Two Seashells

The lit moon, a topaz pendant in the sky.
And sparkled on the ocean below its dye.

The rising tide, swiftly addressed the shore.
And brought with it the currents from Amore.

The little seashell, carried away by time.
And sang a hollow melody out of rhyme.

The receptive shore, from home in distant lands.
And a sanctuary and grave in its sands.

The bigger seashell, slept sound in the sands’ womb.
And yet it was empty and felt like a tomb.

The Destiny’s threads, drawing two worlds by ends.
And a new future is weaved with cotton friends.

The two seashells, united under the warm carpet sky.
And together sang as the moon sparkled below its dye.

A topaz pendant
In the sky
Swiftly addressed
The shore.

Carried away by time from
Home in distant lands,
Slept sound in the
Sands’ womb.

Drawing two worlds by ends,
United under the warm carpet sky;

The lit moon,
The rising tide,
The little seashell,
The receptive shore,
The bigger seashell,
The Destiny’s threads.

The two seashells.

13 JUN 2005
live the illusion of memories or live in the forgotten?

 

The Farewell Haiku

It has been a year – a year since I first stepped foot in this little studio of mine.Time flies by.

It was a hot day. The room was white, empty, full of echoes, voices of the walls speaking softly to the visitor.

It has been a while, they said.

It has been a while – I took a refuge in this house some years ago, when I was unwelcome by others… embraced me as I slept in its corner.

I prayed that day, years back. It was a first for the house.

I later returned, last year, when it was empty. It has been a while – it has been a while. I had no where else to go again. There was no bed this time. No furniture, no TV, no photos… just a memory, that once, I had been here.

It felt different.

I lay on the floor, placed my wallet and my mobile phone above it, like I have always been doing since I started carrying both. The floor was cold, yet, it did not bother me. It did not bother me that there was no furniture, nothing to live with. I just had the walls, a door, and a key.

I lay on the floor. The lights were off. It was 8 PM. Outside the window, I could see nothing but a black sky. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

Welcome home, they said.

I felt a crack on the tile my fingers pressed against. I smiled. I felt the house, and it felt me too. You will be my home, I said silently. I turned to my side, and tried to read the shadows on the wall.

You slept here the last time, they said.

I did.

It has been a year now. It is hard to say goodbye. Crazy, probably – just a house… some concrete, steel, tiling.

But I would miss “it” – the “it” that people don’t feel until “it” isn’t there anymore.

White paint coats voices
of memories locked deep in,
silent in shadows.

Shore

Have you ever cared for someone,
You’d die if you made them sad?
You’d rather burn in the sun
And it would never feel that bad.

You give and give and never ask back,
And you refuse because it won’t feel right.
But all you do is burden your sack,
And drop another straw on your plight.

You keep your silence and your smiles
When the one you care for begins to scold.
Then you walk away the miles
Alone in the damp streets and cold.

You think of how to set things back
To the way they were supposed to be.
But all you do is to lose track
Of your emotions in the open sea.

And then your thoughts drag you down
A path so long, twisted and dark.
And your emotions you lose to own
And become your guiding ark.

The good times, and the bad,
They all return in a flash.
You realize what you once had,
Now a torn paper in the trash.

You reach your home and open the door,
And you hope that you would see
Her sitting on the couch waiting for
A smile to set you free.

And then she says “let’s walk the shore,
Because I do care about you and me”.

On a cold Tuesday, the 22nd of March 2005