new youth

i like the smell of paint

and the newly painted

yet to mature

like those tender years

between those desired and undesired impressions

waiting to find expressions

every touch every unintended encounter

leaves work for a lot many touch ups

yet

the scars will show when in bright light

i like the smell of newly painted

like the smell of new youth

to be preserved and protected...

monsoon

this is my third monsoon in Mumbai... and i guess i have come to terms with this city...

its uncleaned ways... and its ways to welcome rains with the worst potholes ... road blocks and traffic jams...

say whatever do whatever... rains have amazing quality to heal your soul...

i was congratulated in the middle of the night by the guy as soon as the first blop of rain came rushing towards the mumbai land...

i guess the guy is also coming to terms with my obsessions with rains...

all smiles...

wishful

I wonder if you kept

Some little parts of your existence

Wrapped in the soft cover…

Those that felt so nice to touch

Unexposed to this world of many…

Expecting me to come to them …

When they are new and naïve

The tonal difference

So gradual yet sudden stark

Clearly exhibiting untanned… cured

From …Tanned and expose

Untouched from this worldly malign

Pure and wrapped in white…

Oh they felt so mine…

But that was just too wishful…

And yes you dare to bare

Exposing every bit …

To the smallest pilus…

Not to wonder…

How u evenly tanned…

Let me get more wishful…

And hope to find …

A road that you travelled alone

An unexplored flavor of tea

A new excitement of edge of seat…

And then I wish to share

Everything new… on your flair

And yes I will wait…

For the new growth…

From this shiny waxed skin…

no more

chrome and gold that found the flow

the rim so red and pink that glow

slow it was to start, fast it was to grow

from deep blue to purple to the very cyan

it was there to be it seem but it was to go

i wonder , admired and wished to share

as you flew, fast by me in fright of being late

Alas! there are no mornings, noons , 

eves or late nights to hold...

no more are we have time or eyes 

to mark the changes so vivd and bold...

hiding again

And she decides to drift away

In to the oblivion…

Where none knows “the start and end of her being”

To be the way she is

And not to prove it all the time

A place where the conversations still live

Of delicate dream of May flower

And careful nurture of sunshine…

Without the worries of…

Ration of the day

And obligations of night

Of endless chuckles

And not scheme per seconds… 

Roll to reach

Things roll to reach…
I wonder..
If there is something...

Doesn’t start
Don’t need to start
Or to reach...

Just to be as it is
As if perfection…

Is there anything like perfection?
Or there are just mirrors...
Of imperfections...

Trying hard to call
Themselves perfect
And they seem perfect too
At times…

But they all roll
To reach… or achieve
Their own Imperfections…

May be this is the way… to life…

tantalising afresh

I had forgotten you
Well almost…
And you came afresh

To tantalize…
All that was hidden
Not to be known
Covered by layers

And to remind
That you are mine