to impress, in that lonely subway.

Just the odd sympathetic passerby,
and, the infrequent chime,
of a solitary coin,
hitting his guitar cover.


Wilderness

Don't be fooled,
by the flesh and bones that make us.

For you and I,
are riddled with wilderness.

Each time, I utter a word,
I can hear this wilderness within me,
whistling, and echoing,
through the throbbing gorges,
that hide beneath my skin..


Memories

Time happens to all of us
in fragments.
Big and tiny.

It does so,
for you and I can hold on to,
the fragments,
that had mattered the most to us..




Time Zones

I have tied a message,
to a half-spent evening, and,
hurled it towards you.

Untie it,
as the evening goes past you.

And whisper one back to me,
on the other half of it...


The city streets

Each morning, I see countless dreams,
walk the city streets.

Half-etched, half-fulfilled
they toil all day, chiseling away,
on destiny and time.

Some days, time runs out, and,
on others, destiny.

So they all wake up the next morning,
to walk those city streets,
all over again..



Molten eternities

Molten eternities, often, escaped,
the frozen recesses of the cosmos,
only, to be broken down,
into throbbing moments,
sprinting through vanishing years,
measured by lifetimes.

Time,
the double paced villain...


Locks tied on city bridges

Through the long winter nights,
and the harsh summer noons,
the burdened locks, dangled on...

Guarding the fleeting pledges for lovers,
who seldom returned...






Worries

Then, in the middle of our conversation,
I feel her fingers gently twine around mine,
as she draws close and,
rests her head on my shoulders.

And just like the setting sun in the distance,
all my worries,
take a plunge too..




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