Pens and Pages

How nonchalantly we made promises of a love eternal And in the quest for eternity We forgot how to not forget each other, I had forgotten how it felt like To be in his presence, How he would talk of the faraway stars As we sit under the moonlit sky... I had forgotten his perfume And he had forgotten How my cheeks turn red Every time I caught a glance of him. In the quest for eternity I wrote a million poems, Letters I would not share... We had forgotten how it felt like To live in the "reality" people created. We left things unsaid Like we see in the movies written on ideas created by Shakespeare... I would cut my wrists, Drink wine to remember And recite Bukowski and Plath In the quest for the eternity they derived... But most of the pages life did unfold, Were nothing like the books he read, Or the poems I wrote... Life moved on, One memory after another... We kept forgetting Each moment we thought we'd cherish. Yesterday, I saw him again His picture on my ...

Somewhere far, In another constellation of stars, Maybe you're right And maybe I'm wrong, And maybe I'm not as sick and frail and unsound, And maybe you stay Like the darkest of nights that didn't leave today. A thousand years would go by, Only to let in a thousand more. Maybe we smile There Lying beneath the countless clouds of a faraway sky. Maybe time stands still For it no longer matters Or maybe it gently passes by Like the breeze from a land we visited once. Once, Twice or thrice, maybe we shed tears too On the wounds of distant scars Slowly healing The way rainbows disappear. Maybe we smear dirt On each other's faces Like children play With their eyes closed But hearts open, And maybe we no longer deny That there still exists true love Somewhere far Beneath the same sky we look at tonight, Love that overpowers eternity, Oblivion and destiny. Love, when it is just you and me.

From ages, beaten, rotten, He rises from his own ashes. He touches the skin, venomous, Of the one who had breathed the fire. He burns bright, with envy, With all the hatred within. The skin bleeds and wails On the mummified corpse Of its own sins- Its past deeds. The past rises high And swallows the dead eyes first. The skin, once venomous, Lies at the mercy of its own reflection. Justice, they say, Takes a long time to act... But, they can only heave a sigh When they finally see The Time isn't as far As it seemed to be...