When she walked away

She walked away

Claiming she didn’t have you

Claiming she wanted you

Mind, body and soul

She was afraid of her own desire

Or your unexpressed ones

We shall never know

The Edge

There’s a life I have lived,
And a life I have imagined,
And oft the two have merged,
Sometimes the dreams have taken off

Half-measures make you float,
Convinced that the dreams are real
When your illusion breaks
You construct one anew

In the real dreams you live,
Moderation has no space
To the edge you go willingly
Dropping off the cliff to live

The moment of being scared
Is the moment of being alive
Dreams are stronger than illusion
And even if you fall you’re living

Look not at those who live their illusion
Never have they felt alive as you do
Being alive is not for the fainthearted
Being alive is for the edge

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Sense and Meaning

Image by emandir via Flickr

Shadows of the mind

Are real or dreams

What does it matter

When it seems real to me?

What is reality,

Why quibble over semantics,

When the fear and joy is real

That they instil in me.

Truth and fact

Don’t matter for me,

Context and

Perspective

Are what get me across the path

Every moment

Has it been an hour or ages ago

My heart and mind do not know

Earlier poems:

The Rains

Another Day, Same Place

Where were you?

The Rains

The rains

The rains have been here,
It seems like never before
I still am living the fear,
It bodes ill in store.
I loved the heat and the drought
I liked the sweat and grime,
We loved pottering about,
In nothingness and slime.
Where can we travel to,
In this watery sheets of steel,
What we can and can’t do
When we have stopped to feel?

Another Day, Same Place

Another Day, Same Place

It’s the same old street
Where I met you,
The same old fragrance hangs in the air,
Have you been here?
The street however seems a stranger,
Did it miss us?
Traveling around the world
what brought me back to this place I used to call home?
I search for your fragrance in the air,
The strangers on the street
Turn around and give me a stare,
Ignore them…and smell more ….
No you are not there…
The trees seem so grown,
The cobblestones seem so worn…
My forehead is creased
Travelling and searching has taken its toll
Thought I’ll be able to rest here, maybe home is here
But have to move, my home went with you.

– gautam