Grey

Mere shades of black,white
married disoriented
on a tarp of life

~

Thou art a fair soul
Thy love, a silver lining
etching my grey sky

~

Grim Greyness slithers
Yonder luminosity
below the darkling

Abstraction...

Clouds

Lucent, light, lofty
lighter than my every step,
I was walking on

~

My eyes open to
the silvered sky, grey clouds
and romancing gloom

~

He held her hand, soft
His eyes closed, a sigh, cloud
he held and thought of

In the wordly tempest of my callowness

In the worldly tempest of my callowness
I writhe with anguish of the purgatory,
within my weary heavenly body, I seek
felicity, nowhere to be found. Not in the eyes
of visionless progenitors, or I behold it in the men.

I shall call spade, a spade; here in an astute sphere
And there is a riot; of worlds, and of sensibility.
Rage, remorse and pride, fills up the ribs of men;
and with sensuality seeking out of the wedlock.
For a robust conscience, and a hue of remorsefulness.

A poesy with reference to the character Major Alex from Jacob Hills by Ismita Tandon Dhanker. Know more about the book here: Jacob Hills on Amazon

Of gallantry and philandering...

He sat at the round table centered beneath the chandelier. His radiant visage gleamed with warmth as the soft light fell over him. He wore a striped deep green suit that contrasted well with his profound brown eyes. His ebony hair, sleek and shining, hinted at an onlooker's guess of hairspray. He was a metrosexual man who preferred a polished look and ignored his reeking soul. He took a half-long breath and looked around for relief from his wife, who was settled next to him, and he realized his current circumstances. His gallant gaze ran through the place; he saw paired people dressed to display their social status, but it stopped on every lady in the room for ten seconds. His gallant gaze soon turned into a penetrating stare with a tinge of lust. His mind raced back to when he was a single man, living the time of his life breathing freedom. He had lost count of the girls he has slept with. He attained reality with remorse when his gaze met hers.

He stood up and walked with chivalry, cradling a glass half-filled with only whiskey. Every eye in the room tilted towards his movement. His face exuded a perpetual aura of heroic charisma among his colleagues and officers. His mannerisms, stoic and austere, were his trademarks. There was an unyielding devotion to his country in his eyes, sometimes overshadowed by the vulnerability he harboured for women. He was once the golden boy of his college, which made it effortless for him to flirt with numerous girls. He engaged in endless flings, road gigs, and intimate encounters, yet he never relinquished his masculine ego in a relationship. His domineering nature persisted even when ensnared in a forced marriage.

His attention was diverted as he observed a young man engaged in a tête-à-tête with one of those tenacious-type girls, her hand entwined with his.

"History repeats itself," he mused to himself.

This character is portrayed with reference to the character Captain Rana from Jacob Hills by Ismita Tandon Dhanker. Know more about the book here: Jacob Hills on Amazon

" Do not take the trouble of writing much.
 Merely send me my good night
 to put under my pillow."  John Keats.

Wandering...

And if I were a word, you are stuck with,
You let thy soul be bared and unguarded.
Slipped from your wandering mind,
into an unwilling echo of the silence.

I slip and fall into the sound and voices,
brimming with noise, all heard but deafened.
But you will hear it when the last grain of sand
merges with the fallen mountain.

I will be let out, as an obnoxious memory.
From the deepest disunited splinter of your soul,
through the labyrinth of your wandering mind.

#SundayScribbling #378

Unwritten

I'm an unwritten chapter.

You once claimed I was an open book, easy to read. Little did I know how inaccurate that was. There's no order or timeline to your memories in my story. On two occasions, to be exact, I questioned the little voice in my head. Perhaps, deep down, I already know the answer.

I wrote a story for you and I on two different pages.

I sit back, allowing my life to linger in anticipation of the page-turning to unveil a new chapter. For now, I remain clueless about what I truly want...

Love is...

I always hated reading newspapers, but then there was one thing.

For that one thing, I'd wait for...every morning.

Love is... comic strip.
Perhaps one of the reasons why I am a hopeless romantic.

Oh! I miss them.
Here are a few of my favourites.

Tell me you didn't love them...

From your Valentine...

For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.
- Geoffrey Chaucer, Parlement of Foules.


Love letters and roses. Bright blue sky. A fresh whiff of spring and red hearts. Glitter paper and chocolates. Warmth and balloons. The color red. Music and lyrics. Coffee dates and chocolate latte. Romantic evenings and sunsets at the beach. Holding hands. Lovestamps and violet ink. Winged Cupid and winks. Verses and heartfelt words. Candle lights and crescent moon. Stars, bright stars. Promises.

And much more.
All that reminds me of you.
sixteen candles, stacked letters and cards.


From your Valentine.

Stone grey...

I perceive colours...
Everywhere and in every space.

I once believed it took an eternity for things to journey from the heart to the mind. A single word births a myriad of thoughts – counted or not. You, like a radiant river, once blinded my sight; now, clarity reigns.
I see hues in your words, tinted with hope and devoid of regret. You advocate "Never Regret," imparting lessons you deem I should grasp.


You sketch a bird, urging its release!
You declare it's you.


I remain there, anticipating the bird's return, as I watch the sky change its colour. Stone grey, greyer than rain – conflict and chaos, for I am colourless. And it traversed much faster.

My hands are empty...

Because I have nothing to offer.

Having nothing and everything at the same time feels like holding the universe in your hands while feeling the weight of its vast emptiness in your heart.

In winter's past, I was a different soul, distant from what I am now. In the changing tides of time, I take comfort in standing on a cliff, one foot on each side. But the looming risk of instability could break this balance, leaving me with both feet on one side. The upcoming fall might lead to vulnerability and uncertainty. A fall awaits, a painful one.

Now,

I hold onto your words and letters, companions that converse in your absence. They beguile and charm, weaving tales anew. Purposefully deafening myself, I feign ignorance of the world's cacophony and the voices dissipate. In their stead, perhaps, only whispers persist, carrying the essence of your words. Ironically, I find joy in this orchestrated silence. Yet, I comprehend the dichotomy of possessing everything and nothing at once. It is a dance between abundance and emptiness, a nuanced symphony of existence.