akshayadas’s blog

Point to point…

it’s a counter point..

point of encounter…

point to point..

it’s a counter point…

it’s a point to ponder.

at point blank range fired..

point is a dot…dot…

point is place where lovers’ met…

the lovers’ point…

point is an excuse to defend weakness…

Point to point it’s a counter point.

Offloading…

the moods in a bay of penance….

silently chewing the moments….

biting the nails, points….

inside the cocoon of thought…

where the mind is lost in ignorance.

Offloading…

the pounding hearts contents…

the beats.. the palpitations…the perspirations…

to swim across the vast tides of the ocean…..?

until the aching heart is silenced….

into vastness…

Oh! saviour rescue the soul…

before it sinks ….into the abysmal …

fathomless….bed of the deep ocean…

everything appears so temporary…

so ephemeral…here…

such vaccum here….

the echoes of rain drops disturbs my silence.

In this lone hour of mine when I peep into to the vaccant sky,

standing near the window; I see patches of dark & white clouds

pass by.

I get a glimpse of the vaccant sky.

The night is wearing a darker robe;

the crickets chirping; rehearsing classics of the season.

Slumber & drowsiness, drunken moods & the musical rendition,

the mind coolly takes of the creeper’s uninteilligible melody.

the piped music of the orchestra of the rainy night,

inviting drizzles to accompany the buzz;

the thunder to play the jazz;

the lightening to spray a flash;

for the players to act in musical ecstasy.

Musical rhapsody dancing to the tune non-stop,

non-chalant, incessant.

The animals, the humans to witness the supreme show

of the season .

The coloured moths signalling the arrival of rain,

their platonic affair with rain, love for death;

dance of ecstacy, musical fantasy for rain god;

to appease their birth.

Drench them, clip their wings, with each drop of rain;

to attain salvation on the transcendental platform.

It’s a symbol - a sign of the rain coming.

Festival of salvation, feast of the season in honour of the rains.

Just born, just death like the just married.

Each droplet clipping their wings,

each droplet washing away their body, mind & soul

to the bliss of just salvation.