To dusk

It’s hard to stand when the shadows are tired

And the eyes bleed tears.

It’s usual that trees grow old for the season

Giving out fruits just like I am.

 

So, before pushing a rose into your Garden

and completing this Octave,

I need to ask, but don’t answer.

Will a Goodbye get me closer to you?

Will hope save me from lies?

Will the darkness writhing in my words steer away?

Because,

In this darkness,

My feet find its way to you.

 

It will take a lifetime to realize failed love

And the other side

is not the right place to learn this.

 

So, this tree battling

Winds of the dusk,

Losing every last leaf,

Standing in its own shadow, alone,

Can wait.

 

For it has seen all the

Shades of Clouds and People.

Grey and Black,

Wounded and Victorious,

White and wine,

Sober and the kissed.

Waiting for the winter

It could fathom out that,

 

The only problem with love is,

We are humans.

 

– just Barath (C)

To catch up with the entire series kindly visit this link-

Epilogue- An Epilogue to Autumn

Winter is Coming Soon..

 

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An Epilogue to Autumn

Hey, Oldsport!

The fall ends here.

I mean the poetry series(READ: Ramblings, musings, rants, poems) I have been working on since 3rd August. This caught me amidst a wave of Happy and smile-filled moments. Just like many people out there, I too started with the hope that I am going to write frequently, whenever I can. Fill my blog with the most beautiful words in the universe. But, it did not happen. Yayy!

So, If you’ve started reading this blog only recently, I’ll let you know what I’ve been working on. I planned on writing a poetry series for the season Autumn. I wanted all works to hold elements that make Autumn, Autumn. I worked up a story’s opening and wanted it to be sad to the core. Yayy!!

To Miss.Autumn was all confessions and everything she knows and what he feels is the reason for her leaving him. It hurts when you know reasons, it hurts equally when you don’t know reasons. Either way, it does hurt. Let it hurt, then let it go. The guy started writing as he felt through writing he could let it go. To my Fall is everything that he wanted to tell her, almost everything. To my St.Martins Summer is self-realization. The hardest part to write down because telling yourself that everything that you banked on was a mistake is not that easy.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

-To My St.Martins Summer

This is when reality got the better of me! I landed somewhere near the Writers Block. After a really long time ‘To Maple printed curtains’ and the one night that he could feel love run their clock of life and stand with them in spite of all the Irregularities. That’s when it hit him hard and locked him down. To Do List is something special because of its Meta-Poetry Nature. It’s in this work you see him along with his mind. I(not the character!) had to write down To Crimson Boulevard because man I was lost and it was so dark. I felt the more I embrace the dark, I’ll stop myself from getting back to reality. I needed to shed it out and bring some light to the words. This is when I thought reading can help me write and I read so much. Crimson Boulevard was a result of the reading. To Universe was the strongest in terms of the concept I had in mind. It still is! I’ll rewrite if someone really wants to know.

And the seven notes of this piece ended and Autumn became dry. There was no wind to move the trees. Did you note that I mixed up the Character with me all along! The character took over sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I went through this in life. I lived this on the inside.

How does an Octave look?     C D E F G A B C.

I’m down by seven and the last note C, the coda of this piece will come in sometime today. Autumn ends for now and its time to get the Salt-Sack ready because

Winter is Coming.

Did they get together? Why the fuck did she leave him?

Ok! Why do ‘you’ think she left him? Let’s start asking her!

I’ve linked all the poems in this Epilogue kinda post, Do read and let me know anything you feel. Thanks again to everyone who walked with me through this. You are all soooo cool! Words, Strings and White hairs are all I have. I’m giving it away. Wish me luck! And Cheers to the beginning!

Do drop any suggestions or advice or queries in the comments. I’d love to learn from the person who has read such a long post on my blog!

Auf Wiedersehen.

-(C) just Barath

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

-To Do List

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 Crimson Boulevard

Hey! I’m lost. Lost with this particular Autumn Series. The idea grew out of nowhere and just got fixated. The name ‘Autumn‘ however came from the character in 500 days of Summer. She hit me straight through the feels.

To feel for each sentence in these verses has been hard. I’m a fresher dude in this type. I never foresaw. Autumn’s been sweet and cruel and I think, might never end in my case. The one part that cries inside me asks for the season to end. The other part that wants to write, embraces the tears. Also, tears apart. And has given me the happiest blog moments ever!*smiles*

(A part of the text, here that was related to the title was deleted by the writer.)

It’s in between. It’s hard to write now, or ramble(Oh! Yeah) now. Bear with me! I’m looking for suggestions and help to get through this. Comments welcome(are much needed).

A writer I once knew
Asked me to write ‘hearts-out’.
The concept was always new.
Just, self-doubt.

I knew I was lost.
I blamed it on the dark.
I should bear the cost.
It was me, who missed the mark.

This is supposed to be 
Poetry of emotional dearth.
Under this tree
Only Shadows sing about mirth.

Heart and darkness undergoing a bout
My words never saw the light of the day.
To liberate ‘Inside Words’ is hearts-out
Rusting, I figured out. Well, that’s the pay!

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 St.Martins Summer

We were always ahead in time.

We were there in my dreams that I had after watching that movie.
A dream that I dont remember that much.
A dream where someone asked you “Who, he?

We talked to each other in our minds minutes before our eyes met.
A Random Sun rise.
Where love can never set.

We skywalked all the Roads of Frost,
The paper version and
Every signboard that asked for a Diversion.

We doubted us before the crisis even began.
We are nothing but a pair of Lunatics.
We should drop that book
Or set our thoughts on the silent brook.

We argued about oblivion when that leaf fell down.
Overlooking every single time..
Maybe, We should enjoy the moment and frown.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

Momentary,
just for this galaxy.
Also Infinitive,
For we have not seen all the galaxies.

Ahead,
looking at the humane mess
Also lazy,
Two kisses instead of one
Could have saved us all the mess!

just Barath ©

P.s.- St Martin’s summer is
a period of unusually warm weather in the late autumn, especially early November.
Oh! Me and my muse are overlooking November by this month itself.

The next one-

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

To Miss.Autumn

I have always wanted a 3 AM conversation,
A 5 AM Good Night
and A 10 AM Office Check-In.

It happened in the movie that I watched with her favourite coffee,
her second favourite couch
and her memories.

But, then I got into this relationsleep with dreams about strangers!
Did you, for a second think
I would have the pleasure of having
Strangers in my dreams?
It was her, always

Nothing mattered.
To her.
It would have.. But she never told me about that later.

How am I supposed to give her the right surprises
and go ring her doorbell twice, exactly when she needs me?

How can I find out the perfect gift, everytime?

How can I not lose to her when it comes to me showing my romance?

How can I not be the repaired toy?

How can my hyper-metropic eyes talk to hers, when the dumb mouth spoils scenarios everytime?

How can I sing when I hate my own voice? I surely do!

But, she knows things, that people have never heard of.

She knows that I’m the one who is trying to love her!

She knows that Cinema is my Shangri-La

She knows that my voice is that of a goat.

She knows that I have wanted to kiss her behind the neck.

She knows that
I’m not the fancy that poems are made of.
I’m the fancy that makes poems.

She knows that I am never perfect without a heartbreak.

Maybe, she decided that a perfect soul will only be hers to live by..
And that can be the only reason for her to have broken it and look into it
some random day,
by the Decay.
If her heart may
decide to sway
by Memories that lay

-©just barath

The next one-

To my Fall

Of Magic, December and Me

A cold December evening. The sun walked out pretty fast, just like her.

Then, Walt Whitman walked in, so did the moon and sonnets.

A perfect setting to get lost and never come back. Never. Because once the words you want are served at your table and you find it better than people, you start enjoying your company.

The wind does its job of keeping your sailing thoughts on the loneliest streets of Manhattan, the darkest hours of Quebec or the mind-numbing coldness of Alaska. It drifts you away from human territory. The wind knows what is good for you.

One think-alike human is the overdraft limit that can withstand the winds. It is not like the way it is explained in books or movies, or it is not so metaphorical too. It is awkward, imperfect and unexplainable.

If it is unexplainable, how do writers weave out magic on paper?

Did you read that word aloud?

It is. You still feel some works to be extremely closer to truth, right? I did too. Until, that moment I realised, it takes three lines or a maximum of three pages for a character to do a task impossible for a person reading it in real life. Like, travelling nautical miles with the albatross or running into the terrace of a hostel with curfew and a strict warden. It is easy for them.

Impossibilities cause pain. If this was a page of my book, the book that is picked only by the people who need it.
I would have re-written it this way, but yeah! You read the truth in the beginning. I’m speaking truth in my fictions. I’m a paradox.

“A cold December evening. The sun walked out pretty fast, just like her.

She thought that I could never be a father like the one she has had(She was right!). I asked her to decide. I gave her total freedom. But she was furious and felt I was not helping her and I acted like some sick bastard, three blocks away, who is no one to her.

I caught her while she was at the gate trying to look back at me, she was waiting to see if I would call her back. I hugged her, looked into the eyes that reflected our Rafter and then me. I pushed the lock of hair that hid the bruise on her forehead, kissed it. Then, she decided.

Then, Walt Whitman walked in, so did the moon and sonnets.”

-just barath©

Write side of the heart

image

Episode 5

Hey Barath!

(Ok!) Dear Barath!
Shucks! Man. I think this is not my thing.  I think you asked me to write a letter to you on purpose! But let me try. This is the first thing you ever asked me. So I’m trying to write something that looks like a letter.

You and your literature things are starting to become interesting for me. All because of you. You talk about it and make me feel like, it’s a mandatory part of my survival. You add those fancy words at the right places and make something out of it, that gets me in this trance, while I am already struck by your handsomeness(Someone’s smiling a lot, now).

This being evident as you are reading, when are you going to get me our first book?

Yes! OUR freaking first book!! I am taking so much control over us. I know all that. That’s because, I miss “us” sometimes and this is the only way I can hold someone’s hand and not feel any pain over the juxtaposed, interlocked fingers(God! Me and my Stupid word choices!)

Writers take a walk by Heartbreak lane on a daily-basis. I know you are new to the neighbourhood, so take your time, learn and get over to me as soon as possible.

I think I am starting to love letters. It gives me this 60s English Womenfolk feel. The Flower-Basket Cycles, Hats, Blue and White checked Shirts. I know you would have picturized me in the above scenarios I listed. Don’t you ever start your plan. I will have to use the Kitchen-Knife just like those 60s movies.

Now coming back to what I really wanted to say.
One fact about humans on earth, irrespective of what songs they hear, or what kinda creatures they live with, humans cheat on themselves for the sake of others, there’s this extent for doing that. You never crossed that, even for me.. that was the thing that amazed me first. You do what you want! I do what I want! And we do what we want(Except when it comes to movies! Because you kinda take the decision always).
We are good! better at times?!

So, write back to me, when the freaking butterfly effect you go mad about lets you!

Write slow and steady, because your handwriting shouldn’t have come past the four line notebooks of kindergarten. I am clueless about how it did!

We are already something. I don’t want an approval by words. Words are bitches.

Say ‘Yes’ with a kiss,
Or,
‘Yes’ with two kisses.

Yours,
You know my name!

P.s.- Its time start loving her. So, Duffer’s diary is closed and kept safely inbetween Vairamuthu and Tolstoy in my book rack.

Bye,
just barath a.k.a Duffer©