Soumya Scribbles...

Wait beside that jasmine tree dear. I will find you through the gates of romantic air , Where your charm n her scent dilute into irresistible wishes. We will whisper our dreams On the cold wintry evenings, On the offshore of springs Till the full-moon awares us . "Oh thy beauty can elude the blooming jasmines into early offerings" --I will write such lines or two being far off from the world we call 'real' . We only chose to live the dreams With us together , didn't we? Oh yes, they say To err is human ,to love is divine. So one day I may not kiss you that softly , Your tender palms may seem a bit rough , Still the evening jasmine will remain And spread around our fragrance of love In silent and pure diffusion . Wait under the jasmine tree dear , For that final time. SoUmY@

The sky is yours , So is the wind. On all those treaded paths where Uniqueness recycles , A very common man awaits you. Who never let the icicles melt, never let the chimes to stop humming And never robbed words from his pen For you made him grow . Instead, Scars were all I got . But did you ever notice a tinge of red? Today don't let those wounds heal , Because at my funeral , in your presence I will dip the white roses with blood. If for once you accept ... ...The Eucalyptus will convey my glee. The roots reach where I lie , deep within Where you couldn't ,ever. and from there it will whisper , Would you ? Careful with those fragile leaves dear, Its always been winter. SoUmY@

The crimson sky will depart As the dreamy moon shall glow In its soft and sensuous freedom. Under the starry sky , Where the oyster shells reflect Feeble white hopes , I will write you one letter With no destination . I know you will read it At once. When did we ever need a nylon to show We are threaded ? SoUmY@

I won't call life uneven. It was your smile, Those glances, Subtle nods , whispers that gestured me in this world. And when I am too much in it , You blur out! It is now those green liquids , these stimulators I need To be in a world Where I don't belong. But I must pretend ,I do. When syringes find no more virgin skin , Would you come and take me Where I wish to ? Can you ever squeeze in me To that short space Where green is for hope ? SoUmY@

I He waited for them , But they never came . In the ceremony of words, the cards were never sent to the alphabets. And he sat , lonely , without those guests . A blank page , a vacant gaze. And moments conspired to Poison him slowly. On his last breath , He wrote , ... We conclude , Pauses punctuated him to Death. II He invited them , But they denied. and he slit his own wrist. Failed , deranged. The so called alternatives robbed the soul that remained. They stabbed him , All over. Blood diluted the pigments Of creation. Did someone ever say , Words are blunt ? SoUmY@ P.S.-- Rajarshi's "Poetic Prose" has cast its influence here.