Smoke

I see him,
sitting in the corner of the room;
his endless eyes open,
with dark shadows falling beneath them;
his paper-thin face smoothed out,
expressionless;
frail was his body,
hunched, bent, warped;
his legs were like branches
of a tree long dead;
and around them, his arms,
his hands digging into the flesh;
and he was still,
still, like he was dead.
All around him,
was ash, broken devices,
and pieces of wood,
wood that music once made
and instrument that named him.
And the smoke,
the smoke hovered around him like shadows,
and wedged between his skeleton fingers,
his lifeline, burning and glowing, 
sucking the life out him slowly.
His lips quivered, then trembled endlessly,
his eyes grew red, and tears appeared.
He cried,
softly at first.
Then a scream echoed through the room,
which seemed to go on forever.
He felt it,
the pain,
the loss,
the sorrow,
and he realised what he had become.

Lost

There he sits,
his eyes staring aimlessly into space,
his skinny body hunched forward,
a cigarette hanging on the edge of his, 
dry, parched lips. 
He has no idea, 
he remembers nothing, 
nothing about anything. 
Next to him, 
lies a broken guitar, 
the wood burnt and broken, 
the strings torn to pieces, 
the colour hardly visible. 
In front of him, 
is a blank canvas, 
and around the canvas, 
are colours in different sizes and of different types. 
He now trembles, 
and tears begin to fall. 
A painful cry escapes from within him, 
and he weeps, staring at his hands, 
which hold a paintbrush, 
and a guitar pick. 
He has no clue, 
he has no clue where he got lost, how he got lost, 
and as the cigarette grows smaller, 
he tries to remember the way back home, 
back to who he used to be, 
but he ends up staring ahead aimlessly into space, 
frozen in time, 
unable to realise that it is too late, 
it is way too late...

Your Dark Eyes

I see myself in the mirror,
and there I begin to realise how much I have changed,
how much more I smile,
how much different I look,
how much my eyes seem to dance,
how much good there is in me.
Then, somewhere hidden,
I see more of the change,
more anger there is to me,
the tears sliding down my face,
the sobs I can't seem to hear,
the pain I can't seem to feel.
Then I see you,
standing behind me,
watching me with those death-like eyes,
staring at me with a ghostly look,
that makes me feel cold,
and at the same time sends this massive electric shock across my body,
that makes me tremble with an emotion,
that I was never able to decipher;
and I long to turn around and cry on your shoulder,
but now I seem to know you much better,
yet I don't know you at all,
and, more than ever, I don't want to turn around,
to see that I was only imagining you.
You never seem to change, but you are not the same person I had met before,
and how much ever I run away,
those haunting eyes of yours,
they never leave me alone,
and now when I am staring into the mirror,
into your eyes,
and don't turn around,
I want to look away,
away from you,
but even after all of this,
I still find some peace,
some amount of refuge,
some solace,
in those eyes of yours...

Blink

Honestly,
sometimes I feel that somehow,
somewhere,
somebody might just pop out,
and will blink once, twice, thrice,
blink till I say "Hello?"
and there would still be no reply.
Blinking until one's eyes go red,
till blood tears out,
till I wipe the tears,
and demand to know what's wrong.
And the answer would be a stare,
and, like, forever,
that stare will never leave...
if the stare never fades,
nor will that person,
which means that it will be forever...

Shut

No one seems to understand,
no one seems to make everything better,
I cry but no one wipes my tears,
I shout but no one hears me,
I'm seething with pain but no one comes to my aid,
then I see that,

I'm shut in a box that has no way out,
no way in.
No one is there for me,
because I let no one be there for me...

The Stranger

I saw innocence.
Innocence deep in his dark eyes,
so don't tell me what to do.
I know I did right when I smiled at him,
when I grinned at myself when he grinned back,
I know I did right to wave at him,
at this person who I don't know.
Let me tell you something:
if people din't take the risk,
to  become acquainted with a stranger,
would there be a sense of friendship in every person?
No,
there would be nothing called "friendship."
I knew you, and every other person who said so was wrong,
call me a dictator, a control freak,
but I know you all were wrong.
"Who knows how old he is?
  Where he has been?
  How could you be so idiotic?" are the questions you will ask me,
and I will tell you to shut up,
because there is this instinct in every human being,
which tells them right from wrong.
How can I help it if you can't seem to find yours?
Well you will say that I am right, soon, when you meet this stranger.
He may be older than me,
may have been through dark times,
may have suffered,
and what not,
but that does not mean,
that he is not human,
because decent human beings,
know that when someone smiles at them,
they should smile back,
no matter what.

Deprived of Exposure

Why did I say it?

That's because I can't keep it within.

How did it happen?

Exposure,

exposure to something

I am too scared to behold.

Scared,

scared because I lose so much,

a dear one,

a bunch of friends,

and a lot more.

I want to deprive myself,

of the happiness,

of the warmth,

of everything beautiful

that Exposure gives me;

because I don't know what to do

about that one person

who knows me better than myself.

I can't hurt that person,

but Exposure keeps getting the better of me,

and then I remember,

That I have been deprived of everything beautiful,

and I give myself up

to happiness.

The Image

I am not able to make out,
why this image is all I can see;
strange, because its reality has been around me
for quite some time now.
I din't think that
it was possible for me
to dwell upon the image of this reality
that did not wash away like it always did
in the depths of my chaotic mind.
Talk of this
is heard every second of every day,
but, according to me, I wasn't affected
by the exposure to this one factor.
I must be very wrong,
because, like a dam that held this back
for all this time in me broke,
a new and electrifying emotion
swept through me like a wave,
and memories, voices, thoughts, instances,
burst like a bomb
with a huge explosion that rocked the structure,
the workings, the dynamics
of my incorrigible mind.
This seems familiar yet a stranger,
I know what happened but I am clueless about what's going on,
in the depths if my chaotic, incorrigible mind.