Headache

How does it start?

It is sly.

Like a millipede

Throbbing thousand times.

How do you feel?

Dizzy? Oh, no.

Nauseous? Not that.

Irritation? Far from it.

Then how it actually feels?

A tinge, it murmurs

At the centre

Screeching and scanning.

 La! What luck!

 When you got a headache.

 “Oh sweetheart, you’ve got a headache?

 Please rest and take care of yourselves.”

 You get that pampering

 It feels awesome.

 Not to do anything but

 Slump and stare at the ceiling--

 Scream at it to stop

 To stop that—agonizing

 Raw, stinging, ripping

 Ruthless pulse.

 You clinch your teeth

 Hard and harder

 To make it flee

 Alas! If only it was so meek.

 Then you start reminiscing

 About pleasant things.

 In the middle of it, you fall

 Asleep and it’s dead.

 If you’re at work

 Or have a deadline

 A cup of coffee (or chai)

 Or two will do for you.

 At the end of the day

 When you refresh and respite

 Headache may have vanished

 Or remained—

 All you will feel is

 Your triumph and how

 you worked hard despite it

 Will sink into still sleep.

Difficult

I do not know

what is and what

is not difficult.

That Difficult deals

with the other Difficult

and agrees being

difficult.

They find it difficult

‘cause of its difficulty

the way not as 

it was thought to be

since Difficult claims

to be greatly

difficult.

It runs upon everyone

who meet it unfortunately-

fortunately, encoils itself

everlasting; when

they do not reckon

it for long, all qualifies

difficult.

I wonder why Difficult

is so much difficult

to understand, rather

never subdues but its

repute is as it is destined

according to nature’s law-
Difficult. 

Farther From The Madding Crowd

While the motions of metaphysics

circulate in and around

the epicenter of the

transcendental (mind), forming

the forms for fifteen seconds;

the memory then unable to trace

it all.

A priory of knowledge contrasting

theories of thinking and performing

befitting the human; humor lost or

regained nobody can account for;

essence required is essence

allocated, while essence is a

grave necessity.

Vibrations and palpitations

ensue the adrenaline in-action;

whilst the deepest emotions

in the unconscious mind is

made barren and the

subconscious state, people

acting absent.

Adorable Pessimist

This method of dark resounding

Given away-

By the mind, without a twinkling

‘Fear’ is the word that collocates

Itself with-

That very thing within me which rotates.

Brooding, by some means has become

A profession, nothing to be proud of;

These laments aren’t easy to withdraw

They reside within, life long-

Cheerful acquaintance people seek,

Distress, shooed away

While lavished by some

Everything meaning the same.

This method of remotely stature

Making life gay-

Narrowed by  the parings

‘Live’  is the word that is construed

Inside us-

That very thing within me screwed. 

Discreet choice

Fleeing from materialistic flouts

Orphan was I, gliding, wandering

Could immensely inhale the rhapsody

Travelling past my ear drums, cuddling.

Not in my destiny to play myriad instruments

 More than food it is dear to me

Goosebumps ran through me, when if lawlessly

Clustered the curt of tunes into a pitch-perfect music.

With ten dollars I roamed mindlessly

Until I came across a young lad, didn’t halt

Holding a guitar in his arms,

I dropped my money into his bowl, obliviously.

Surprised, he asked a song that I craved

Trembling, then played  a winding tune

Curious; I stalked him after the gloomy sunset,

Switched into a grand ruddy hall-

Beaucoup children gathered around me,

But master scorned me to withdraw.

At daylight, beheld the marvel heap of instruments

Nothing perceiving, hit the dusty guitar, never stopping.

Taken aback was my master, harmoniously

He taught me, I played at streets

Many a money he acquired through me

Yet unsatisfied, turned harsh upon me.

A raid dissolved everything, I fled;

A priest listened to me like a deer

Was allotted to a music school, life’s stroke

There, all badged me the specie of Mozart.

The honor of performing a concert

Clinked my tiny blood cells, inviting for more

For music would conjoin me to my birth-givers;

Days escaped and days advanced.

Wanting for a multitude to hear me-

And my pinned Soul.

Both musicians; amidst, I drew my face

There they were smiling.

Frailty

Tiny moments are these
So will they pass
My mind is on lease
I head towards the grass.

No bird comes and sings
Jours and nuits get lonely
While I lay gazing galaxy-rings
No worry if it was my folly.

Botticelli Madonna (sweet singing)

Deep, hollow, irregular breaths she inhaled
A blow of wind plundering her sonority
She widened her eyes to look for a shadow, a mate
None did her eyes meet other than the soul of breeze.

Moistening her cheeks, discolored through endless sorrow
It beheld her, consoling her quivering velvet lips
Her tormented shadow was kissed infinitely, graciously
She glanced above, murmured and cajoled.

Platonic and gay, she surrendered to the gnawing ballad
Of the fraying wind, crooning to mollify her.
Mirthlessly she manoeuvred, her feelings intermingled
"A sad Botticelli angel," the wind thought.

Yet she was diffident, lest it might lurch away
Annealing and cringing her love to sail freely
The spangling wind sprinkled pity upon the angel
She reversed abruptly, the overwhelming wind slackened away.