RIVULETS OF THOUGHTS - Cascading emotions

Dreams Walk In Shame

So little survives the relentless onslaught of time that flew,

Those few that do, become memories and grow into,

Colossal sand dunes that pluck grains of sand,

From tilted hourglasses, that never liked to stand.

We look at the heavens and wait with parched throats,

Like survivors of a Sunken Ship, stranded on Life-boats.

Seeking anonymity; perish and die, in fly by moments of acceptance.

And slip into oblivious embraces, in a sense of perceived reluctance.

The rain forest canopies that spread blankets of shade,

Embellished with exotic orchids that bloom at the top.

Serene, greens. Will the wilderness, come to our aid?

No, not this far into the desert. I shouldn't have strayed.

No homing pigeons here to carry out messages,

Out in the desert, only Vultures that prey. They pray,

For our flesh to be dry and rotting, stuck to our bones.

You might tell me,

It all happens for the good, keep walking in the heat,

Persuade me to seek the destined oasis with my bruised feet,

That's your way of lifting my heart, comforting my spirit.

The mind is vulnerable as it teeters on the edge,

Like a lumber truck that's navigating a tricky precipice.

When the spirit of happiness in your heart remains a virgin,

Awaiting fruit bearing events that never come,

An endless wait, like a lover who fails to ravish his lover.

Things that are awaited with open arms,

Things that are never meant to be, like a debt-ridden farmer's

Timid and hopeful eyes, pointed towards the skies.

That awaits the fickle minded, monsoon showers.

Uncertainty!

The one able, stronger limb, entangled and entrapped,

in sea reeds. Trapped away from alive, strapped.

The rungs laced with deception, Surfaces, serene and calm,

Always managing to stay out of the grasp of the palm.

Where abundant fresh-air beckons our starved lungs.

First steps towards probability leading us in circles,

While bisected paths lead to verdant mazes.

The beaten path that leads to the hill top.

Nothing is perhaps as passionate as a Lonely house atop,

Occupied by intimate lovers with irreconcilable differences.

In the morning, the fog, stealthily goes around the cottage,

And sits on the picturesque patch of grass at the doorstep,

Like the silent cat returning after a night's stroll,

After visiting the window panes in "The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock.

And when a Gazelle with a golden tail, waits,

As the doorknob of the front door turns, it awaits.

But runs back into deep woods, never to be spotted again.

The chase with no fruition, the wait was in vain.

And you stand there alone from where you hoped to touch,

The silver lining in the silver clouds.

Right at that wretched moment, for further torment,

The thin mountain air carries a cacophony of chaos,

to the doorsteps of your ears.

Terrible music!

And by now your mind is numb and sleepy,

The clouds and the mist carry only dampness,

The dampened spirit, drowsy in its way, it sees.

Like eyes awakened after a deep night's sleepy curse,

Morning rays that trickle past the window curtains.

Ruthlessly prick the eyes.

The grip of it all eludes the clasp or grasping by blind hands,

By slippery fingers.

And the verses die at the tip of the pen,

When your beloved dreams undress

Stripped of their modesty,

And they walk the walk of shame.

Naked dreams.

Dreams naked.

Naked!

Shameful!

Like a Concubine's freedom to love...

-Harish Vaid

Wow, this last few weeks, after I mentioned my interest to enter the book to Watty's the kinda love and support that I have received. From you all, from people miles away, a family of my own. I am overwhelmed :) Thank you, I appreciate it. A lot.

A dedicate this one to someone who has supported me like a true patron since the day she stumbled across my work. Sabiha_X Thank you Sab