Saturday, June 19, 2010

The beggar day

The day has been a beggar since birth,
the deep sky its begging bowl, the sun
its festering sore, its clothes the tattered
clouds unable to hide its naked heart,
the polluted light its wasted body.

Yes, the day is a beggar, sitting
on the sidewalk of eternity, seeking
a mere moment from it, in which
to clothe the memories of the night.

The day that once dazzled like
a king's attire, today begs the night
for a whiff of darkness, to imagine
the smudged kajal of your eyes,
to feel wrapped around itself
your unkempt hair.
It pleads to borrow a few stars,
Stars that sparkle just like your eyes,
[Impossible I know, but the ignorant day doesn't],
To replay your voice it entreats the night
for just one stray strand of silence,
For a dish of mystery, the beggar day
implores the night[it doesn't know of the chillies yet],
And as the day wears and wastes, becomes old,
It begs for a place in the night's womb
to curl itself, never to be born again.

As the day dies and my screen flickers to life again,
Settling over the evening I can smell once more,
The scent of fresh jasmine you bought in the morning,
vaguely familiar from the night before,
I can see your kajal that slowly paints the sky,
Your chilli-red eyes reflected in the stars above,
Your dishevelled hair falling across your face I see
as the dark clouds shamelessly flirt with the moon,
And your words like rain drops populate the silences,
Glowing with a beauty that far surpasses the night's own.

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