I let the candle burnI let the sweat runCan’t hold it anymoreBut I still go on...And before the night falls into another burning dayI let my tears burn wherever my shadows layHoping they would make a markA ray of hope in pitch darkFor I’m tired... I still go on...But before the day arrivesAnd takes them out of sightI want to see them allBefore I move in brightBut to all as it seems brightThat day is darker than nightAnd so I hold my night before it fallsFor this night gives me a vision to see it allThe shadows on this wall...I see a maiden dressed in lightBraiding someone’s hairI see a game of hide and seekWorth someone finding her pairI see two girls fighting and cribbingAnd ever refusing to shareI see two arms consoling each otherTo believe I’m always there...And so my tears burnWhere the shadows runAnd there they leave a markCraving to hold onFor I’m tired, but I still go on...Half the candle burned awayHalf the night swept awayAnd slowly the shadows reduce to halfI see no maiden but I still see someoneSomeone I see only half...I now see some strange shadows aroundTorturing the soul unboundBinding it in cages of fearOf love, of happiness, of hollow tearsBut the marks are different hereThose traced of redCapturing the lost sound...But the shadow escapes those marksAgain I let it goAnd likewise I let the time flowTo dry the left over marksFor I’m tired, I still go on...I light a new candle for the night still remainsAnd darker it gets as my vision expandsAnd darker it gets as the shadow expandsMy innocent self becomes fearful behind the shadow stains...The shivering shadow turns fearlessFearless in search of existenceFearless in search of beingAnd I see someone moving aloneAlone in the company of dreams...And there the night fallsMy tears come to lightI find no marksI find no shadowAll engulfed in bright...The fearful shadow disappearsThe fearless self remainsAnd here my vision endsAnd here I turn insane...The blind self craves for lightIn the day full of shimmering brightIt is blind, it loves to be soFor light it cannot take inIn search of light, in want of lightIn dark it flew all nightAnd so the light has made it blindAnd the craving self goes on...I let the sweat runAnd the dead candle burnAnd the lost shadow run...For the day is here to make me blindAnd I keep searching in darkMy crave for light will forever go on...I’m tired, I still move on...

silence my love... silence gathers the strands together... it encloses a vast image of night coming to an end into a day... a day...
just another day... but awefully silent... silent to its core...
silent unto each part of my soul...
strangely nothing stirred that day...
after the storm i fainted...
and then it was all silent...
as i opened my eyes to this morning... my eyes froze...
my breathe turned into breathing...
nothing stirred... nothing moved...
all was silent... it covered me... covered my memories...
in one stream it came and enclosed all my visions, moments, memories... numb

the solitary bed

Sitting on this bed, the night stirs before me...It shivers, one solitary being.Haunted by my presence, the nightConstantly stares at my solitary bed...The bed so made up... made up with quilt-Rose coloured covered by the warmth ofA woolen sheet...The bed so warmAnd yet so cold... cold for the nightShivers at its sight... at its warmth,The solitary bedRose or is it dark... is it darker than the rose, or eyesForever unslept, see a vision... an exalted visionOf coloursDarker coloursBrighter coloursColours of boldness...Colours of violence or love...Colours of pink or blue...Blue or black...Black or red...Fantasies join the fragments of this night...Night, staring at the solitary bed...Bed, the only little objectThe seeming dead amongst all objects in this room...Or is it the only thing that still holds life...Still holds breathe...Breathe or is it struggleCold... utterly cold...Amongst perspiration...Bed made up and spoilt...Each time... each time it daresTo breathe... breathe seems goneAnd warm turns cold...Cold is itOr utterly warm...Warm with colours...Colours of violence...Colours of love...Bed-solitary bedChallenging the solitary night...The night is not jealous...A sight, too horribleTo be envied...The night is sad... and yet happy...Happy and safe...And lucky...Fragments of this bed, join togetherWoven with dreams...DreamsIf it ever sleeps...For sleep never comes...And so it dreams...Dreams with eyes, ever longing to close...CloseEnfold themselves...In the woven dream...Was it rose it saw...Was it pink... pink or blue...Blue or pink...Or was it black...Or was it red...The ever solitary eyes...StaringWideWas it violence or love...Pink or blue...Black or red...The bed... solitary bed...Stares at the shivering night...Night seems its sole companion...Night seems warm, as it seems to the bed...Comfort... comfort it does not findIn rose coloured quilts...Or woolen sheets...Or woven dreams...Nights, but they shiver away...The night insists, strugglesAnd escapesThe dreaded solitaryOf the bed...Bed the solitary bed...Was it night or the bed...The night deceives the bed...The night is safe...Safe in the moonlight...The bed-fragments-Ever so old... agedCan’t hold on...And yet so fresh... so ripe...Yet so wanting... yet so giving...The bed so old...It is ignorant...It is a new born baby...Come to life... every time,And then the fragments break againAnd eyesForever unslept... wide openSee itself... the aged,The solitary being, the bedThe night blesses its solitary...The night prays, the nightBut it cannot help...There she standsWith its moon...A symbol, a victim, a witnessTo the aged solitary bed...Was it pink or blueOr black...Was it violence or love...What colour did it see-the moonWhat did it see..The ever unslept moon...Was it pink or dark...Black...No...It holds something more...Was it red...Was that BLOOD