Lost !

On her hands, he writes a verse..

always the lost poet

who has told a long story

in broken silence

cryptic.

In his sack,

he carries a brush,

a pencil with blunt tip

and a few sketches

he has stolen from

an unvisited memory lane.

Yesterday,

he wrote about paper boats,

fallen maple leaves

and a rainbow that has faded,

colors blended, blurred...

Sometimes, he looks at her

for a long time,

closing his eyes..

he lives in a fear,

that there will never be an escape..

that the poet will forever be lost,

found and unfound...

I found him last evening,

he looked sad...

but he reasoned,

there is nothing to be sad about.

I chose not to say,

happiness can't be reasoned.

And so he lives,

restless and resigned..

at the same time,

a lover and a loner,

broken in halves..

he tries to smoothen the edges

of what is left of the broken...

(c)Ankur

Shattered

In the deafening silence

Of a hollow laugh,

Something, somewhere is often missed.

In the hundred lies we live everyday,

And the truth that remains

Naked, battered and cold

In an ego that is too proud

To just wither away, choked.

And so I stand on the edge,

Of a sad smile,

Ready to fall in the bleeding pits of eyes

Where a dream remains

Like a shred of glass.

I am ready to fall

To break into a million pieces,

Not ready to die

Without one final rebellion.

Some people reach a breaking point,

Some wait,

Torturing themselves,

Taking it all

And not once asking,

"when is enough?"

They will be freed,

After the turmoil

Destroyed

Without a trace of lie left behind

To wither slow.

There are rivers,

That revolt,

And die in their youth,

No salty surrender for them.

And so I wait,

To be hit real hard

And stand, unshaken.

To fight back

And fall for once

After the fight is won.

Without ever hearing

The countdowns.

Because I have to wait

Through every day defeats

And meaningless victories

To be shattered

With no pity.

~Ankur Srivastava



From Brookefield

He sits at the bus stop

That reads Brookefield,

An urban child with no history

Of its childhood....

Shoulders limp and head thrown back,

He listens to the noise

Of cars and passers-by

That dissolves yesterday's talks.

He flicks a finger, quietly

And turns it "mute".

He walks up to the road

That leads to more such roads.

He holds the road, the grey sky above it

And the city that stretches beyond

Between his fingers

Like a canvas of flowing colors

And moving images

That mean nothing.

He rips it apart.

He spreads a faint-blue canvas

And picks his paint-brush,

A lemon-yellow morning

And eternal sadness

Of many nights

That have not slept.

He paints "waiting"

Of the city-clock

That still ticks

In some forgotten days.

He tosses away the paintbrush,

Without a signature.

He walks away

And carries the canvas along.

(c)Ankur



Dreamer

He made a paper-boat

Of the wrinkled tissue paper

The emblem of the coffee-shop

Gracing its sail.

He smiled at his new masterpiece,

"It's not about this peach colored boat

It's about the lost childhood,

Rains are coming..."

He tried to explain,

Honestly, for once..

They mocked and left.

The paper boat stayed a little longer

On his table and in his mind,

Before it was swept away

In the tide of the nothingness

That filled his days.

A few clouds of memories

Passed over him,

Under the endless blues

Of a sky stretched across the times,

He looked at the marigolds

Their sun-kissed yellow

Like her evening dress,

And his bicycle tripped,

Again in front of that wrought iron gate.

Another sun melted away,

Another unforgiven day dragged its feet

And her giggle still floated in the air.

Sometimes, he talked about

An unforgotten love

A school girl who never grows old

An old rickety bicycle

And streets of a forgotten town.

Sometimes, he looks at them

And a smile shies away

They understand not

What he says.

He smiles, nevertheless,

And the birds stay back with him

Even after it's dark..

A dreamer...

A loner?

Is he?

(c) Ankur Srivastava 

Thank you Kirti for giving me this muse  :)

On A Day Like This

I have tossed the afternoon sun,

Down from my terrace...

Through the dusty air and city smoke

Somewhere.. i don't care.

I like the evening,

Its grey color and tall shadows..

I like the way it rushes

To its end... in evening trains

And rain-washed streets.

In the little pocket

Of my sweat stained shirt...

Time lies still..

Beating slowly with my heartbeat..

And just as meaningless...

I have peeled the layers of grey

From the aging face of sky

And left an ugly scar

On the naked beauty of moon.

This is my night..

And i own it..

Its every moment

Is held still in my breath

And released with a shy..

The distant Sun conspires..

What do i care?

For the brick red mornings...

The school going kids

And their stolen innocence..

I close my eyes

To the haste on some bus stand

Breakfast news

Crisp white uniforms

And the city clock...

My time sleeps quiet

With my dreams..

And we dream ..

Beyond this tired day.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Loner 2

 

He was tired

Of unending days of gray.

Smoke-spitting evenings,

And dark silence of nights.

He had once read

A pretty love poem

In a sad, sulking twilight

To lit up its face with a kiss.

He had watched ever since,

The afterglow of his love

Dimming with every stroke of time

He had remained silent,

Trying not to cry.

He was told,

There are things more important

Than love and love poems.

And the sorrow of this twilight.

So he wished every night,

For tomorrow to be a new day.

With pastel hued mornings

And glittering afternoons.

A beginning often marks an end,

The whispering dreams

Of these dear dark nights,

Had to be muted.

So he did,

Silently sucking the life

Out of a burning love

And letting out the tarnished warmth

In little clouds of smoke.

He looked back, for the last time...

As far as he could

And saw nothing.

When they all waved,

With misty eyes,

He knew it was time.

He picked his bag, confused, and left...

The sadness of the end

The joy of a beginning...

He could not feel it

And tried not to pretend..

He was, as always,

A lonely man.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

I Sold the Twilight

I Sold the Twilight

The day ended
Quietly
A crimson love
Gave in.
Tarnished...
In twilight.

And birds hurried
Back to their homes.
The sky is not theirs,
Not in this twilight.

Memories
Of a lonely boy
Sulking,
Hiding..
In dark.
The boy was lost,
Forever,
In a dusky twilight.

Your sad face
Smiled
In the afterglow
Of the evening
I kissed your lips.
With your kohl
Mixed in our tears,
I painted a twilight.

A cup of tea
By the sunset.
The long road
Back home.
And our sweet nothings.
After a tired day.
We wait for the twilight.

I ran once again,
Barefoot,
Forwards and backwards
Across an endless sea
Of hope.
And you waited
By the lighthouse...
In the twilight of love.


But...


I sold the twilight.




(c) Ankur Srivastava

BEAST

Beast
The rusty shackles of last night's dreams
Melted away in the flaring sun.
In a never ending dusty afternoon,
He woke up, almost reborn...

Some remembered him,
"Ah! the boy with the sad smile."
Others believed,
He had risen from the grave.

For, his face was blank...
A smile hauntingly pasted.
He hummed a strange tune,
Staring into nothingness.

He was never seen before,
Or perhaps went unnoticed.
But then he set his thumping feet
On the empty streets
And dust kicked off.

As the Sun bowed to his feet,
Looking up at the heavens,
He rose a toast,
To the mourning for strangled dreams.

He seemed sad and yet so strong,
Grief embarrassed;
And guilt was set free
Naked, in the chilly evening breeze.

The innocence of a full moon,
Was put aside with disdain.
He played with the shadows of night.

And painted the dark
On his face.
Mask of sanity scrapped.

He walked the road,
The beast he always was. 

(c)Ankur Srivastava

Loner

I walk alone,

From the forest of dreams,

A tiny wish plucked away..

I feel the wind of desire,

Brushing my hair.

And I hold my breath.

A stare at the sun,

I let it look down at me..

Proud of its light;

Oh dear, beast of light!

However,

you may look down at me,

I will rise again tomorrow,

To stare at you.

My blood has lost its red,

It's now black and white,

Grey,

The color of my soul.

My smile,

a twisted lip on frozen face.

And my eyes will show nothing,

Just emptiness,

So deep,

You wont dare to reach.

I am here all by myself,

Dont know,

Where I will end up,

I run against destiny,

From the forest of dreams.

A solitary traveler,

Lunatic,

Is on the hunt,

Smelling tears,

I love the pain...

Anybody around?

To reach for me?

'Just back off and stay away! '

(c) Ankur Shrivastava

Count!

Pendulum of time,
Weighed by memories,
Still swings
From heaven to hell.
And I count....

The moments pass by,
The sandclock races,
To empty it all.
Sands of dream,
Will they hold back,
I count each fleeting second.

Cityclock stuck midnight,
A lunatic traveler
Waits for the last coffee.
And streets will go to bed,
He wont,He has to count...
The cups of coffees gone cold.

As the rain pours down,
I hide in little hut,
By my window I count...
The paperboats lost in drains.

Each day, each moment
A thousand lies,
Broken dreams,
Prayers never heard
And undying hope...
I count them all.

Forgotten

He hangs around the same river,
Still tosses a pebble,
And looks for the ripples,

Now they die rather quickly.

He has always been a loner,
And the river was a friend,
But rivers have a habbit,
Of moving on and on,

He has been left behind.

He wont take the bridge,
He loves his side of the river,
They call him from there,

And he calls the river.

There is a twist in the way of river,
That lives a twisted trail,
It forms a knot,

He is unable to dissolve.

He stares at the river,
Indifferent mass of water,
That has wickedly changed its color,

No longer transparent.

As the sun kisses the sky,
He wakes up again,
He turns to the river
To see his forgotten face,
But river wears a bloody red today,
And his reflection is lost.

The agony of being forgotten.

Night

I stood on the cliff
In a cold windy night,
The fierce, hungry night
Glared at me,hit me hard
Ready to tear me apart.
I had nothing to be robbed of,
For i was a hollow filled with dark,
Loathed, alone and friendless
Like the night itself.

We soon became friends
We talked of the glorious moon
And you.
Stars flashed across the sky
As i remembered you.
From one star to another
I tried to draw constellations.
All the outlines resembled you.

Playful, brutal jealous night,
Liked a perfect lover,
Played its witches-craft,
And the stars perished.
Voids were created in the night,
Like my heart itself.

Moments passed in silence,
Night was about to go,
It beckoned me.
My new soulmate, night,
Ultimately leaving me again,
On another marooned cliff.
I decided against it this time.
In the arms of night,
I leaped with joy.

Have you noticed a faint star
Near your window
Last few nights?

The Ecstasy Of Pain 6

The Journey !

A rainbow washed away,

In a torrid rain.

An urge to fly

With clipped wings.

Beauty brutally raped,

Virgin body, battered soul.

In this weird world,

No surprise, I walk alone…

Desires burned away.

Hopes brushed aside

Dreams long forgotten.

Carefree steps,

A thumping heart…

Pain flows in the vessels.

Rampaging as a river.

A haunted winter night,

Remainig embers of guilt

Keeping me warm.

Notions falling apart.

Memories fading away.

A fresh beginning,

Every step.

Shadows chased

Horizons challenged.

On roads never visited,

Journey is the destination.

With You Or Without You

You try to read my eyes,
And I can’t tell you in your face,
That you read nothing,
You understand nothing.

My dreamy eyes have never lied,
You may have known my dreams,
If you had really tried.

It’s just that you look straight through me,
I feel ignored, and deserted.
Your eyes leave a sting in my soul
And yet you read nothing,
You know nothing.

It’s tough to be what I am,
A puzzle I have become,
You never bothered to know the code.
A boring riddle I am for you,
It’s tough to be what I am.

You want to walk along with me,
I want to hold your hand…
Preoccupied, you look away,
My cold hands are left trembling.

If one day I move ahead,
Or I fall back to catch my breath.
You will hold me guilty
And say it aloud,
You wanted to walk along with me.

But when we walk together,
Do you know,
How I hold back my screams,
How I drag my feet.

That I know this better,
You don’t want to walk with me.

You have a lot to offer me,
Your voice so sweet has often told me this
But dear, a reflection in my eyes can tell you
You just don’t know what I want.

With you or without you,
I yearn for you
And I never find you there.
With you or without you!

The Ecstasy Of Pain

Two eyes awake in pain,
Beads of tears dead.
Dreams lie quiet, afraid, still.

Lips twisted in a smile,
Dry flaky lips,
They don't understand,
They can only feel.

A whisper echoes
In deep well of solitude,
Where despair sprouts up,
Roots of hope can never reach.

I pick up my paint-brush,
A crimson dot on blue canvas;
Colors reflect dimly.
Clouds wander, homeless,
They don't rain now,
They just wander.

The load of pain
Seems too heavy.
I burn them to ashes,
And burry in the ground.

I kick the earth,
Wounds open up again.
Ah! The ecstasy of pain,
I bleed, I walk.