Oh Love! You are mine

I wish the sky to show me the Sun today; the sunshine of the first day of February that should have warmth of yours, and the clumsiness that your open hairs had on me. I wish if it could cover my face again. The flowers have already bloomed. I wish them to hold their fragrance good till you hold my hands again. My hands are empty though, but I know you would be holding them wherever you are now. I am waiting for the butterfly you always send, to let me know that you have put your face on my heart again. You had filled the colors daintily on the piece of paper with your lipstick stains in pink; and the nightingale had parceled it to me last year. I am waiting for if she is going to come to me again. I am waiting for if she is going to address me your message –‘Oh Love! You are mine’.

Though you chose to move away, I know it was not by your choice. You said you needed to go, but you had waited for me, I know. I was looking for you too, but couldn’t utter a word about you. The song we composed together stays revived, and it says that you are still here, in my heart where you always hived. This February, I play the tune again that you taught me on my guitar; and it’s my birthday too honey, and I am going to sing Happy Birthday to me myself, because you moved away so far.

How should I blame the fortunes, its him that made us meet; and if we couldn’t stay longer then I must not curse him for this bad treat. I know you would be unhappy too, because you had promised to live with me until I don’t leave. February is just a month, you made its relevance for me indeed. And at this note, I read your note that has your lipstick stains on it and it says ‘Oh Love! You are mine’.

When I walk around in spring, I remember to keep my hold on flowers soft. Tickling my fingers on the rosy petals reminds me of your fingers on mine, and my thumb caressing them slowly. I can’t hurt your hands with my grip hard, and so I touch the flowers soft. Though birds often do the chirruping that may resemble your scolds for me, but I miss the movement of your lips that I used to watch while you kept scolding me.
The tree with our names on it stands intact with his mates even today, but I sit under its shadows alone now. I touch our names engraved on it, and I recall how a girl proposed a boy- ‘Oh Love! You are mine; forever would you be my Valentine?’

[For We Have a Story]

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The Butterfly

On an ivory shade with some brown threaded marks; masked is my body meek and weak, popped out into two bright wing arcs.

And on my wings azure, lie mustered shapes and some tiny little dots; some lucid little hills and some round yellowish sprouts.

I never knew how I looked and what amativeness I had, until you came into my life with my image in your blue eyes clad.

I surmise my colors are no more blazoned; I haven’t seen myself since you had left, my charm left too with my mirror embossed on your eyes pinioned.

Now in the silence of my solitariness few chirruping I hear; what do they say, I can’t make out its meaning neither you can hear it clear.

On dry tongue of mine your sweetness is still alive; a flavor not to forget from our nibbling kisses; the scent of your embrace around my life.

How we lived together is a distant memory dainty; my hold on you and yours on mine; exchange of our gestures in doziness of wine.

Nowhere to live I have now but in memories of you, and in all those moments where we were together-a colored me & a colored you.

Lie they say that the most beautiful I am, nature’s worthy gift & spring’s charm I am; Truth I say that without you a dead musk I am, a bleached spot with no shine I am.

And before I die, a glimpse of yours I need; my last breath shall be the aroma of my love, of my lovely butterfly.

(©) ANSHUL GAUTAM'S

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I Found A Lonely Me...

Feeble dimmed steps,

Irradiated my eyes

Quilt’s beneath;

Awakened me

From lust in ream,

And broke the infatuated dream.

I moved to see,

I heard some heart throbs;

I found a lonely me.

It looked like day;

Or may be moonlight,

I say.

Fog with desire,

Impounded with ire,

Showed its love,

On my glassy window;

Their sexual intimacy,

Was there at show;

Passion in their cosmos,

Which I couldn’t mow.

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My Childhood Shelf...

The floor is now squeaky,

Walls bleached out,

And have turned dingy.

Scribbled with my name,

Stairs look the same.

Frames have gone empty,

Paintings lost their colours,

And Look no more dainty.

I wonder that I still remember,

The key to my room’s lock,

Still tough & as hard as rock.

My room where I lived,

My gloom that outlived,

And I am back here,

With my eyes wet,

Riding my childhood gear.

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Happy Facebooking... :)

Advent of facebook has affected us. It has affected us with our way of living. It has its effect upon the way we used to share our day to day incidents. And the most important effect which I think is, on our friendship with people. It has provided a bridge for friendship. And through that bridge, reaching out people has become very easy.

Now my each morning begins with few tappings on my phone to open facebook, and check for my latest notifications there. Similar is the case with most of us. Just think that if facebook was not around, how our way of living would have existed then? It would have lived then still contemporary. No new quick friends, no sharing of thoughts on a common platform and outdistanced people distanced away forever. Luckily facebook edited our living and made it more social.

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Welcome To The Real World...

Do you realise your eye brows getting concaved, ears twitching, and larynx ready for vibrations but your brain searching for appropriate words. Even if the brain gets them, still intermits the coordination to prevent you from uttering anything. This situation happens most of the time with me when I need to convey answers to one of the closest friends of mine, who mercilessly spears me with questions. I called ‘Spearing’ because those questions revolve around their personal lives, and giving answers to such, which I impart in form of suggestions, make me feel as if I am interfering with their so happening game.

The game in which we are characters, equipped with powers, weapons and strategies that we gain in the due process ever since the game started. Current status in the game largely depends on us that how well we were playing ever since the commencement. But today, games are never clean.

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