Skip to main content

Odyssey

I found myself on a trail, seeking the vestiges of stardust's lingering memories. Perhaps, my curiosity was drawn to the pain it once bore in the crucible of gravity.
They say fortune smiles when your star aligns with you. Intrigued by this celestial promise, I would pray and tilt my head skyward, gazing at the descent of stars, yearning for one to cross my path. Testing destiny's hand with each falling star became a ritual for me. 
It was a shepherd boy who revealed me the tale of a rare falling star—a crimson diamond giant. He spoke of an unprecedented sight in his nocturnal wanderings, beneath the suspended lanterns of the sky.
As a child, I marveled at the expansive night sky from the sturdy shoulders of my father. Now, no longer that inquisitive child, I gaze back, contemplating the innocence I once held. 
Time flowed like a nocturnal train through the shadowy woods, and I matured. 
I was a young poet desperately trying to take off from the gravity of my existence. I know I must have seen the most beautiful things in my life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

An Elegy on a Night Party II

They sing the funeral song on the death of their Day, “Day is dead, let's celebrate the birth of the Night from vivacity to ecstasy and finally a fall from the seventh heaven unto the abyss of dreams and lust.” Having nothing to do in the nights of my ‘usual routine’, I had my same chair on the same corner, a platform above the dance floor of the Seventh Heaven party club at the Down Town.             Everything in me tends to go on to become something else. The pervasive  aesthetics of life and the disposals of proposals from the mighty eyes of Almighty, I placed myself on the corner for no reason. My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. She holds spring against her breast and stares at me with sad eyes as if I’m a son of all other seasons other than spring. I don’t know who the she in my life is, but I keep watching and following her, th...

At the hour of Last breath

(A poem by Rafeeque Ahammad. Translated by Anand ) Stay with me at the hour of my last breath, Amassing the burning veracities of life, My Fingers are dead, Let them get ease by caressing you. Last molecules of my breath may cart thy fragrance. My love, let thy face plunge In the eyes of mine, never to be opened. Ears, no longer be opened for sounds, Be sealed with thy mellifluousness. Mind, burning with thoughts and memoir, Be filled with thy evergreen memories. Kisses-made scars on my lips, Heal in the sweet chants of thy name. Reminiscences of journey,   Unto thee my love, my feet tranquil. That’s enough for me, Buried under the earth, I resurrect- Newborn leaves of grass.

Unknowing

I choose the heart of darkness — not in despair, but in reverence — to immerse myself in its monstrous chaos, the womb from which all beginnings bleed into existence. I do not flee the shadows; I invite them. I slow the light, restrain it, keep it from intruding too close—because some truths are born only where light hesitates.  I sense what is coming. The slow unravelling of the world. A moment when day and night lose their boundaries and collapse into a single breath. When direction dissolves and humanity forgets where it stands. Time loosens its grip. Space forgets its shape.  In that hour, man will begin to speak languages he has never learned, utter sounds older than memory itself. He will see beyond the limits of his eyes, hear frequencies never meant for human ears. Perception will stretch, fracture, expand—until meaning itself trembles.  And in that unsettling clarity, where fear and wonder merge, the truth will no longer hide. It will rise—not in light, but in t...