Shooting Stars

What did the shooting stars do to deserve a moment of glitz

in the Infinity of time and sky?

A moment nothing more than

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A symphony short of the conductor.

 

Was it because of the burns that make it beautiful to the by-stander so far away?

Was it the friction?

Or was it the never ending falling out of love it symbolized?

 

I couldn’t really write or tell.

 

Even after being such shooting stars in the past,

Sharing the same core with her.

After all the burns that left me with only love and little common sense.

After all the black holes we believed we surpassed.

After all the scars,

A numbness for all but the pain of longing

A burn that is giving me a crushing pain that I’ll get used to.

 

A burn that will glow for the world,

Make no noise,

Meddle with sanity.

 

For it is

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A two-piece symphony short of the conductor.

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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

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 Maple

We felt fountains of darkness flow on our bodies.
A state of challenging coldness,
Not the brain, but the mind got hypothermic.
It was a moment when love was the Only Light,
Every other second, love was that first apple.

Immortality at grasp, words became pawns.
Infinity for few seconds, all our remaining years were compensated.
Intuition was all lucy’fied.

To cafune.
To caress.
To lock.
To still.
To get out.
To live.. we decided.

It was outside the unity of time.
An A minor and an F.
An Alleregretto was overlooked and stayed away from.

It never marched to the unity of place.
This bed could have been the other side, I promised to meet her, last time.

It did not heed to the unity of action
We don’t believe in anything completely, ever.
All lasted, until the second, her hand hovered over my shoulder.
I believed in the ambiguity she was.

Electric impulses started trotting,
It was by the usual route
But, slower.

And what followed was the world’s most beautiful cliche..

This abyss
stripped us of our doubts.
What I couldn’t tell in light,
I stammered through all night.

We were lying.
We weren’t lying.

The curtains and spreads still hold on to that dark night.
They still howl it to us through the winnowing winds.

just barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
To Miss.Autumn
To my fall
To my St.Martins Summer

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 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!

She already has a gift!
A skill that I used to envy
And something I am not supposed to now.

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