Afternoon Desert
Tides in absorbed sunlight, dry sand desert
Whitish glare, seeking mirror boats
Where time is dried, moments sweat
Music in flames, days on the roots
Dewdrops of morning search shadow
Where sun is more leaned, cleaned but hard
The outsized branches, curvy eyes of leaves
Stony feet the sharp fingers digging surface
The labors with spades mining the place
Small spiders with sewing tensing wounds
Blocking airs impelling to breath high
With black and white scenes and sky
Turning years of hooks and scissors without rain
Striving bones, sore throats of birds and beasts
And then steady rocks of bronzed silence
Little weeds the waiters of years
And no one dares, no one hears
Only the tails of trees bounding water
Spongy blue ribs spread out of chest
The boats only mirages peeping far away
Forever a mirage alone never gets any meet
Dazzling waves decorate them hanging mirrors
The last storm all forgot but still the signs there
Desert fencing borders far of the crowds
Where only cheerful nights smile
And afternoon songs are tired unto evenings
When all the stars dine together
On sand-sheet, sand with resting eyes
Tides in absorbed sunlight, dry sand desert
Whitish glare, seeking mirror boats
Where time is dried, moments sweat
Music in flames, days on the roots
Dewdrops of morning search shadow
Where sun is more leaned, cleaned but hard
The outsized branches, curvy eyes of leaves
Stony feet the sharp fingers digging surface
The labors with spades mining the place
Small spiders with sewing tensing wounds
Blocking airs impelling to breath high
With black and white scenes and sky
Turning years of hooks and scissors without rain
Striving bones, sore throats of birds and beasts
And then steady rocks of bronzed silence
Little weeds the waiters of years
And no one dares, no one hears
Only the tails of trees bounding water
Spongy blue ribs spread out of chest
The boats only mirages peeping far away
Forever a mirage alone never gets any meet
Dazzling waves decorate them hanging mirrors
The last storm all forgot but still the signs there
Desert fencing borders far of the crowds
Where only cheerful nights smile
And afternoon songs are tired unto evenings
When all the stars dine together
On sand-sheet, sand with resting eyes
An Old Age
A mechanical heart, desolated
Standing solemn around weaving silky water
Water of eyes, inveterate healer
On grass of sorrow by wind directing ways
Lifted breath burden on the lungs
Frightened gazes of nerves hugging heart
Dripping sights of memory in front of legs
The day of last heartbeat of his words
Dissolving in fog of all directions,
Peeping shadows of memories from cloak
Someone almost lost the grace of life
And somewhere pulses thunder to get out
Rotten skin with blooming sights and spirit
The layers of irregular breath stiffened
Where every valley is not straight to cross
Distinguished desires without any complaints
Certain limping stick in hand for way
Every step, summing up a journey
Dull head, digging shoulders, wide glasses
Which seems something binocular badges
Lost quartz of teeth, shrugging expression
Occasional smiles filling lonely times
He just needs help to cross that road
And lakes of sorrow and solitude
And listening last seasonal singing of birds
Every step with folding calm days in arms
Preaching eyes of life need assistance of love
An old man carrying belief of life, belief of life
A mechanical heart, desolated
Standing solemn around weaving silky water
Water of eyes, inveterate healer
On grass of sorrow by wind directing ways
Lifted breath burden on the lungs
Frightened gazes of nerves hugging heart
Dripping sights of memory in front of legs
The day of last heartbeat of his words
Dissolving in fog of all directions,
Peeping shadows of memories from cloak
Someone almost lost the grace of life
And somewhere pulses thunder to get out
Rotten skin with blooming sights and spirit
The layers of irregular breath stiffened
Where every valley is not straight to cross
Distinguished desires without any complaints
Certain limping stick in hand for way
Every step, summing up a journey
Dull head, digging shoulders, wide glasses
Which seems something binocular badges
Lost quartz of teeth, shrugging expression
Occasional smiles filling lonely times
He just needs help to cross that road
And lakes of sorrow and solitude
And listening last seasonal singing of birds
Every step with folding calm days in arms
Preaching eyes of life need assistance of love
An old man carrying belief of life, belief of life
Heart Of Wood
Somewhere a box filled emotions
Of wood, built round bit for life
Different cherishes keeping in
Supplying sets of dreams’ belief
A lock of ego, anger and hate
With key of help, kindness and love
The sides varnished with tender
A sort of wood flinching in fear
Slanted, corners of silence, spiritual
Stiffing to ground, burns in fire
Fire of love, hurt and desires
Wrapping cloths of seasons boiling
Lonely narrow boxes...
Strange boards made of wood
Devouring colors of surfaces
Edges broken, steeping to ground
An old tomb, with torn boundary
A monument lasts for a breath
Breath that unlocks lock, loneliness
Wooden box, clouds, rains and keys
Sunlight heals it up, an artifact
Parallel conditions, stars run above
May be one day, we put it as monument
Lonely, only memory of old swarms
When it used to have everything
Heart of wood, now in a museum
Motionless, a show for strangers
Having life, all of wood, to be painted
Or to be burned to warm some
Bio - Kislay Chauhan is a computer engineer, 25 year old. He has written four poetry books “ Takhir,” “ The Vague,” “Once And for All” and “ The Edges of The Spirit”.
Somewhere a box filled emotions
Of wood, built round bit for life
Different cherishes keeping in
Supplying sets of dreams’ belief
A lock of ego, anger and hate
With key of help, kindness and love
The sides varnished with tender
A sort of wood flinching in fear
Slanted, corners of silence, spiritual
Stiffing to ground, burns in fire
Fire of love, hurt and desires
Wrapping cloths of seasons boiling
Lonely narrow boxes...
Strange boards made of wood
Devouring colors of surfaces
Edges broken, steeping to ground
An old tomb, with torn boundary
A monument lasts for a breath
Breath that unlocks lock, loneliness
Wooden box, clouds, rains and keys
Sunlight heals it up, an artifact
Parallel conditions, stars run above
May be one day, we put it as monument
Lonely, only memory of old swarms
When it used to have everything
Heart of wood, now in a museum
Motionless, a show for strangers
Having life, all of wood, to be painted
Or to be burned to warm some
Bio - Kislay Chauhan is a computer engineer, 25 year old. He has written four poetry books “ Takhir,” “ The Vague,” “Once And for All” and “ The Edges of The Spirit”.
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