A crumpled mulch.
Papers and invisible blood.
Phrases like a savage harvest;
one of Neftali’s best.
I learnt them.
And forgot them.
A precious metallic limbless cold-blooded vertebrate, I am.
You coloured the mulch.
With your feet.
An invisible pen.
Resistant it was.
An unbridled canvas.
Pure.
Your cheeks have seen much salt.
Your eyes designed for an unending dream.
There is no other way but to love you.
Crow chasing a butterfly
A finger across the face of it,
a gentle index hit.
Kept aside and I went high.
And with a sigh…
I felt alive.
Twas for a moment.
I let loose power incumbent.
And then a fake smile.
A fake sigh.
I was again, a crow chasing a butterfly.
Inspired (to write 6 months and 15 days later) by: Viewerscope/ Solipsism
Tossing, turning and trembling…
How I tremble tonight.
How lonely I am.
I’m hurt; so I hurt.
You wouldn’t know how twisted I am.
You are blinded
so blinded by bright light.
And hence you fail to see the darkness,
the darkness that lurks behind.
You won’t be reasoned with.
Your own despair won’t permit you.
So I will let you be.
I will clam up.
And will allow my darkness
to disgust you with its stench.
And you will see the light.
And I won’t be its source.
And I will smile.
And I will cry.
But this will happen.
I will see it happens.
In fact, dear friend,
this will happen.
So I will cry now.
And I will sleep later.
For a lot of tossing, turning and trembling…
awaits me tonight.
Shades of guilt
Emphatically she spoke,
eventually I wrote.
The varied feelings that toyed.
She gave up being coy.
The punter within slept all along.
The hunter caged himself.
The former self grew proud.
And soft denial grew loud.
Breath.
You almost brought my death.
Fingers.
You dangerous harbingers!
Shudder lost soul.
The shades of guilt entice me.
They mock me;
infuriate me.
They try. They try.
Your shades of guilt,
can’t even penetrate a feather.
Varun Rajagopalan
Soul Seller
He opened the door and he walked down the road,
threatening to never return.
I locked up the door and I shut myself in,
hoping he’ll reach hell and burn.
But he turned right back and he started to walk,
making his way to my door.
Panic set in as I wanted to hide,
I fell down and crawled on the floor.
Soul seller…
He thought, I was, his fella…
Soul seller…
He thought, I was, his fella…
He knocked on my door and he asked me to open,
asked me to not fear his voice.
I tried to pretend as though I couldn’t hear,
but it seemed like I had no choice.
He said that I’ll huff; he said that I’ll puff.
And bring down your house like a deck.
He did as he said and he brought down my house.
And reached out and he grabbed my neck.
Soul seller…
He thought, I was, his fella…
Soul seller…
He thought, I was, his fella…
Varun Rajagopalan.
The E D G E
Eclipsed disdain, gainful edge.
Just a couple from the ledge.
Mine of darkness, seas of grey.
Akin to a flightless bird of prey.
Emulated doubt, gunned-down ego.
Wait a while and then we go.
Hurried and buried, mayhem galore.
Movie stars send me to yore.
Easily drained, gullible eccentric.
Bewitched and brainless, not neat, not chic.
Hurt and helpless, wounded and scarred.
Arthur boy sent me afar.
Ecstatic, drowned, groaning enigma.
Scorching mass of flowing magma.
Steel cage, iron mesh.
Now an inch from the edge.
The E D G E.
Varun Rajagopalan.
Tiny pieces of pebbles
Tiny pieces of pebbles.
I won’t miss you.
Plethora of emotions.
I won’t cry.
Rapturous reasons of laughter.
I won’t stare out the window.
Generous, beautiful smile.
I will not sigh.
Bloom of morning dew.
I won’t look at the clock.
Blessings of evening rain.
I don’t need to talk.
For every time your thought appears,
I’ll look deep within my heart.
That is where you live.
And so, we are never apart.
Varun Rajagopalan.
The Holiday
There was less sleep.
Even if there was, twasn’t deep.
A rough ride.
Pushed around side to side.
A movie played while some slept.
The lead throughout wept.
And there were a couple of stops.
Open spaces. Unwanted crops.
And the destination was reached.
Several barricades breached.
I tasted roses and dew drops.
And wandered around a few shops.
Drunken state; punched my head.
Akin to making love to the bed.
Guilty awakening; another beginning.
And then resort to the real thing.
In my books I registered a legend.
My holiday came to an end.
Wish it would happen again.
Else beautiful dreams will go in vain.
Varun Rajagopalan.
Mirror image
The mirror image gazes.
Utters senseless phrases.
It questions my intentions.
It pleads against my greed.
“My need”, I say.
The light within a ray.
The games that I play.
Will hurt me someday.
Until then I rumble.
In the corporate jungle.
And fate takes a tumble.
I don’t care if I stumble.
I don’t know what’s on my mind.
What I was is hard to find.
Enjoying myself within the grind.
Care and fear I’ve left behind.
I was you when you were blind.
So blind. Incurably blind.
My own intent, I cannot gauge.
Left that to my mirror image.
Varun Rajagopalan.
9mm
I am…
Chaotic when witty.
Unable to be a wallflower at will.
Mentally I crumble;
into a rut I tumble.
Peaceful whereabouts I hunt.
Reconnaissance is just a stunt.
I pull a fast one on myself.
And wonder how and why.
I’m an angel, an imp, an elf.
I smile, I laugh and I cry.
I loaded something.
I cocked it. It went off.
Not on it’s own.
How can it, you moron?
It found its target.
But I didn’t die.
That bullet didn’t have my name on it.
It didn’t. It didn’t.
Maybe that’s why…
I chose to remain nameless.
It’s safer that way.
Logic? You’ll find utter dismay.
(Loosely inspired by a song by the band Nonpoint)
Varun Rajagopalan.
Constantly 