Meteor Shower

Scrolling her news feed,
She then got around to read,
A line there said,
There will be meteor shower in the eve.
The sky is always her passion,
The apex of her dreams,
Relieving her from worldly concussion.
In her semi-conscious sleep,
She dream of the sky,
She dream of him,
Those iterations enough to turn her high.
They have miles between them,
But the souls were close,
Staring at her screen in a closed chamber,
She craved for covering the distances,
But her apartment constrained.
They were talking then,
From the escape hole, that keep them intact,
He read her mind,
Her thoughts, her hidden enacts.
He asked her to secretly move inside her den.
Close your eyes,
He said,
The journey was about to begin.
She wanted a magic spell then,
And he did it fast,
Taking them to the land of their togetherness,
That was then miles far.
She felt the chills,
They moved on a count of three,
The room slowly vanished,
And they landed in the land of trees.
They were there,
On their countless nights,
That was a dreamland,
With far stretched field and fireflies.
Her urge to lay on her back in the grass was fulfilled,
She smiles,
A sense shivers her till she turns nil.
The vast sky was there,
The ceiling has disappeared,
His magic was true,
She was there with him, and begin the ceaseless stare.
They stared the sky,
The ceaseless meteor fall,
The hands were clutched tight,
The sky started to revolve.
The big dipper in the middle,
Below was the pole star,
His hands curling her waist,
Her happiness is beyond par.
He send her the songs,
Those took her even deep,
To the land where they met,
Where the nights weren’t for sleep.
She felt his smell,
He felt hers,
Though they were miles apart,
The magic traveled.




The time when she came out of cocoon,
The world around her said that she was a boon,
Fiery colors on her wings,
Those small glittering eyes with the majestic twisted rings,
They said she was a charm for the clan,
As she flutters her wings, they sparkle the barren lands,
Her mates always believe in her super natural powers,
They knew that her single touch blooms the flowers.


The queen fly too adores her beauty,
She sees her as a reflection, to whom she can convey her duties,
For she is young and fierce, yet wise,
The elderly mass often grow skeptical about the queen’s choice.
The decisive time is yet to come,
When the queen had to choose among the aspiring sum,


Here, the unaware beauty flies so high,
Carefree of the heights without those sighs,
Though she know her clan is not meant for crossing the heights,
Still she finds pleasure in those far flung flights.
She knows that she has something unique in possession,
She feels satisfied but never loses her fashion,


For her, the life is about tickling the rattles,
Jumping above and below, unwrapping the petals.
She does what she likes, she likes what she does,
This is her soul’s karma, her journey, her purpose.
Gradually, she got to know,
The world has unleashed only a scene of the major show.
The world around her wants her to lead the clan,
To master the arts, to shun her futile plans.


As she dwelled deeper in its ideologies,
She lost herself, shrunk, as if she has been creased.
The omnipresent invisible bounds are deceitful, she now knows,
Benevolence is not as easy as its tale goes.
The feeling of concern, for her loved ones, forced her on the way,
Where she has to play, the role, which never existed, when she cast her play.


As she accepted the life, that is served on her platter,
The butterfly lost her shimmer with her dreams shattered.
She know owns the place, where once she met the queen,
Now, she commands her clan, as she did in her reign.


She wonders, does she do what she likes?
However that does not matter now,


As she had surrendered herself to a journey called life.

Will you find me that place

Where the mast drops low and the sailor seeks the shore,
Where the steps on the sand marks our uncertainty, the echo spreads our roars,

Where the winds are fierce and the undaunted sky spreads blue,
Where the fireflies lit the way, and take us deeper through the dew,

Where the few dried wood creaks and other bellow.
Where the ashes fly high, when beneath the fire catches willow,

Where the glasses touch the edges, and the rhythmic waves flow,
Where sheaths are futile as the distant stars drape us from above.

Where the breathe gets aligned and the pace gets calmed,
Where the pair of eyes stare the infinite, with the intertwined arms.

Where the aspirations levitate above, with the belief of turning them true.
Where the night grows so dark, that the only thing reflects, is the love we make in lieu.

Where we feel neither fear, nor loss, nor gain.
Where the living is ethereal,

Will you find me that place?

The last night

And it feels like a day before,
When she entered her alter-home lurking behind the door,
Twelve weeks as the letter says, she is going to live in this city,
Create new stories, in the town, city’s vicinity,
She saw from her window, the sky reaching towers,
They made her eyes gleam as her dreams settled down par,
She has always thought of reaching the heights,
Mundane life is never her plight,
She started her first day dressing up in the tinge of orange,
Discovering the land, people, weather, all once strange,
Strange things always carry the mysteries,
The light lurking through the darkness, the sun coming from the wild clouds in spree.
She has an insane way of dealing with the new,
She wants to taste the life at once, brewing it in her favorite stew.
The city is an amalgam of wild shimmers and serene showers,
She loved the way people walk on the lanes, agile gestures reflecting power.
She tried to tune her rhythm with them as day passed,
She sometimes felt like an alien disk hovering across mars.
She traveled alone,
She traveled far,
She traveled with her soul-alike,
She traveled across the altars,
The more see wondered, the more she felt the chills,
That now she lives a half-round away from her native hill,
She walked on her colored pairs and covered the roads stretched far,
In the rains, in the sun, in the signals, across the bars,
Her mind swayed in the rhythmic notes of the classics,
In earplugs sometimes fell when she heard the rushing traffic,
She often loves to hear the sounds of the vehicles, revving down the alley,
The signal’s bell,
The skates board trails,
The cheering performer,
The lofty rope walker,
The chatters of the mob,
The clusters of the swarm,
The shimmering lights down on the distinct road,
The pole star sticking to its place on hold,
The signboards with new marks,
The flower baskets hanging from the barks,
The spokes of the bicycle wheels,
The tapping of the elegant heels,
The masts with high flags,
The skyline, the highest tower in the stretch,
The green grass with yellow flowers,
The misty land with sprinkler showers,
The big black squirrel performing Martian arts,
The merry couples cheering wide playing cards,
The distinct convergence of the sky and the sea,
The harmony, the strings, the boundless words coming aside the tree,
The seagulls flying high,
The wallets turning down dry,
The shops, the bars, the clubs, the streets,
The tinge of new tastes, the savories from different cuisines,
The symphony on the radio,
The poetry on the daily notes,
The smile from people unknown,
The first glass of beer, with the one whom she now owns,
The fall, where you wish to drench high,
The color of zeal, that never let you dry,
The collateral stream of water and frolicking feet,
The ice cracking in the wine glass, the fire cracking in the dree,
The stars shining above them, when she took the first move,
The winds moving past when he subdued,
And she couldn’t stop thinking,
The infinities are bigger then they know,
Sitting in her chair,
Staring the city,
The last night,
In its unusual glow.