The night stumbles upon
the tint of amber
and dreams fall out
of my clammy hands
leaving bare desires
shattered on the floor
as I lie on the edge
of my empty bed

the stars are gone
and so are you
but I live with this hope
to hold on to
that I will meet you soon
and will hold you tight
when our dreams cross again
on some slumberous night.

– Chhaya


Clandestine Nights

Behind the dark curtains
of clandestine nights
reside stories
of silent pain
endured under
velvety blankets
wrapped in disguise
around cotton bedsheets
with aesthetic prints

and then there are
silky pillows
not in tears
but in the
venomous sap of
crushed dreams
and squeezed desires
retaining moisture
at all times
as the shadows
of dark memories
never tend
to give way
to even a
strayed beam
of hope

and as the night grows
the silence amplifies
the noise of every word
that remained unsaid
and every cry
that remained unheard
and yet another sleep
is thus devoured by the
clamorous quiescence
of a ruthless night
waiting anxiously
for the light of dawn.


Fake Love

The hold so tight
that the grip still lingers
the blue patches on body
paint a somber picture
the scars which you gave
are now indelible marks
the pain so profound
I still feel those spasms
the voice strident and crude
still echos around at times
the harsh acerbic words
my ears are bruised inside
those fierce raucous expressions
still turn havoc in my dreams
actions wild and vicious
I still carry their impressions
deep within

you gave me all of these
when I yearned for
love and admiration
and left me with
just nothing
but these callous
lesions and dejection
I wish I could have gauged
your love which was so fake
calling it all off soon
before it was far too late.


Preserve Your Dreams

The somber night churns itself
under the argent beam
of the moonlight
giving in to the dawn
leaving the residues
of fragile dreams behind
to decay in the day’s heat
and die a death in despair
unless there are dreams
that are chosen
and picked up
to be preserved deep inside
that marvellous corner
of ones heart
which is shielded with hope
and faith
where the dreams revive
and rejuvenate themselves
in the tender aura of
pursuit and desire
to survive
the many thrashes
of changing times
and seasons
to ultimately yield to
an accomplished reality.


Emptying My Closet

Every morning I wake up
with dreams of you
scattered on my pillow
lying silent and in deep slumber
as I slowly pick them up
one at a time
keeping them safe
in that deep dark corner
of my closet
just next to
a bunch of your memories
a couple of your heartbeats
and some verses from your poems
which I have treasured in there
as my secret possessions
my precious assets
and someday if we meet again
may be I will show them to you
and then you can take them home
and make them your own
or may be just set them free
or crush and throw them into a bin
and that would empty my closet
and leave me space
to store brand new dreams
brand new memories
brand new heartbeats
and brand new poems.


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