akshayadas’s blog

the desire to go back to childhood,

keeps hunting me;

My mother is no more,

but her lullabies to lull me to sleep;

keeps my memories pestered for a deep

renunciation;

I still nurture her memories of fondling me,

beating me for my nuisances and adoring me

next; to keep me on hold with her dream land

store house of stories to keep me attentive in my ignorance;

Her lap was the emotional bed of platonic love;

which gave me solace and solace.

I still recall those treasured moments of tender care.

That kept me run after her while she kept finishing her domestic cores.

Memories be it pleasant or sad is always painful.

Memories of childhood are unforgettable.

One always aspires to be a child always,

to keep one self free from the mundanely existence.

Mom where are you, please come back , take me back

to your laps and reconnect me to the Lord over you for

a deeper analysis of my souls’ quests.

Rose 11.1.08

In love i would rub your

fragrant pollens against mine,

creating a magnetic sensation

invade the hidden hiccups

and relentless sighs,

that evaporate between .

I would measure the depth of the pulse’s gravity

that would be beating humdrum for me;

as well as yours.

In the solitary quest for touching you,

flower by flower,

I would roam over you,

plucking the beautiful moments for survival,

making intersectional flush of hissing noises

and clasping and collapsing petals,

vying for a union untold, unknown ..

In our ignorance may be,

we may catch glimpses of those treasures;

valleys, lamp posts and wet grass.

Waiting silently since time immemorial.