this blog has now moved to theliltedlyric.wordpress.com/ :)

You're beautiful, but you're not true.

you're beautiful, but you're not true.

lip-locked with a dream,
you tasted of moonlight.

a vibrato of the senses
once touched by the ethereal.

a song by the crackling fire,
and perfect obsidian sleep.

a lullaby scented of summer
and pine cones;
and of doors of rain.

but just like that,
you're beautiful, but you're not true.

----
conceptualised from fragments of Ginsberg, Aldiss and Gaiman; written during the journey between Pune and Mumbai.

untitled #5

and we meet
in a garden of words,
separated by a palindrome
of emotions
which will never come to pass.
reflected on rainbow puddles
and across sing song clouds
in dewdrops and pond side dreams,
scattered syllables of
secret smiles
and sidelong glances.

till the rainsmith is gone
and static fills every empty nook
that rain brushed cobblestones
left behind.

----
this one's totally inspired by the movie Garden of Words. and the rains of course.

untitled #4 / thoughts of rain

while it rains in dulcet tones,
summersongs drip from the leaves
and rainbows peek out of puddles
rippling in notes of blue.

thoughts of rain keep me up
while i play my tunes
with little thought
to tomorrow's hazy dawn.

rainsmith, rainsmith
last orders and another song
for the road that will
see you through?

------------------------
i hope at least some can figure out who/what this pays tribute to. a tiny clue would be the name of my blog.

untitled #3

the night carves out iridescent verse
amidst stormy collisions of the soul
in a soliloquy with the rainsmith.

with piano toned and lilted lyrics
from moonshine puddles
'twixt silences which make leaves rustle.

till reality rings out
and the song voice
tells it all to stop.

------------------------
this scrap of blank verse was inspired by a late night train ride (something i always find quite inspiring); and this song - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GdqHJqeVy8

untitled #2

and in you waltz
through once unhinged
and now delicately balanced
doors
which can only leave
a frail impression of solidity.

your smile is out of context;
a gorgeous song which has tasted blood.
your voice
a careful hazy indifference
masking misplaced emotions
masking more apathy.

it rains in our fever dreams
peeling away all the colours
promises made driftwood
sinking in a whirlpool of words
unsaid.
i look back just as you look away.

The book of our rhymes

Somewhere there is a book
lost elsewhere so we would never look.
Yellowed parchment the color of sunsets and kisses
words the shape of lullabies in foreign tongues
and the floaty things you see when you close your eyes.
Where the ink smells of rain and lost love
and the letters form the shapes of pretty melodies intertwined like lovers.

the book is as different as he who reads it.
Emotional tripwires,
and hungover memories,
the undying need to scream,
spring tinged laughter,
tunes yet unwritten
and lovers` talk
and heartbroken poems;
but it's none of those,
and of course
nothing else either.
Pages of waking dreams
with ever-changing hues
as fickle as a smile.

The book is everyone who takes a peek
and some who stop at the cover.
It's the dog ears
and the kaleidoscope bookmarks
at seemingly unimportant pages
and underlined words and illegible
footnotes. Footnotes are important.
It's the time spent reading it,
the tears and crumbs across its folds.

Don't you get it yet?
A dream along a mobius strip
is where it ought to begin.
And so,
it'll never again end
between you and the
six degrees of separation
from the last song ever sung.

Oh, and the book has no index
just in case you were wondering.
Get your own.

untitled #1

velvet wrapped memories
kept out of sight
promises and hopes, wrapped
in cream sunset cellophane
poems and letters
with words that just seemed right
without a second thought

the whispered precious
few moments
when we dreamed happy
of waking up the next morning
and nothing would have changed.

and then we woke up.

The seduction of dreams

it won't be long till my dreams
are seduced again.
the yellow white speckled
parchment paper would do.
i can see the ink blots on it
taking a myriad of shapes
that are as incomprehensible
as the criss crossing shadows
when the streetlights come on.

the afterglow of dusk might
lead to rain. it might not. and
drops of shard memories will flow
down our hands through veins of
long lost emotion; i watch your eyes
watch them as they drip off
and into the parched wind
which was the only stowaway
when our doors were closed
and your eyes shone brighter than ever.
those eyes will make even lesser
sense soon enough.

ever is a word that should
never be written.
it is always a lie.
a beautiful, stained glass emotion
wrapped into itself inside a kaliedoscope
that makes it ever so pretty.
till the sun goes down.
then there remains only
the sounds of tinkling,
broken glass bangles
in mockery of a stupid roadside dream.

it might not be long till my dreams
are seduced again.
but every dream wakes up a nightmare.
the mirror cracks when you ask it to
lie one more time.
there is a rhyme for frayed edges,
a soliloquy for every fear
that takes us hostage in broad daylight.
there will always be songs about you.
but none for you. because.

In between Dreams

between the obvious and yesterday
between the thunderstorm and the rainbow puddles
between clenched eyes and a broken smile
is there any place for me?

between the joke and the pun of love
between the grey skies of stagnation and the rain of release
between your walls and mine
is there shelter for a dream?

between the haze and a touch of dew
between what is lost and what will never be found
between the teardrop and the floor
is there space for a metaphor?

between your shadow and my nightmare
between what we shared and what we never will
between your lies and my betrayal
is there time for another song?

dare to sing

sometimes
words aren't enough
and i need to look away
lest that smile
smoulders my walls.
i am just incidental now
or in a complicated web
of belief and not
you want me to be so.

take this song
hold it tight
no, i will not skip it
listen to it
the window is there
throw it out
bit by bit
let the strands of us tear
and the edges of the
memories fray
till all is left is
you
and
i.

you started building
your wall
as i started breaking mine
halfway through
we were cut off
oh wait i forgot
we is not a word any more
i.
you.
i'll get used to it :)

there will be a box
dusty
sealed up tight
in a corner of my mind
with a label of you
written in smudged letters
i'll stay away from it.
come take it back sometime?
i could do with the space.

'Got your message.
How and why?
Because I appreciate irony,
songs in the dark, books. I
accept people for the way
they are and I dare to sing.'

or so was said.
see, it wasn't hard to turn you
into a poem after all.
the spell has ended.
the song has stopped.
the lights come back on now.
let me take my final bow?

-----

clockwork dream

My clockwork dream it starts tonight
Its blurred edges just out of sight
sepia toned and gilt engraved
long forgotten and dust framed.

A patchwork past hung on the wall
faded out of sight for all
take it down and throw it out
let the hole it leaves stand out.

tongue twisted thoughts they come to mind
a stained glass dream that has gone blind
ticking on and ticking down
burning bridges without a sound.

faking a blue hue while we sleep
blue tears roll down yet we don't weep
blue tinted songs when we wake up
our smiles rolled out our heart shut up.

and yet we dream this clockwork dream
ticking away, nipping at the seams
of the taped up book with a happy end
of the broken verse that will never mend.

make you feel

is it cold
is it cold where you lie
wrap me around you
let me be your song
till we both die

can you hear
can you hear me through the din
do we walk back home
alone once again
and back to where we've been?

will it stop
will it stop to pour once more
i can only sleep in the rain
and when i wake i won't
remember what came before.

hello
i wrote you a song back there
of raindrops in paper cups
of the waft of morning coffee
and chimes at dusk
playing late into the night
but you wouldn't let me sing it
coz it keeps you up thinking
it might make you feel.

物の哀れ(mono no aware)

it's been a while
since i stopped trying to rhyme my words for you;
it doesn't sit well with being speechless.
on the contrary, the poems became tunes
which then dried up into thoughts
things i wanted to say out loud
but you would hush me before i could
till our silence together became a wall.

you're in songs, still.
when i least expect it, a snatch of lyric
taking me back to times that are now lost
somewhere amidst the clamor of trams
the rustling of turning pages
the sound of your tiptoes and your smile
am i but a memory to you by now?
i am done here, by the way. 


PS - the name of the poem shares itself with a Japanese phrase which relates to the ephemeral nature of things. it goes well with how i have been feeling for a while now...

Paper Wings

so they asked me why i didn't write anymore,
and i said my words have dried.
but then i thought i should write a verse
for it's been a while since i've tried.

i stretched my imagination all through my mind
for the perfect poem i could write,
and then it struck me and i realised
that you don't need wings to fly.

a thought is enough, a wisp of a smile,
maybe not serious and deep,
i don't need to write on dreams and stuff
when i could write about sleep or sheep.

so i'm wondering what to pen down here;
it doesn't need to make your day,
it doesn't need to be meaningful
as long as it makes sense in a way.

even that isn't really necessary,
i could write about random stuff.
i've written about mundane things before,
about cotton candies and fluff.

and i could write about sunshine
on bubbles with a rainbow sheen,
or stuff that i've written before,
like mittens on a winter evening.

i'd have liked this to be a song
but the words don't fit in right,
i can't put a tune to it
but i'd love for you to try.

it's great if it makes you smile,
these words picked off the street.
not meant to last for long as such
but more a tune for your feet.

to catch you unawares when at times
your world is gloomy all around;
and lift your day, just by a bit,
with a rainbow of happy sounds.

and with this i'll leave you be, for
i've penned enough words for tonight,
let me paste them on these paper wings
and see if they can help me fly.

road - II

light a candle for me,
for i am lost,
past roads that i've walked
and oceans i crossed,
past sighing forests and leafy glades
and trees covered by frost.

say a prayer for me,
for i've gone astray,
looking for dreams in hopes,
for the colour of night in day,
for an empty vale and six feet under
where my heart lay.

sing me a song,
for i can no longer see,
and so i look around
for a lock to fit my key,
a hand to hold my own,
a voice to set me free.

write a letter to me,
for me to read aloud,
when the storm blows around me
and my heart is filled with doubt,
to calm the storm inside me,
so i no longer have to shout.

stranger roads we have walked
stranger paths remain still,
i search a fountain to drink
from till i've had my fill,
for summer showers and fields of flowers,
and a sunset beyond the hill.

lies lies lies

take off that mask
let me see what's inside of you
are you as ugly as pretty as you are?

let me let you bask
in our afterglow right here
let me turn my face away and smirk in secret.

let me knock once, twice, thrice,
and wait for you to open the door
let me break down walls you don't even know are there.

we won't have a song together
no heartbreak no revenge
we're all just use and throw
and that's all that makes sense.

sit by the bed side
let me trace your curves of deceit
lie and lie mingles and we don't care.

see me out this time
of the door, mind body heart and soul
will you open up if i knock again?

your smile your lies
but you don't know
time after time
how i lie too
how i lie too.

p.s. - written as a song. no idea if i can put it to tune, though.

tell me

tell me,
what are those butterflies in front of my eyes,
tell me is it my turn to die,
for they won't open
as hard as i may try.

tell me,
whose fingertips i feel when i hold my hand out,
tell me if anyone can hear me shout,
or does nobody care enough
to break these walls of doubt.

tell me,
whose silence it is that i hear,
when i put my hands to shut my ears,
or is it just my own voice
clammed shut with fear?

The Last Song - Chapter I

This shall be the last song for the night.

Ryan’s voice did little to bring me back from the world I had lost myself in the moment I walked into the crowd. This was our last gig on this tour, and my last gig with the band. Yeah, I know what the people present would think if they knew, is this going to be the end of Scatterbrain, or will they recruit another guitarist and move on?  Well, to be honest, I didn’t really know. And I didn’t particularly care either. I just knew that this is the last night, the last time.

It started a couple of weeks ago, somewhere within the first few days of our touring. I remembered the last tour, our first set of gigs. I couldn’t wait to get on stage every night. This time, it was different. It was not as if I hated to get on stage or I hated to play music. Just that one fine day, I realized I was growing apathetic to this life. The theatrics, the screaming fans, the women, the highs, the whole deal. It took a bit of time to sink in, but once it did, it was a thought which took root inside my head and just wouldn’t let go. Night after night, on stage, in bed, through strange highs, I tried to convince myself this was not so, but the mirror which had always been my harshest critic now gleefully turned my biggest detractor. And now it had come to this. I still loved my mates, so I thought it fair that I go through this whole tour before I leave. And tonight I had told them, right before coming on stage.

You’re kidding, right?

Duuuude, you sure you know what you’re talking about?

Hey, you can have as much time off as you want. But don’t go.

They were surprisingly supportive. Maybe they had noticed it too? But I made it clear that this was it. That I would be leaving by the night’s train. That I needed a lot of time to figure this out, and they were welcome to move on without me. No hard feelings.

And so on and so forth.

So, this was our last show together.

The implications of my actions hit me only when I walked on for this show. I could see the tensed expressions on Ryan’s face. He always worried too much. Gus looked sad. He had always been the softy. Only Bryan had it right. He was energetic as ever behind the drums. We all wanted to make it our best gig ever. But my mind had started to wander by then. To the past. To the future. To every moment possible except now. Every place in the world but here. My fingers moved across the frets with practiced ease. I even occasionally heard my own voice sing out, backing Ryan’s whiskey vocals. But it couldn’t possibly have been me. I was there in the crowd, watching the band drift through the night’s playlist. One can’t possibly be at two places at once, right? The performance was tight, flawless. And all of them, knowing that this was it, were giving it that extra bit which probably made this a seminal performance, but I wasn’t sure it was me there with the band. Just a stranger who knew the right notes and the right moments to sing along.

The last song was our current trademark, a cover of one of Solace’s best known tracks, just if. It was somewhat prophetic, since this was part of the last record Solace had out before they split. And this had been the song which had, in a very roundabout and obscure fashion, if I might say so, had brought us together.

If I could have just one more dream/ a last poem put to song/ I don’t care if I dunno what it means/ but I don’t mind singing along.

This was how my favourite part of the song went. The guitars went silent. The bass just played the skeleton notes first time around, and then during the repeat pass, all the instruments would come in one by one till at last the lead guitars would come and lead to a short but devastating solo. We regularly covered this song, and had even played an acoustic version of it one time when a lot of our gear got misplaced right before a show and all that we had left were a pair of acoustic guitars. This was one of those songs that start out humble. Like, while being written, nobody really expects it to do very well. But somehow it ends up becoming one of those songs which defines careers. In this case, this ended up being Solace’s swansong. But as with swansongs, it ended there for Solace.  And would end for us, too.

Shards of Tonight

Last silhouette or first shadow
tonight has run out of words
and as hard as we try
teardrops raindrops never stop

heavy with sleep the trains roll on
leaking out shards of light
the people in it lost
resigned without a fight

the haze of speed the blur of rain
or of memories clouding the way
the floor stares back in silence
no one has nothing to say

skipping strings and slipping dreams
coloured in sad monochrome
hues of my very own shadow
the one who walks me home

in rain soaked neon drenched to the bone
firefly smiles from people we pass
new and improved happy on sale
but even this it won't last

lights out once you're out of sight
from now you're on your own
labelled you labelled i; never we
even as we all take the last train home.

nb. for there is only so long that you can keep all the words inside you.
less a poem more an amalgam of thoughts, images and ideas...