Kalpurush

Artist, writer, disaster

I'd love you a kind of love that goes unspoken Like a grave unnoticed By fox kits playing over them in bliss.

And those wild foxes bleed music from their veins As their feet graze Against the sweet hawthorns you planted for me When we found ourselves drenched in the soft summer rain That soon turned into a hailstorm of huge calamity. Without clarity, I lost you.

You were lost in my lies, While I wasn't there with you.

You should have been singing I should have been listening.

They search deep for a sweet Soulful sound that melts the ears, And years of time pass for them to meet The avalanche of emotions That sorrow brings into the threshold Of our skies where lies impatient Boreas and all the love that his mournful soul Has to offer to this willful ignorance of a childish heart.

Like a child I leap and scream your name into the heavens Where spark-birds fly limitless into the arms of Life

And you, among those rimless clouds, my love Smile back at me like I'm the treasure that you hunt And not me who searches a shelter by your irridescent feet

Attitudes of people in front of me They shape me They inherit me Behaviours of souls I observe Treatment I don't deserve They impact me Ideas of myself from far within Call out their name It's my name in their mouths And theirs in mine Their minds in mine They listen, I listen They talk, I talk I get tired of pretending They find comfort in projecting I become them And they become me Reflections of me in the clearest water surface Lost and lonely The need to belong The desire to be understood To be loved And cared for To be taken seriously I become me, thus A mirror of my own self

Deep beyond the wild blue yonder There is no over and there is no under The stars they shine like jellyfish at play And the sun rises beneath our feet by day The Sun rays filter through the gaps in our fingers And there is a gentleness thereafter that lingers Until the Moon takes her rightful place in the dark Whereby gently through a lullaby upon an adventure we hark

Two dead animals lie beside one another One inside a cage and the other out One loved once, Saw the day once, Kissed the clouds once. And the other never breathed, Never opened his eyes, Never even spoke. The one inside sleeps in eternal peace. He's calm, soft, cuddly. The one outside had seen better days. The one outside could have had it better. All she wanted was water. All she wanted was air. The one inside never was alive and never will be. And the one outside once was, but now it won't be. The one outside was killed By the makers of the one inside. They took away her air, Her water, Her flight, Her feathers. They tried giving all of that to the one inside. But no matter how much they tried, He wouldn't bark, He wouldn't sniff, He wouldn't love. He would be loved by the young ones of them to come And then one day he would wear and tear and gather dirt Out of neglect of the same creators that tried to give him life. He will never know the taste of freedom as he burns in the incinerator. When his time is long gone, When he has overdone his stay. And that's when the one outside will laugh From high above. She was alive once. She breathed once. She would laugh in agony and anger, And disdain and hunger. She would know the wrath of nature and how it treats those children Who have overdone their stay. She would know it because she was her one of her children She would know it, because she is her.

When my poetry stagnates, I know the world is on fire. I know the world is on fire, for my poetry does not sing. It is not born out of misery, my words, But squeezed instead out of the last remaining willfull happiness I have left within me. This happiness that writhes in pain, Asking to be let free. In my misery I drink of the world. I embody the cowardice my forefathers taught me to seek. I am flesh and I am bone and the misery of this earth Does not entail me. And neither does my poetry. Dried up sands within fall like an inch of time pasing by from a higher cliff And atop it I sit, wondering When shall the end be near me.

Angry beats of an angry song in my ears. Guitar strums of words so revolutionary that they feel jarring. They bleed the numbness away.

Life becomes an endless bus journey. Life is filled with such endless roads that lead to nowhere hearts, And unknown halls that breed dead trees; No Garden of Eden in sight.

This is God's hell where we abide!

Unseen faces pass by on both sides As I run dead center with blinders in my eyes. I try and fixate my sight on one of them, For a moment I turn my head. But before I can focus, it vanishes into chaos.

I stretch my hands out and it hurts as the fingers scrape walls that never fall, rebuilt over one another. And the bones crack as they collide with the railings racing past.

Yellow lights brighter than fireflies scorch my eyes. I stay awake at night and every now and then I hear the mad dog cry. The mad dog drives me mad and I know I should sympathize but I can't.

He's dying. I know he's dying.

But this is God's hell where we abide!

Where nothing we do makes it to those who need us, And nothing we say makes it to those who feed us.

Nothing's permanent. It all ends.

And we're doomed to watch us destroy ourselves.

Romeo touches the feet of his lover Juliet dies at war Her pristine white gown stains in crimson As she lies still on the grass with dark skies above

“She sleeps beautifully”, he declares And their unborn child sucks on watermelon seeds As the feet of the bride touches heaven Countless red rivers drain into seas

She prays her lover can see her once more Romeo downstairs laughs hysterically He's happy that her bride smiles in death He will always be proud of her bravery

Juliet lies very still among other bodies With a flower in her hand of which no petals remain Romeo in his dreams runs in a sea of poppies Towards his lover, in a land of no restrain

Where blue skies bleed into yellow fields Where sirens are unheard of Where children don't pick bomb shells at the beach Where white pigeons fly high above

French Romanticism reached my city

Walking through sleepy afternoon lanes I hear meal heavy stomachs heave out sighs Of a momentary relief of illusion Roads seem blurry, Skies seem hazy, Dogs and crowds scream no more.

French Romanticism reached my city

The nights are quiet and chilly. Somewhere in the neighbourhood you'll hear a bark or two The windows are closed but the life from within seeps out into the open The street lamp outshines it all unless you look high enough And there within the clouds you'll see The face of tomorrow

French Romanticism reached my city

Through screens I watch road after road I watch feet, I watch slogans and I watch bloodshed Tilaks of red and orange mark people's foreheads Green isn't confined to just the trees. Blues and whites are a rare sight Black lies within these hearts

French Romanticism reached my city

Here people like to call everything a Revolution Songs of days gone by resurface, Lyrics of a bygone time make more sense with every passing day Writers have it easy these days, Storytellers don't. Ashes turn to ashes, But my bones, no they won't.

There's a butterfly in my basement It grows every time I see it On each visit it spreads its wings And allows me to pet it

It's colours are one of a kind Hint of brown in a shade of green It flutters around in my absence It keeps my basement clean

The moss that accumulate every summer Are the same colour as it's wings The butterfly eats my moss covered floor And when it's done, the doorbell rings

I have a doorbell at the entrance of my basement door It's useful, at times like these This butterfly unlike any others in the wild Loves ringing it as a code for “Please”

“Please come in, give me a visit, Please come look how clean I've made your floor. Please comment on how much you like it, And when you leave, please don't close the door.”

The butterfly in my basement is hungry for colours It's seen glimpses of yellow and blue Red, and purple and violet and pink, It wants to visit my living room too

The butterfly in my basement now sits in my bedroom It lies by the window sill Calm and quite not bothering a soul It tends to my house when I fall ill

The butterfly in my basement is all colourful now Shades of rainbow paint it's wings The moss covered basement sits abandoned now The doorbell no longer rings

The butterfly in my basement grows and grows While I shrink just enough to give the space it needs After all the moss in the basement was not enough for it's nourishment Now my grey house is on what it feeds.

In every universe we don't see, Do you think we always end up away from each other?

Its hard not to write stolen lines when thinking about you. The me I could've been with you.

Departed lips still bound by vines so strong That they break the illusion of you within me. Vines so old, vines so few You're so old, I'm so new Forgetting you with all the courage I had in me Was the best I could do.

Leave me be, Anastasia Leave me be.....

Let me suffer in this downtrodden earth My sweet home where my dying bed lies solemnly Let me die here, let me perish here.

I don't want to taste your lips anymore No more in my dreams, no more.