Slinging scribbles

My love, will you sing me a lullaby? That makes me sleep and not care about the day I wake. In your soft palms, I wish to rest my head, And forget that mind can actually think. I wish to snuggle in your blanket, And glue my feet to yours. For I wish to believe we are conjoined, if only for the night! There is not an iota of my body that I want to leave behind, There is not a part that I don't want to carry, For every kosher bit of mine is waiting to be enlightened by your relic! O my lover, please put me to sleep, Sing me a lullaby, For its in your voice, I find my rest. For that's where the nightingale finds its nest.  

Far far away where the light beckons for seduction, It allures many, scares a few, darts the lucky fewest, remains unknown to rest. That light twitters, illuminates, brightens too as also shuts, It bears the ignominy of pain, pretense and yet remains the most sought pleasure. One such light I have, Its the only twilight I treasure. It allures, scares, darts and yet remains unknown to me! For thee I search, for thee must remain mystery, for you are bound; for its my duty. Of all the experiences I have had, I want to remember this one, I want this to culminate into a chain, To be able to hold my head in pride when I am grey, To be able to say; this was the true light I treaded! If I had a sandglass, I would replace the sand with gravels, That would ensure that the time sedates and passes with ease. But for you, I must wait, for there is a hope, for I know the light will meet me, for I have reached the horizon. for I know its love.  

Let me immortalise the love that I see, Though not in you, its just my eyes and heart, there all I see, Its like a blunder, a dangerous risk, beautiful, maybe to see, Actions, thoughts clutter for a smile to see. Care that is only known by the person who maketh, Sacrifices waiting to be treasured for approvals, Expectations rise at the obsession's flight, Fight for a sight yet there is a veil on her eyes. The desperation to claim what's your is not desperate to be claimed, Its the depth that cannot be fathomed, love that cannot be conquered, For it remains senile, unknown, foolish to the heart that never burnt. Relentlessly, the incense stick burnt, carelessly enlightening, without any joy, hurt! One has no answer to the trials of love, Its the destination that makes history, Sadly, not the journey that the souls make, They just remain hidden, kneaded to the lover's skin, smell and soul. As poets, we must inflict the love and be burnt like the camphors,...

Its a quad circle I live in, That travels back and forth only to be leave behind what I put forth, Its a quadrilateral maze I live in, travelling in squares, living in circles. The epiphany is ethereal, whether sickness that is subliminal, or pain but trivial, So is my joy, euphoria as over as it started early. Its a polygon that has caused its delight, joining four but seems four thousands! Earlier, to my play was a symphonic delight, Violin that purged and beguiled, Now its the country music, Mandolin that purges and beguiles. I call thee, my mother, make my promises full. I call thee, my father, make my payments full. My sister, I call thee too for sweet tales and long discussions. To me its a tale that's passing time. A symphony of incomprehensible relations, Musical quad that I love to live in, Rhymes only when I would love to, Otherwise, merely a circle that happens over and over again.  

Silence that pervades the test, And dreams that were made but put to rest. Its a dull night, Not even a beggar's sight. Its only the blades that are making the run, Its just the fan, the clock being the other one. Its the night that tasted many a water, That shared too many whispers on the platter, Just as today, just as now, But unlike yesterday and how! Not a musing of past that reverberates, Not a person that was dear and that mates, Yet novelty must remain new, Like on a blade of grass with only a speck of dew. Its no use getting used to the night, For it will do nothing but leave a harsh sight. Let the zeal for life be tested, Let the silence be not wasted.  

A new high, a new vigour, a new strength, a newer new, Bright stars, exuberant class, a shy smile, a newer new, They stole my heart, they played the only innocence as their card, there was much more yet it was their innocence, that claimed and settled and how! Its a blessing, its gaining the lost feeling... its filling the feelings! There are moments and there is a moment that moments all moments. Lives were indeed mysteries but only without a cause, If not, then indeed a misery. My miseries subside at this very moment, As they found a new saturday, as they found new souls, my new love to teach? rather, to learn, to enjoy, to love, all over again!  I look forward to protect you, With a concern which is far stronger, than anything else,  Which is to protect me! A new high, a new vigour, a new strength, a newer new, Bright stars, exuberant class, a shy smile, a newer new,  

He is ferocious but blue-eyed, For there is not a tinge of ferocity in him, Its just his eyes and his brushes that seem ferocious. Yet he is not your fear, for there is not a tinge of fear in him, Its the wild strokes that seem violent. Yet he is not someone who spells danger, For there is not a tinge of danger near him, Its just the colours, dark and darker that seem dangerous. There is a candour  in his strokes, an unspoken honesty. There is valour that dignifies the fact as it is. There is truth that they speak, inanimate yet waiting to be heard, His Colours add life to lives and ignite the lost emotions, They speak the unspoken breathe, They also speak of him, his hidden fame, The poet is your pet, that he says, He prays, people claim your talent And providence be kind enough to lavish him with fame.