Chains....

Just a piece of metal, shining in the sun
Faded and worn, the forgotten one.

The way it shines, silver and bright,
A brook on a silver night.
Cold and real against the skin
The warm glow of love within.
The hand that made cannot wear
The creation in sunlight’s glare.

The world destroys the one who creates,
What remains are but ruins…..

Ruins of a joy given by touch
Ruins of pain…born of thirst.
A thirst to keep what is yours
To burn every mind that understands your cause.
For how can one see and yet not feel
The joy and the pain..so surreal.

In chains, faded and lost
We pay the cost..
Of life and joy, what remains
Are just old and fading stains.

Moving Shades

As the sun sets the colors fade,
Everything brought down to a single shade.

The night, filled with a promise,
A mocking grin at your state.
You hope to find nothing amiss,
When dawn cleans out the black slate.

You dream dreams filled with expectation,
Blue skies and a green shade,
Bringing around a realization,
Of the shallow water that you wade.

As you watch the colors change,
A reflection of your inner tide,
Nothing is so strange,
As watching life go by, standing aside.

The Face

He saw the grasshopper clinging to the blade of grass. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there. Motionless. All around him was the field of green grass, damp from the rain. He could feel the dampness seep into his skin. His world was reduced to the door. The door leading into a room, opening out onto the balcony.
He thought of the slender case of steel, its tip rounded. He thought of it flying through air, the light breeze pushing it 10 mm away from the target. He had calculated and corrected for it.
The lens brought the door so close that he felt he could feel the surface, smooth and shiny, worn away by countless rains.
The door opened and a face filled his lens. A face that had played such a dynamic role in the drama, a decade long.
He aimed for the forehead, a clean shot.

* * * * *

I am 10 years old.
I have lived here since the day I was born.
I know the forest, the trails and trees, old friends of mine.
I am bored. What will happen if I go away?
Will these still exist? Can they live without me?
God, why have you made me like this?
If I was like the other boys then I would not have trees and trails as friends. That is why you made me like this.
Daddy says sometimes boys like me get wings.
Are you going to give me wings god?

* * * * *

He let out a deep sigh and lowered the telescopic lens. He could not do it. Too many memories. He should never have accepted, never have come here.
He saw the blade of grass swaying in the wind. The pale green veins carry water, he thought. Blood of grass, drawn from the ground, seeping through the soil, falling on the ground and splitting into a million parts, flying through air, great clouds…black….like mascara….lending beauty to the pale blue of the sky.
He rolled on his back and stared at the sky, soft clouds of white cotton sailing southwest.
It wont rain today, he reflected.
He closed his eyes and saw the face again. A father he head never had. A father whom he loved.
A father who had guided him, but failed.
He wished his mind had had a secret vault to lock away memories that had been valuable,
But had lost their relevance.
Little did he realize that his mind was just that, a vault without a key.

* * * * *
“ Why are you crying my child?” a gentle voice asked.
I looked up and saw the yellow robe, frayed at the ends. Dark and light brown stains heightened its color, yellow, like sunflowers in bloom.
I anted to run but I couldn’t. my leg was hurting.
I tried to look at the face but all I could see was a faint outline of the face.
“Are you god?”
I heard the soft chuckle, trying to be controlled but escaping through moist lips.
“ I am not god. Just his messenger.”
“ They say god is everywhere and listens to everyone”
“ That is true my child”
“ Why does he need messengers?”
Light seemed to reflect from the angular face, like a diamond. All you see is reflected light, not the angles and planes that reflect light.
“ We are for special people like you. We take your message straight to god so that he can grant your wishes.”
“ Can you ask him to give me wings? I want to fly.”

* * * * *

The face is still the same, he thought. The face had not changed. Thoughts words and deed had changed but the face remains the same. He cannot destroy that face, whatever may be the consequences.
God never gave him wings.
He got up and lifted the rifle, broke the stock, butt and sight and fitted them into the case. He slung the case over his shoulder and limped away.
God never gave him wings.
The light faded, the sun blotted out by dark clouds. It began to rain…

Rain …the ultimate soother of pain…
Rain…. the reason for the slain…
Rain…. the lost melody, dancing in disdain
Rain….the giver of grain
Rain….my true bane
Rain….don’t stain….don’t stain….