A white paper needed ink

 

My words shall be dark
Dark enough to brave shadows.

 

Let the soul that reads find light,
Let the soul of the works light up lives.

For the pen of the writer
Saw nothing but a white paper that needed
a darkness that exudes deeper than black ink.
For the pen of the writer
was filled with tears and not ink.

Let his tears not be seen.
Let his papers never have a word.

For his words could tell the truth about love.
The truth that was little too real.

Let him cry in solitude.
Let him die in between the first few lines.
Let his poetry be the moon on a moonless night
Let it never shine.
Let him be.

For he is walking back his path,
He is looking at traces of his own shoe marks,
For he is cursed with memory for the worst of all things.
For the muses of many greats,
 All Cry, Chant, Sing, Plead, Command,
Beg for him to write a happy word.

But he the man felt absurd.
For he could not write lies.

Sometimes,
The muses of the darkest days prayed,
For him to be blessed with death.

He could write,
but a sad word.
He could confess his love for love.
He could teach some lessons to the writers.
The writers of happy verses,
“Thy words should never stop.
Thy lies runneth the world.
Thy lies keep the sand inside the clocks.
Thy lies in the name of gravity refuse to give man wings.
Thy lies ask a man to believe in Hope.
Thy lies are blessed.
Thy lies keep a person alive.
Thy lies are God?”

He had some other lessons,
He could tell to no one but himself.
Some things.

For he feared death.
Death that would stop a dark soul from writing the truth.
Here, the words,
“My words kill belief,
My words cause dearth,
My words be safest companions to loneliness,
My words maketh immortals and change world order,
My words which are due to the muse
be heard by too many, but understood only by few
Few from the early winter’s dew
My words be me in spite of the cups of tears filled”
He should be dead, Right?

Let the failed heart find some more tears to write.
Let the hope stabbed by him find heaven’s sweetest spot,
Let the writer in him search for more love.
Let his love be mere mortals in the next times.
Not a winged charm.
Let the love he finds not be an impostor of
Persephone, Diana or Aphrodite herself.
And let him find love, after love, after love.

The order of the world needs his love more than he needs it.
And his words need love in some tense.
The balance of the world for him was on Art’s lyre
and flowers that were born to decorate her crown

Let him find water of Styx around every corner,
but let his thirst never quench.

Let truth win.
Let him lie everywhere other than his paper.
Let him lie to escape from reality.
Let him lie as he is a human and then a poet.
Let love let a man live.
Let him have lesser pains in touching wounds.
Let him forgive every second.
Let him listen to the music that keeps secrets.
Let him dwell on every word and world.
Let the world feel sorry for his luck.
Let the world not laugh at his poetry of failed love.
Let the world love cliches.

Oh! Reasons that maketh pieces into puzzles!
Oh! Seasons that change for him!
Let him write one beautiful, smitten elegy
for every day that dies to get him closer to death.

-just Barath
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To Universe

Taken to a centre, by the universe
I looked up and down.
The universe was my ledge.
And her name..
Was Universe, the sledge.

I was not taken there to admire the ocean of cressons.
I stood first in line for my falling lessons.

The fall is not a thing to worry about. 
You know the fall never hurts.
Landing causes all the death,
Fall gets blamed when drunk journal blurts.

The centre of the universe is a paradise.
Only dead souls enter.
Living souls walk with the universe
Till, its time to enter.

So,
Love your fall,
Live on the wall
and hope this never ends.

It gives you art
And take this dart.
Hope, it never really mends.

just barath©

To Do List

The night lamp was turned on.
Our photo by my side was dimly lit but visible.
Moving on thoughts got carried away.

Left arm was not searching for her.
It dabbled over the glasses and the paper
“To Maple” was completed.

The pen kissed the next paper. 
Its cruel to ask the pen to move on too.
Let the kiss last.

To keep a journal is not my way
To forget happens all day.
To the first word of every line.
To memories, that I think are now only mine.

If you find sometime.
Help me forget you, us and all this

To the hours of us doing nothing…
Ok! Stargazing, maybe.

To the Tea-Bags and the Sugar-Cubes you are really generous about.

To the Laundry Days, I need to be around and talk you through, when you worry about the coffee stain on your favourite-tee.

To the ‘Bye’, ‘I am leaving’, ‘I am seriously going’ ‘Ok! Bye’ and kicking me out after ‘Should I really go’

To Waking you up after the Old Monk 
and lying that you were not creepy after the 4th round.

To responsible discussions where we convinced each other cleverly!
And we could never convince ourselves.

To the cozy blanket, that saved us from reality and where my words were prohibited.

To the Romantic Burgers and Double-Cheese One-liners.

To all the moments I forgot and you might remind me.

Drive me there.

I would tell
I can read maps so well while you are driving us.
I don’t care about how you drive
Because, I too don’t have experience reading maps
Its autumn.

Let’s get lost one more time.
Trying to forget
And remembering things more 
is not a crime.

“Sands of Time” denote memories.
Remember the beach sand that entered your shoe and never really left.

The crushed paper was sent to where it belongs. 
The thoughts could not be sent, because 
that is where the promises belong.
And we fail trying to keep up with promises.

-just Barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
1.To Miss.Autumn
2.To my fall
3.To my St.Martins Summer
4.To Maple

To my Fall

I’m talking to you.

I wanted to talk to you.

I don’t know if you ever listened.

Still, I wanted to tell you everything.

Everything from the first memorable oust to this highly delusional second.

From the first moment when smiling was hard to this day when I’ve learnt to master it.

From that first wound on the knee to seventh, doesn’t-matter-so-much one inside the mind.

From the first second of that song to the loop that I never got out of for ages.

I wanted to tell you everything.
So, listen.

Amidst all the days that grew grey,
By all the ways it may.
Minutes you crossed my mind,
Kept me alive to face the hours you weren’t.

“You’re all mine!” that was the biggest, shortest truth you ever spoke on our couch.

Aftermath.
It’s hard to belong to someone else now.
It’s not easy to show someone else the same love.

You’re the fucking drama, not me!
What exactly was the reason?
If you actually have one tell me!

For just that,
Let your heart speak sometime.
It would want to get back in time.
To that, “You’re all mine”.
So that, you never decline.

I find words
Staring at the same doorway
You entered by all the time.

I found you
Looking through the runway
My words mirrors by.

I’m living up all the nine clouds.
Just the grey ones though.

I can’t ask you to come back.
And I am happy.
Only because,

You never left.

-just Barath©

The next one-

To my St.Martins Summer