Aneesh Sathe

Category: Poetry

  • *Purple (The Purple Pointer)



    The rain has fallen.

    Giving way to the shoots of memories, 
    Strewn along the tar roads, years deep
    The sky takes on a peculiar character, 
    With the clouds quite unwilling to retire,
    But ushered out nonetheless
    Between the arms  
    Of the sensuous purple sky,
    And the slow breeze 
    Which takes care to weave itself, 
    Between every, strand of her hair.
    The past has manifested as a mood 
    Not only on our small window to the universe 
    But also, wondrously, on her dimples 
    And the meditations of her softly cornered lips 
    And so,
    We lock ourselves within walls 
    Through which there is no entrance 
    Except by knowing the exact path taken 
    That other purple evening.
    _____________________
    Image: As, ever Santosh

  • Tonight’s Nightmare

    Pick pick Dear Mind,
    Pick pick.
    Tonight’s Nightmare
    Pick pick
    Shall it be the day’s proceedings,
    And the world’s rejections?
    Or will the dark locked trunks,
    Come avisiting,
    Carrying within
    Burned moral objections?
    Pick pick Dear Mind,
    Pick pick.
    Tonight’s nightmare
    Pick pick.
    Shall your heart be embraced
    By mismatched arms?
    Or should the skeletons rise
    From friendship farms?
    Pick pick
    Dear Mind
    pick pick
    Eyes closed
    The inside is out
    The outside in
    The Demon Heralds are about
    They scream your sin
    Pick, pick
    Dear
    Mind
    pickpick
    Nightmare
    pick

    ___________
    Image: Me

  • Inner Cultures

    Purple Monsters,
    With UV spears stand guard,
    Pleasures in a plastic card
    Sparkling glasses
    Strange cut sights
    On the right meet the lights,
    Smoke without fire,
    Mr. Tyndall hanging on to the light spire
    Throbbing bodies
    Smoky eyes,
    Questionable motives,
    Screaming lies.
    A little numbing of the nerves,
    Low frequency beats,
    To the inner cultures,
    Front row seats

  • Immortality NaĂŻve

    These walls shall be filled with words
    With emotions these rooms overflow
    For a thousand years I shall live
    And in their minds forever grow

  • Drops Vacillate

    Drops from the drizzle
    Hit me like unsure thoughts.
    A glimpse into the future.
    The coming storm,
    And the drenching rain,
    Of the path soon to be blind
    And the smile,
    These lips shall have to feign.
    Of the laughter drowned by the thunder,
    The unwelcome guest,
    Once a stranger named Pain.
    As the liquid becomes a second skin,
    Do I a new footprint make?
    Or the last one take away?
    With shoulders wide,
    Do battle?
    Or cower,
    At the image these drops portray?

    _____________

    Img: Santosh

  • Medic

    Bandages in my pocket
    On my hands the smell of blood
    Eyes close
    Ears try to drown
    The wails for their saviour
    In white, for those with hope
    In black, for those without.

    Outside,
    Children’s eyes
    Where the innocence nourishing tears
    Have long dried.
    The deserts
    Now to the spores of hate
    Give shelter.

    The thought and the wish
    To understand why,
    Have both grown weary
    But that field tires not,
    Sending to me steadily
    Skin and bones
    That once made people.

    Nerves tired, often dead
    From the pain,
    Gifted to the body
    Wrapped in sharp metal shards.
    To those in the recipients’ shadow
    A metal shard toy of their own.
    To more mothers deliver,
    The shell to which they gave soul.

    These thoughts I must abandon
    Return,
    To heal those wounded,
    By the greed,
    For diamonds, oil or coal.

    __________________________
    Image: Santosh

  • Trespasser

    Staked a claim and flew away.
    Barren patch of land,
    Wished to be a garden,
    But the gardener is away.
    There is a board that holds place.
    Declaring loudly,
    The prosecution of trespassers.
    But the paint is peeling,
    And the iron rusts.
    The land feels forgotten,
    And for caring hands lusts.
    Go ahead, bend the wires and step through.
    Barren now,
    But could be a garden to you.
    ___________
    Img: http://lawisjustice.deviantart.com/art/No-Tresspassing-91782954

  • CStruck

    Cries of despair and joy ring out

    Bullets are shot and he goes ploughing through

    DooMLoRD has arrived

    Doing what he was meant tot do

    At his side RAB and .avi like hound dogs rounding up sheep

    Give push a nighthawk and bullets will shove you down

    cobra slithers with his deadly bite

    yobo towards you runs

    Of life you are quickly light

    M!THRAND!R with his shotgun

    Oh, how he spoils the close range fun.
    KillRoy is there but never arrives.

    High atop gargoyle is haunting,

    A sharp eyed Hector below

    His deadly muzzle at gargoyle pointing.

    Somewhere RABID is hiding, his ambushes to most daunting.

    There is Anubis and Don! that hold their ground.

    Then begins the next round….

    He ploughs,

    Shouts ring out…

  • Three Centimeters Short

    At the congregation of poets
    Words moved the world
    Words moved the heart
    With their pens they wrote
    Each line a beautiful thought
    As the evening meeting continued
    Each line they read
    Took them further
    Down beauty’s road
    Every step was a dream
    And they were free to roam
    Even as the night turned to dawn
    They went on and on
    With their dreams and thoughts
    They explored for miles and miles.
    When the words stopped
    They went home
    For their dreams could no longer cater
    Too bad, for you began
    Three centimeters later