MY SPRING IS STILL COLD

It’s Spring already                                                                                                   
But I don’t see colours
The landscape is white
The joy is shadowed
And bereft of love
It’s still biting winter

The springtime is here
But bereft of love                                                            
Its yellow is blanching
And in its still shadow
Time has remained
Frozen by a rigid frost

Where is the warmth?
Where did the love go?
Who stole colours?
Who betrayed my Spring?
Teasing me, from depths
The cheerful winter asks

Questions linger
Answers cry to deceive
Memories refuse to leave
Again in a Spring
Robbed of its beauty
Bereft of its love

In the season’s dew
Missing its yellow Hue
My Spring is still cold
And bereft of love
In the wintry dew
The air is now restless

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey–https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THE LOVE WAS POSTMODERN

Like it had been,
The melodrama, that it was,
Was not so sweet
As it was made to be,
The love was postmodern,
And was discreet

The lines were blurred,
The tradeoffs made clear
With the hindsight scripted,
It then had some smear
The sophist saw it near,
Wrote the end of drama then
The existentialist was hit finally,
A soul was deeply violated when..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THIS PAIN..

This pain,
I don’t know,
If it is still central to me
This pain, I live it,
As if
I don’t care for it anymore
My days go with it
I wake up and say goodbye,
To the life on a day,
Not realizing its absence,
Not feeling its presence,
This pain,
I have lived it for so long,
That it ceased to have,
An identity of its own
But I can’t say,
If this pain is still,
Indispensable for me..

The Lonely Thorns..The Lonesome Curves<

THIS PAIN..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

IT WAS NEVER FROM THE HEART..

It was never for the soul
It was always for the pain

With duplicities defining the whole
With charades and their shows inane

The fragrance was always deceiving
The presence frequently compromised

With an intent bent on misleading
With a soul already dispossessed

Yes, it was never from the heart
Yes, it was always a face so concealed

Emotions

IT WAS NEVER FROM THE HEART..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THE RAINBOW IN TEARS

The rainbow in tears,
With colours of peace,
In a pair of wet eyes,
Reflecting on so far,
Speaking up the mind,
In harmony with soul
The learning,
With odds of life to meet,
The poise of living the pain,
Surviving,
Through the selfish corners,
Breathing the indifference,
Earning the salvage,
To be on the journey,
Lost in chaos of duplicity
Tears of joy tell the eyes,
Now is the time,
Have no more cries..

Contemplation & The Reflex

“The rainbow in tears with colours of peace in a pair of wet eyes
Reflecting on so far, speaking up the mind in harmony with soul
The learning with odds of life to meet the poise of living the pain
Surviving through the selfish corners, breathing the indifference
Earning the salvage to be on the journey lost in chaos of duplicity
The tears of joy tell the eyes, now is the time, have no more cries”


THE RAINBOW IN TEARS

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/


 

YET I SEE IT’S FALLING BRICKS..

I don’t go to that place,
Anymore,
Yet I see,
It’s falling bricks every day
They hit me,
Like a fresh wound,
Each time,
Exacting a cruel retribution
The existentialist,
Finds his senses wanderlust,
In the lost realm
I try not to feel,
but thoughts prefer,
To embrace the atonement..

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“I don’t go to that place anymore yet I see it’s falling bricks every day,
They hit me like a fresh wound, each time, exacting a cruel retribution,
The existentialist finds his senses wanderlust in the lost realm,
I try not to feel but thoughts prefer to embrace the atonement..”

YET I SEE IT’S FALLING BRICKS..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THE LIFE COULD NOT GET EVEN A SINGLE DEATH

Like the drought of Monsoon,
The moments remained parched,
In an expectation,
Though eyes were wet,
The thirst could not get over,
Even in pieces,
Trapped,
In the ridges of palms,
The memories remained alive,
And a life caged in those moments,
Could not get even a single death..

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“Like drought of Monsoon, moments remained parched, in an expectation,
Though eyes were wet, the thirst could not get over, even in pieces,
Trapped in the ridges of palms, the memories remained alive,
And a life caged in those moments, could not get even a single death..”

THE LIFE COULD NOT GET EVEN A SINGLE DEATH

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THE FEELING REMAINED STRANGE THUS

Strange it was the way it came in
The first time when someone else
Had the journey within
The first feeling when it didn’t need
Persuasion beyond first questions
But, strange were the days, for
To where the journey was destined
For, the change that couldn’t be
Questioned beyond the answers
Left in a hangover of nothingness
The days of mad introspection
With moments of silent prayers
To let the light show the path again
But, strange were the days, for
The light couldn’t go beyond
The journey so far
Strangely, with no questions further
The feeling remained strange thus
But now with a space of its own
And the strange realization of it 

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

LIFE IS RECITING THAT POEM AGAIN..

Life is reciting
The poem
That had its thought
Come to life
Some years ago
When your word
Had suddenly given it
The expression
It needed to begin
And I started
Writing what I loved
Life is here now
Journeyed through
All these years
To distant thoughts
To unseen abodes
Where words
Tried desperately
To weave again
What was then
When it all began
Life is reciting
That poem
That had a soul
To become one
With my soul
Beautifully weaved
By my words
Some years ago
Words again
Want to melt
To get along
Beyond identities
As if it is about
Living again
The yesterday..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

MISSING IN A DAY

Missing in a day

Some words

Waiting to be spoken

Betrayed

By their meanings

That illusive peace

Abducted

Some years ago

Deceived

By its silence

That presence

From that year

In a melted oblivion  

Concealed

By its shallowness

Missing in a day

That life

Of several lives

Living severally alone

By its address

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/