Being Ayrus

The logs of fate are falling on me. But I have no time for mourning. I must keep walking. Not too fast, but steady enough... I decided to walk over them. Yes, I am heading forward.

I want to be embraced by warmth of sunlight. Now I know why poets were depressed nightingales. Now I know why the koel sings. I know its longings, deep desires. I know coffee, chocolate, lush green, pastel coloured clothes, fragrance of books and rain clouds.

In the routine slumber  of yesterday's night I saw a murky dream. I was inside that old  yellow autumn painting. Suddenly I saw a green leaf floating with me in space. My green veined hands tried to touch the leaf. Soon disappeared the dream and I was wide awake.

  If I haven't snatched a little bit of happiness from poetry, my agony would have been colossal.

  If I grieved a little less, I could have escaped from the clutches of destiny. Now I am entwined in every possible means. Nothing can atone this dreary knot. Desire was mine; so the grief must be mine!

Summer air is draining the last drop of wetness that I behold in my heart. I have no drizzle left to enchant my pen to write lyrical poems .

There are many cascades of poetry dwelling in my heart. Like the remains of a deluge, they are troublesome and bungled