The Red and the Blue

Pic : Self

i only
exist on paper,
the rest is just
a play of time,
my entire existence
funneled,
into blue drops
falling
one at a time,

seeping into
the non-judgemental,
virgin
white viens
of a paper,
that at its worst
will gracefully
yellow
with time,

looking for
a permanent home,
before the red
in these
live viens,
turns blue
with an inevitable
end in time,

knowing
when that happens,
the indigo blue
which bleeds today,
will come to bear
the crimson glow,
of that
which was once,
red and alive.

© vidursahdev 2019

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Unexplained

Pic : Self

The reasons
we meet,
quite often
unknown,

till long
after,
the parting
has happened,

questions
i still ask,
holding
your picture in hand,

who decided
for me,
that i didn’t
need you no more,

for if i am
the master,
of my own
karmas,

am i not entitled
to choose my own,
teachers, mates,
and soul-mates,

and happily
or unhappily,
complete
my given life’s chores,

for if the results
are mine,
and so
is the atonement,

who decided
for me,
that your presence
was no longer a must,

and if it is
all about,
a preordained
destiny,

then why
give me more emotions,
than that puppet
on a string,

what
could i have done,
to extend
your stay for longer,

a karmic connection
was good,
but from you
i needed more,

and sometimes
this game puzzles me,
when my soul
admittedly yearns for more.

© vidursahdev 2019

The Lies we don’t Speak

Pic : Self

You say,
control yourself
for there is
no point
walking down
a path
that isn’t
even there,

and i try
the hardest
i ever have,
to egolessly do
what you
so politely,
ask me
to do,

but success
is of course,
a completely
different matter,
when it comes
to intrinsic
matters
of the heart,

and so
i discover
the middle path,
where i
inwardly smile,
at every
passing
thought of you,

and smile
a false succes
everytime we meet,
but atone
for the lie,
by no longer
looking you
in the eye.

© vidursahdev 2019

Musings: True Love

Pic : Self

…and true love is

bereft
of the need
to receive back,
what
to even
begin with,
is at best
a one way flow,

bereft
of the need,
to balance
the scales,
to prove
to the world
that it is equally
weighed too,

bereft
of the need
to be acknowledged,
as something
higher,
than the slope
towards which
it naturally flows,

bereft
of the need
to defend itself,
against
all the colors
and reflections,
which tend
to mar its glow,

bereft
of the egoistical ‘I’
or the goal
of a directional ‘you’,
it knows
no hows and whys,
and its existence
seeks nothing more.

© vidursahdev 2019