Death wish...

Sometimes, while going
on a trip, even before I
started my journey,
I felt that I had
already come back,
although,
I hadn't yet moved an inch
from where I was.
On some other occasion,
after moving through
several cities and their parks,
dark lanes and their
buildings, streets and
railway stations and
countrysides that
they once had; the small
shops and villages and the
forests around them,
when I arrived back home,
I felt that I had never
seen and heard anything, except
the four walls of my
room and their quiet
whispers to me.

Likewise, when you are
within me, living in my
breath and sighs,
I often feel you are not
there and were never
there.
But as soon as you
storm out of my life
leaving me gasping
for life, I embrace a minor
death, temporarily shunning
you out of mind, for surviving
the wrath of your love.

Thus,
living without you is
never an issue,
but dying every moment
with you, is.

Lovers & stones

Lovers are made in
heavens.
I made them in my poems,
sometimes in rhymes and
rhythms, and sometimes
as illogically as stones
stand in the way of the river
and break its
flow, and yet create
the sweetest musical notes
of the wilds.
Such is the state of the
soul in love that
unless tormented and
battered and bruised,
the joy of the
orgy of love is never complete,
as life flows like the river,
in love with the stones
in the mountains, or
without them in the quiet
planes, where it surrenders
to the ocean,
just as the lovers do
to each other, every time
love knocks at their doors.