Sunday, May 8, 2011

Finding Me-

In the evening mists
Somewhere between the laughter's of school children
Over the lands of the setting sun
Or even in the words of a song of languages unknown

I look for myself

As the evening passes by
Draped in a haze
I silently stay beneath a tree
Incognito, caressing my new found loneliness

In Salinger's Nine Stories page fifty three
In all the photographs that you took of me
In the silence of the evenings, in mystified seas
In every poem that you wrote with all last lines erased carefully
In that invisible great man that you wanted me to be
In your brooding poetic gaze
In our loves morbidity
And all that is yours left with me

If you ever do find
The human that was me
Let me know

I am still looking for myself.

How I Wish

You know there are times when I see the sun-set somewhere far

And feel it on me like the warmth of your hands on my face.

For that moment I wish that this was the only memory I was left with.

All my poetry is prosaic compared to this foible emotion you manage to garner in me.

I wish I could weave my words along the setting sun and your hands filling the voids of my heart.

Like the way it did on a distant dusk in the grasses of Botanical Garden, Calcutta

As you lay beside me looking at the sky

I wish moments could be made into words and people into poetry.

I wish…