Behind the Scene

When a poet pours his heart into words, it is not just expression — it is devotion. Every syllable becomes an act of worship, every pause a silent bow before the unknown. It is no different from when an ordinary person says, “I am hungry.” That too is a confession of truth, a pure and uncorrupted desire. The poet’s hunger, however, is not for bread, but for meaning — for the trembling beauty hidden beneath the noise of existence, for the invisible presence that breathes through silence. I wrote this years ago, to worship her. Don’t ask me who she is — she was never a person to be named. She was a feeling, a vision, a wound that kept me alive. Perhaps she still is. Perhaps she is the absence that gives birth to all words, the unseen listener that makes devotion possible.

I - Prelude

I don’t have a wings

But I fly to you every moment

Like winds of summer,

I restored, fondled, and caressed my mind

Of paradise-

Perpendicular to your thoughts.

Let us move to the beginning, you, and I

And I will follow the path you carved

To reach out the heart of grace.

Like a penguin stand on the shore

And see the spreading sea on the horizon

What is he thinking?

Silence of the night or the flares of the tides

Or the echoes of his hens!

They departed midst of the eternal voyage

But the vessel of the love

Tied them together

On the bank of the desire.

When I turn old and gray.

Do You remember me and the Memories!

And would bell the heart in love?

Ah! Dear! I'd still be shakin'.

Recalling your brief simper

II - Preordained

Indeed, it is time,

To say—how much I care for the nest

Hidden beneath thousand feet below

Wrapped on warm hugs and kisses

I do dare touch those warmth

Of your lips

Of your holiness

Of your divinity

A quip of yours

You are a music of my ears

Rhythm, melody, and tonic

Consonance and dissonance of pure song

It holds the Manner of Absolute

Heaving breast, temple full of Gods

can tell the desire of yours— Or mine

I couldn't be the devotee anymore

She said—” are you scared of me?”

“Yes, I do” I said

Hold me tight, grace!

Don’t let me fall

I am scared—too scared!

There, you see the iridescent dreams

The perusable outskirts of rainbows

Don’t you follow my insignia, Grace!

For we have known all the dreams already

III - Affection

Rambling down to the river Avon

Saw the first glimpse of the morning sun

Glowing and rising, leaving the horizon

Like a gazelle chased by the lion, gently—

His paws grips the grass, tearing them apart

The land never knows

The strength of the lion’s hind legs

Pushing forward to his will

To capture of his desire

I am prowling like him yet empty stomach

Growling to death—

I long to be lost in your arms

And to vanish like morning dew!

What a blissful death! Alas.

IV - devotion

For I know,

I wake up in the middle of the night

Prowl to the west garden and speculate

How far did I come! My conscience says—

You are on the path of devotion and love

How silly of me, grace

I have forgotten my Cradle of square one

For your acquaintance and love

Endure me, will you?

V - Epilogue

I am blind but I shed a tear or two

I see the music and I hear the words

I am a performer of a despondent

I am a Hyperborean who wants garlands, ultimately!