In the darkness of the slumber
like a loner tiny bird in the grey sky after the rain.
In the freedom of the mind, fantasies are born
as in the colors of marigold and chrysanthemum – sensuous sensations takes the liberty to surface.
The rhythm of the memories fall and rise, gets crushed too…
like the freshly crinkled yellow leaves betrayed by the roots flying and resting on the charcoal grey wet roads.
Amidst the cacophony of conscience-ridden voices there is one song being sung within of letting the instincts loosen up and committing the sin;
like the loose wind swaying all other voices with it.
The cobwebs of doubts need to be disentangled and looked through…
like the fog moisture resting on the window panes forcing us to look deeper through the haze ;
and then clear it with a delicate hand mystifying it more.
As the strokes of sinful breeze washes away the dryness
touching the forehead, cheeks, nape of the neck, back , tingling the hormones ;
you long for it to stay there.
… you long for the green and yellow leaves on the mounting trees to sway and dance on the tunes of nature forever.
… you long for the haze to keep growing on the windowpane to surprise you when the hand clears it once more.
…you long for more loner black birds to come and sing to you their stories.
… you long for the violets , purples and pinks to encase you with the colors of their fragrance of their sheer existence.
… you long for the crinkled leaves to keep falling like angels wafting onto the earth making you fall in love with them.
…you long to hear a song within again and again to unwind and be lost in the abyss of breezes to come…
hazes to be cleared…
stories to be heard…
to be sung…!