Image credits – pixabay.com

HOUSE

Walls, doors and windows
that do not talk back
have made a tacit agreement
to be my companion for life
The walls, the wall papers,
the pinks, the whites, that
please you and get my architect
applauded, have only grown
tired of my averted eyes
Though new, polished and
shiny have failed to enthral me
and are only a plebeian’s dream
I wish I could close the doors
and windows of this elegantly
designed house, just like I have
shut the doors of my obliterating
heart and allowed it to fail
with no permanent hope
to ever recover
I have also built walls in my
mind, dull and colourless,
refusing to address my desires
No house can be my home
I have lost the will to stay put
I only stir carelessly in the fragile air

SEA

The sea doesn’t speak to me
but in its wave I have seen
layers of my dreams unfolding
I have seen hint of colours when
its water touches light and
crashes on the shore with a roar
too spontaneous to be deciphered
I have seen the sun rise from it
dance on top of it all day, changing
its hues and levels of brightness
Sometimes letting the clouds
obscure it but showing its
silver beam at the edges
I have solemnly witnessed the
splendid sunset too
We are not alone, the sea has
its seagulls and ships, also a
kingdom hidden beneath with
treasures unknown
I have a handful of sand, a couple
of friends and a mass of unknown
faces drowning me at the shore
But I know the sea still hears me
and perhaps the thousands
around me too, else how does
it has the strength to beckon
us from miles away
I never get tired of the sea, or
the seagulls, its endless sand,
the roaring waves, the sun, the
sky, the interactions of water,
wind and light
I never stop going to the sea
and no matter how many
poems I write about the sea
it will never be enough

I LIKE OLD WALLS

I like old walls, new ones are
shiny and polished but the
old ones have a tale to tell
Mine have the marks of me
growing up, I find one in an
old villa with crayon doodling
Then there is one with the
marks of photo frames, nails
where perhaps a map hung,
A map that must be no longer
valid, with places that
have changed names and
borders that are relocated
Walls that are faded and
blotched but are still breathing
I wonder how they take it all
and stand tall over the years
They must have witnessed an
era, experienced an episode or
been someone’s lifelong companion
They come from the other side of
the world blethering about bygone
days. When I stand before them I
can feel the past defusing into the
present. So, I do like the old walls
The new ones are nothing like them

ROCK AND WAVES

I am the rock caught in the
cobwebs of time
resting peacefully by the shore
The waves of sea clash against
me, roaring endlessly with the
scent of a wanderer that has
travelled many lands, bringing
with it the roughness, coldness
and passion of its journeys,
It blethers the stories I have
paused to hear, its adventures
quite inexplicable to me,
Its constant motion against
my stagnancy
Its familiarities and my
bewilderments
I wait for it to escape the
landscape into the wild,
into the depths, with a
promise to return
I cannot tame it or captivate it
but I shall wait for it till eternity
For it to come back in any form
and madly clash on the rough
terrains, with the warmth of a
traveller and the freshness
of its discoveries