Falling out of love

The fear of truth
Leaves behind a stance
A need for expression
Leaves its own mask
Speaking of one
Thinking of the other
Keeping aside the love
An expression of hate
Seeing the sparseness
And not the multitude
Seeking the hatred
And not the approval
The expression of
The self in the other.

Pinning him with you
Twisting her around
Showing that face
Which you have seen
The only one you see
Erasing all memory
Of the truth and nice
Hatred for the self
Blamed on the other
The need to hate:
The need to love
Borne without reason
Yet not of much
Writing in solitude
To those who see
The face i portray
The me behind the me.

When I am four,
I am stubborn and I want attention.
I am hidden and I need not mention.
I am looking for what is lost
I am craving for what was past.
I am missing the light of day,
and the time for all that play.
I am calling out to the then
Where I lived not in a den,
Hatched and allowed to grow
Bask in the sun and water flow.
I am looking for the love and care
For that sweet combing of the hair.
I am looking for the lasting smile,
Nights reading books by the pile.
I am remembering of when-
I was simple and I was sleek
I was not "Oh so meek..!"
I was younger and had a voice,
My decisions were by choice.
When I am four,
I forget all that I have lost,
I dont yearn for what was past.
I am standing in the light of day,
and I have all the time to play.
When I am four,
I look back and I know...
Things once lost are never found,
Destiny is not to which I am bound.
I am peeping out of the window such,
Wishing not to be, by myself as much.

Says, the bird:

When it all was behind me,
When it all was yet to come,
When it all came back to me
When I had it all yet none.
I was scared to be free...
I was scared to fly...
I was secretly hoping,
The pond would never dry.
My dreams were short,
My eyes wide shut...
I could hear the pulse go,
In that mad mad rush.
I wanted to walk ahead,
I wanted to look back...
I wanted the skin to shed,
Leave me and let me be okay!

The fire had now expanded, to the world it was not visible.
She hid it well, within the tresses, they mingled slowly.
At-least she thought so, she didn't know yet, if someone saw.
Saw the flames slowly creep in and not exit from the clouds.
She was not sure, which way to look, where to hide them.
No direction so far had held her close, taken care to look.
The proximity was a fear she treasured, her little secret.
She had now known for long the songs were now dying.
She held on to them, they were dry twigs she did know.
Her hands slowly burned, she had foreseen the ash.
The flame brought the songs to ash, songs already dead.
Tears could save not much, for the tresses were longer,
The drops slowly dried, the salt which had remained,
Clung on to her consciousness, stuck to her for life.
What she could do nothing about was now a part of her,
Not her's to take, not her decision to make, not her's
Yet her soul was at stake; for it was her belief,
In life which was dead on the outside yet alive within.
She was blamed for the flame which was not her's to hide.
She was blamed for the water not being enough to ignite.
The dreams were rampant, epidemic love soon struck,
Blinded by fate and residue salt she decided to flee.
Ran as the girl; through the meadow, a wind flew.
Caught in the sudden wind the long tresses unfolded
Out emerged the lion enveloped in the flames,
Free to turn to ash what had been existing since.

The bird in the box

It was injured.
He picked It up,
And slowly lowered It into a box.
The box was covered with a cloth,
The box had holes in it.

The bird, did not move,
It was injured.
He took care of It with all his heart.
The box was slowly shrinking.
The care bore fruit.

The bird started to peep out,
The blue eyes wide in the bright light.
It was surprised, for It was alive.
He had taken great care.
The bird tried to hop out.

The box had become smaller,
The holes had shrunk.

The bird walked out of the box.
The bird refused to go back in.
It longingly looked at the sky.

When It was last there,
The predator had attacked.
The battle was in mid air.
The claws slowly sunk in.
They left bruises very deep.

The truth shall set you free,
They said to the bird.
The bird tried...
The care was shackled around It.
The deep affection prevailed.

The truth dug It's grave deeper,
They refused to hear out.
Believing was not a question.
They ignored It outright.
For them It was no more a bird.

He tried to set It free,
Love has no bounds.
Not knowing that it was love,

That had clipped those pretty wings.
That had not set It free.

The predator had attacked once.
The eagle had tasted blood,
And the bird had tasted pain.
Pain not close to It's reality,
Pain which knew no bounds.

The bird was younger than many,
Pain was not as alien as pleasure
Pain was not as known as gain.
The pain had not known boundaries,
The pain had not left memories.

The pain slowly became a solace,
The pain slowly ceased to live.
It would hop into the box and strain.
The box was It's object of reverence.
The box was It's object of pain.

He was willing to overlook,
The bird squirming in pain.
Slowly he forgot,
About all the care he had laid,
In the box covered with cloth.

He watched from a distance,
Look he surely would,
He simply forgot to see,
It was not truth,
But pain which set It free.

He revolted at the mutiny,
For the bird had not flown,
Months had gone by,
Before It had really shown,
The courage and the will to fly.

He was taken aback by it all,
The love now turned sour,
Regret of even letting It walk,
Crept in with so much more,
Was it all in his mind, It thought.

The bird tried not to fly far,
Kept a measuring string attached.
It peeped back in the window,
And hid in the box such,
It hid from the world and Itself.

Forgetting all the pain It felt,
It reveled in pleasure now.
Not knowing the bounds then and now.
It flew much beyond,
What the string could count.

He gave up on It,
He took to caring again,
This time for a kitten instead.
He gave up on It forever,
Yet did not set It free.

The truth had failed It,
Now so had he.
The love had taken to remorse,
The knowledge to stealth,
And happiness to hiding.

Only pain had been a friend,
A companion when It was sad,
Standing in timed both good and bad.
To which It took again.
To which he kept looking back.

The only constant was change,
The change of suffering,
From one kind to next.
For now it was not change,
But suffering the constant.

For the last time the bird slipped in,
That box of love, fame and shame.
It went under the cloth,
The holes had long gone,
The eyes closing, never to open again.

THE WALL

The wall had fallen

Chunks fell around me

I stood almost rooted

Coveted by the debris.

Not caring about embers

Them crashing, I could see

I could not feel the heat

Enveloped by the blaze.

I stood writing the letters

The ice around melting

I stopped trying to keep-up

As the forces sucked me in.

I slowly then let go the plank,

My wishes could now be true.

The waters, 

were now so dark and deep,

Shrouding promises,

I did not want to keep.

Everything around me changed,

was much darker than before.

My ears pounding in pain,

Yet I knew I could simply go.

My vision was distorted large,

As a coloured cloud passed

I looked back through it whole

The slowly dimming last glow.

I suddenly flapped hard

Aiming for the highest sky

My arms by now were heavy

My heads seemed to sway.

My heart had been at rest

My body was now too.

I wish,

you had been my friend.

I did,
send you a postcard once.

I waited for you to write,

Maybe today we were to meet

To balance out differences

And to stop the bleed.

As we slowly become one,

As I give up all the pain,

My wounds no more count

As now it is always rain.

I remember telling him once

Even if every bit went wrong

Rain could simply fix it all

Just, let the magic drops fall.

Now, I was, one with the rain,

Later, I would be the cloud.

I was now,

drenching the grass blade,

I was now,

the treason, and the shade.

I was now one with the soil

The soil I had once been

I was now the sweet smell,
As always hence I was seen.

Glue

It did not need picking
It did not need bills
It did not need fixing
For it never had frills.
It did not need mending
It did not need force
It did not need bending
For it never was coarse.

The hearth was warm
The message was sent
The saviour was strong
The heart was lent
The letter was returned
The idea was strewn.
The pieces too tiny,
Spread across the room.
The eyes were pleading
The lips were sealed
The actions were calling
The bones didn't pay heed.
There was more to find
There was more to read
Among the blanket folds
Dividing the cold and heat.

The received was coded
The pen was deceived
The ink slowly eroded
It had to save the read.

The receiver was lost,
The ears were deceived
The words slowly eroded
They had to save the weed.

I wish it were easier,
To view beyond.
I wish it were better,
To while along.
I wish it were nicer,
To pretend wrong.

For,
I know the question,
To break the peace.
I knew the question,
But the bones,
did not pay heed.