Because

because, swollen eyes have dreams within-molten, visceral tartar like

Because, world is shrinking, yet distances are growing

because, technology replaces touch

because, people with feelings are immideiately typecasted as sentimentalist

Because, birds, babies and bats are no more musical

because, beauty resides in the heart of plastic

because, primroses are not poetic any longer

because, sarcam hides more than it reveals, yet keeps communication alive

because, happiness is yet to become a popular brand among the youth

because, there is nothing that mastercard cant buy

because, voices that objected have long disappeared

because, giving up is so much easier than giving in,

because, words are toys-manipulated by anyone and everyone

because apples are not oranges, they're infected with deadly H1N1

because, most deaths happen in hospital premises itself

because, gravitational forces doesnt explain sudden dizziness and loss of breath.

because, mortality is a pain, and immortality a tragic coincidence

because, end is approaching steadily near.

because.

Hysteria

geranium mornings,
Mulberry nights.
Spring in the air,
sparkle in the sky.
We walk by the peach trees,
wearing pink robe of desire.
with dreamy eyes,
fixed upon the skyline.
a touch of dew,
sway the maverick leaves.
melting blushingly,
into a whiff of breeze.
butterflies gyrate,
to the melodies of spring.

amen

In dark alleys, across the subway, stone-eyed men walk with a hunchback, and grey umbrellas. Humming tragedy in chorus, to fill up awkward silences building like cowebs on their dusty minds. a vermillion spider infests in the prickly gaze of their unappreciated talent, and trickles down to the feet of street urchin. mocking smiles are exchanged, as they fathom hope in glittering golden pyre. Odourless blue toes, stretch on the floor of a bottomless ozone. Pain-wretched clouds gather in mourning, passing a tear from one to another.

An elegy is composed and roses are arranged.

a prayer is recited, in two-shaded baritone


A star falls unblossomed in papercups of sand.

time smells of disease, in abysmally sinking universe.

unearth

tiny egg-shaped dreams
turn into relics of a memory pristine
of cicadas turning into moths
of wood burning, slow and green.
of musk spiraling into grainy sky
and flowers wilting bone-dry
A house tumbles down,
into hillock of nameless sorrow
a bird perches atop
in a comfortless stupor
and croaks an unyielding song
looking into pale yellow horizon
scraping little pieces of earth
to see a speckle of her reflection

Morning appears in its blemished robe.
Gaping at sun to unleash history untold.
Bleeding questions from the ink of
Horizon.
Beseeching gods to protect her uncouth son;
From the devils hiding beneath her
Flawed skin-
As she toys phantasmal dreams in shades of pink


Her skinny hands tied up with boundless
secrets.
Of an island marooned and it's nightly keepers.
Yet, she rushes towards a future
incongruent
Like dew spreading its legs on the windowpane
A morning, like many mornings refuse to settle.
Her life replete with a child and a chisel.

painting-Amrita Shergill
its degeneration- shewolf