Molten eternities, p.1
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       Molten Eternities, p.1

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Molten Eternities

  Molten Eternities

  Short poems by Sanam

  Dedicated to my little man


  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,


  they would speak of a love

  that is familiar.

  A love that you would’ve endured..


  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,


  he lends a pinch of innocence


  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..


  (..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...


  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,


  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,


  the wizardry of her eyes..


  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..


  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.


  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..


  Time happens to all of us
r />   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.


  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...


  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..


  On Saturday noons, as you take a nap,

  I sometimes browse through,

  the letters that you wrote me.

  Years ago.

  They talk of sunsets, that belong,

  to you and I.

  Just, you and I.

  And often,

  when I finish reading them,

  I lie on my side, and, look at you,

  sleeping next to me.

  Unaware, and lost in a dream,

  you assure me yet again,


  a sunset awaits you and I.

  Just you and I..


  There will come a day,

  when you and I

  will wake up from this earth.

  Only to be strangers once again,

  on the other side..

  Of perfect love

  Love is just a

  half-uttered promise, and,

  a leap of faith.

  It was never meant to be perfect..

  Two decades

  And then she appears,

  from around the far corner.

  Rushes past the people walking by.

  Spots me from a distance,

  waiting for her.

  Waves to me and seals it with a smile.

  Two decades, after I first met her,

  she continues to find ways,

  for me to fall for her..

  Growing old

  Each evening, at tea time,

  the tremble in their ageing fingers,

  made their tea cups rattle

  against the saucers.

  They had finally,

  grown old together..


  A sunlit winter’s morning awaits

  us in a few years from now.

  Newspaper in hand, I will

  fumble through my pockets,

  trying to spot my reading glasses.

  The radio will play a song.

  Our favorite one.

  Sitting besides me, you will hum along.

  Your cup of tea, would outlast the song.

  Our love, too, would outlast those vows.

  For the only promise that ever mattered,


  to grow old together..


  Many years ago,

  you held my hand,

  and together, we claimed,

  a few stars in the night sky.

  Ever since, there has existed

  a constellation.

  That belongs to you and I..

  Those unsuitable words

  One day, I shall write a tale

  using those words

  that never made it to my poems.

  Those crossed out nobodies

  bereft of glory, and rhyme

  left hopelessly clinging

  to crumbling pages stacked away

  in a dust sprinkled attic..

  Truth or dare

  When we are done with the wine,

  let's spin that bottle,

  for the truth may reveal itself,

  if dared.

  And if our silences defeat us, again,

  lets shackle the unsaid,

  in the cursed bottle, and,

  throw it away

  into the darn’ d ocean..


  We will meet again, I promise,

  in another world, far away from this one.

  A world where time will stand still,

  for you and I,

  and unlike this lifetime,

  we will not run out of heartbeats..


  A dense winter fog shrouds the

  jungle. In it, trees stand tall.

  Their shredded barks

  smeared with tacky goblets of pain

  that shrivel and stick

  to the aching trunks.

  Pricked by the winter

  the trees are hurting, yet

  they remain silent.

  Spineless foliage from the neighbourhood,

  unwanted and unrequited,

  crawls up the ailing trees,

  leering and molesting them before

  curling itself into a noose. Strangling and choking,

  the trees. Those trees are hurting, yet

  they remain silent.

  The fog doesn’t relent , the wind

  sharpens its edges. Howling

  through the columns callously

  ripping apart unhealed scabs off those

  pain infested trees.

  The trees bleed, yet again.

  Their agony curdling into new goblets

  that run down like teardrops,

  along the bruised limbs of

  a defiant jungle.

  The trees are hurting,

  yet they remain silent.

  For they know that winter shall pass.

  It always does..


  I adore evenings.

  For they make wonderful companions.

  Keen listeners, they seldom,

  interrupt my silences.

  Like a caring friend,

  they tame the rowdy ocean too,

  if it bothers me the slightest,

  with its roars and rants.

  Then, as the night takes over,

  they whisper a soft goodbye,

  and quietly melt away with the

  vanishing sun...


  Sunsets, have a charm about them.

  They squeeze the noise,

  out of dizzy moments.

  Sedate them with lullabies,

  and sprinkle them,

  along the ocean shore,

  for you and I to tread.

  Then, as the soggy sand

  shrivels into our footprints, the

  timid waves rush up, and caress away,

  any clinging burdens, off our feet.

  And that's all that 'love' ever needed.


  From the other side of the night,

  there was
a knock.

  One after the other, they,

  rattled the tin roof,

  as if to check,

  if the night had fallen asleep.

  They were rebels, perhaps,

  intent on quashing the night's decorum,

  and, it's silence too.

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