If you think of it

Pleasure is so transient
It is much like a gust of wind.
It is like the cube of ice which slips away
From your grip on a summer afternoon.


If I think of bliss,
It is like seeing the sea after a long time.
It is like watching the stars
At night from the terrace.


Satisfaction is much like a chewing gum,
You keep on doing it without knowing.
You only know when you are not satisfied,
You only know you are not chewing the gum any more.


If I talk of passion,
Nothing beats that when she first holds your hands,
And you don't want to leave her soon.
You know what you feel.


When I think of sanity,
It is like washing your hands
Before you eat.
It is very ritualistic.


If I talk of happiness,
It is that moment when you know you have won.
It also includes those moments afterwards,
When you know you could have lost, and
That it did not happen.


Comfort is less vague,
It is indeed a lot of respiration.
It is like the silence which is not disturbing.
It is like that puff of smoke, which mattered most.


Love is unassuming,
It is that which you never noticed,
It is that very small thing which by its inevitable presence
Did not need your attention.


When I think of life,
It is like that cup of tea,
Without the right amount of sugar.
It is like the pop-corn you buy at a theatre,
Too filling, without much value.

Leads

When there are flowers,
There is fragrance,
But when they die,
There is no smell, but memory.


When there are memories,
There is recollection,
But when you forget,
There is no pain, but bitterness.

When there is bitterness,
There is retrospection,
But when you don't think anymore,
There is no feeling, but void.

When there is void,
There is desperation,
But when you are not restless anymore,
There is no passion, but tragedy.

When there is tragedy,
There is no aspiration,
But when you don't wish,
There is no life, but evilness.

The abode of peace

The roads were dusty,
The wind was cold,
The evenings were romantic,
In the abode of peace.

People thronged the streets,
In those wintery evenings,
I smelled life somewhere,
Life had not yet taken heed of me.

Trees covered the sky,
The chill in the air,
Freedom created a thrill,
I had my eyes on the distant hill.

So much I had heard,
So little I had seen,
The abode of peace,
I hardly knew the unforeseen.


Strange eyes met,
Only to reinforce the continuum,
Strange people flocked,
Only to reiterate the absolute.

I was a kid back then,
Not a cynic still,
So little I had seen,
So many things were to be done.

I sat and wondered,
What life is.
I sit and still ponder,
What life is!

If it were to me

If I sleep tonight,
Will you wake me up tomorrow?
If I don't say anything again,
Will you remember me?

If I don't come over,
Will you still go on?

I am not the sort of person who asks questions.
I am not the person who needs answers.

Senses

That when I see more today,
I seem to get the connect,
I realize, everything that has a beginning has an end.


Such a relief, such a balance,
To be aware of the transience.
I realize, to not ask for more.

Youth sure is a crazy time.
When more is not enough,
When less has no meaning.

I finally seem to find peace,
And not strive to be what I am not.
I sense a strange content,
I make peace with my contempt.

It is in understanding,
It is in belief,
It is in temperance,
It is inside.
May be, it is for me,
But you also know,
what I am talking about.

Evenings in a small town

The evening set in,
The town was lit,
The air was fragrant,
The hearts were lighted with desire.

If I say, I never loved it,
You know I must be lying.
The insects encircled the light-tubes,
Maddened with love.

I remember the roads,
I enjoyed the mirth,
It smelt of burnt clay,
The dust made the cold nights worse.

I remember walking all the while,
I recollect savoring every moment,
I hardly knew of anything,
That made everything special.

I had such a lovely heart,
I could see, smell and feel things.
I had such a lovely time,
I wish I could feel them again.

La Coiffeur

A small shop,
Almost no one entered.
Had a fancy name,
That's what kept me interested.

The doors were always closed,
Never saw through them,
Never was lucky enough,
Only got a sense of the unknown inside.

In the web of mysteries, somewhere I hung my desire,
Entangled, I left them there and ran away.
Never ever was invited inside,
I just ran and ran,
Tonight I remember the name of the shop,
And the fantasies that dulled my senses.