Another Rainy Day

Pic : Self

The mistiness
in the air,
just after
fresh rain,

with the earth
somewhat
satiated,
yet longing
for more,

the clouds
still recovering,
wondering
if more
they could give,

triggering memories
of the little dew drops,
that would slowly,
form on
your skin.

© vidursahdev 2019

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Red Red Wine

Pic : Self

i hand you
a tissue,
and in that
moment
of clumsy
confusion,
it seems
the best
i can do,

and
as you
combatively
attack,
the lethal
red wine
drops,
on the battlefield
of your
precious
white top,

i sheepishly
wonder,
if
the spontaneous
adolescent
kiss,
could have
maybe
waited,

till that
sultry
bordeaux
had drowned,
beyond
the inviting
precincts
of your
mouth.

© vidursahdev 2019

A poet’s heart

i too
weave webs
like spiders
do,

but mine
are not
meant
to entangle you,

more like
hammocks
that sway
with the winds,

raw ropes
knotted
with cumulative
experiences,

So come
rest a while
and share
my world,

mingle
with me
through
my words,

see
what you see
for i’ve nothing
new to show,

but i see
what i’ve seen
and
i weave them so,

what exists
exists
as
it always will,

i can
neither add
nor
reduce what is,

but a break
i offer
from what
you think,

to see
what you see
in what i
have seen,

and tempt
you to tell me
what i might
have missed.

© vidursahdev 2019

Conversations with a Leaf

Pic: Self

I take
and take
and take,
from the soil
the sun
and the air,

for that’s all
I seem to do,
and my intricate
veins shine
with these
selfish gains,

but I’ve heard
whispers
in the winds,
that there
is something
I give back too,

though
it seems invisible
to all visible eyes,
and so its value
forever
undefined,

a happy thought
nevertheless,
which abundantly
cheers me,
in these
yellow times,

for taking
more and more,
throughout
from others,
was what I thought
I only did,

and it’s
redeeming
to know,
of the existence
of a
possibility,

wherein
inspite
of my little,
inconspicuous existence,
I too had
something to give.

© vidursahdev 2019

Reality and Illusions

this
that i am,
remains a mix
of apparent reality
and a temporary illusion,

the senses
deceptive,
and the sensed
an illusion,

matter exists,
erodes
and regenerates,
shelled identities
do so too,

am i real
to the earth
that bears my weight,

or am i
just its extension
till it calls me back,

for nothing
has the power,
to alter that truth,

the logic
of the process
often so unclear,

yet, not all
can turn
to that
life supporting dust,

for there is more
to me,
within this matter
which seems
to live,

and even when
reality prevails
to return this cloak
whence it came,

the mysterious secret
that has no name
but lives in these eyes
to experience life,

will reveal itself
beyond the face
that my mirror
so obviously reflects,

till then we exist
under this sun,
a reality and an illusion
as two in one,

often wondering,
humouring each other,
about which
is which one.

© vidursahdev 2019

The Ego, and Me

The black blips
of the ego,

often haunt those
of the mind,

thoughts
get distorted,

as ambushed
intentions,

reflect
muddied waters,

sanity is
rare,

but sometimes
blooms,

like a lotus
without a care,

returning
the clarity,

that
the ego is only,

a self summoned
chaos,

and its
within my power,

to ignore
its existence,

and to return
to a state,

of peace
that i seek.

© vidursahdev 2019