Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

 Hazy days,  Coming up for air, Holding in your breath, Holding in dreams, Breathing out spaces, That lie unclaimed between us, That will forever lie unnamed, Breathing out cycles of giving in, Always giving too much, when No one asked your name, Or who you really are, Or even if you would like to change. No one asked what you think of, Just before you sleep. Do you, Fold your hands under your head, A silent prayer in your pillow's sweet temple? Holding in stature, like a mountain, So far away from the river, You say, you see, it's so majestic, Maybe someday we will go there, Maybe someday we will find a spot, Where the grass will be green, Where the birds will sing a summer song, And we will lie down looking at clouds. But for now, the chains that hold us, In these cages we call homes, Of stale air and sweat and fear. No, it's not that I'm not grateful, I am. But we are meant to roam the earth, Children of Eve, we are meant to find Secret gardens, perfumes of narcissus

  Can I hold you, Even though you're so far away? Can I just put my arms around you? Even though nothing I say, Will change the way these days, They seem to go on, endlessly, One into another, colliding, Like battleships on a dark sea, And the sirens of war, they sound, Loud and red, casualties waiting, For life and air. It's all so bleak. But if I could just hold you, I would whisper in your ear, I pray for you every night, I pray that you persevere. And nothing that I do,  Ever seems to make a difference, And my hand is too far away from your face. But if I could just hold you, I would tell you, the waves  Will quieten and the moon  Will come out, and we will soon Sit on the shore and watch The tides change; If I could just hold you, That's what I would say.

  Kabir took out his mask and threw his keys on the table. Then he proceeded to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. His cheeks were covered with sweat and dirt, the elastic from the double mask had torn into his ears.  After washing his face, he looked at the mirror. He was only 29, but the pressure of the job had taken a toll on him. Some would still call him handsome on screen, even if the mask showed only his eyes.  Covering the political rallies was tough work. There was the risk of Covid from the crowds and the backlash from the right wing if they sensed even a touch of sarcasm or dissent. His mother called from Lucknow. He had to convince her the weekly tests were negative, that he had been eating properly, that there was more to him than his work. But was there? His last relationship was a year ago. They worked together at his previous channel, and then he had left his job. It was more casual though. He had never loved her. Kabir sighed and after eating the biryani he order

 The storm is here, And it's moving fast. The lights are flickering, Like a small town horror show. The killer lurks in the shadows, Invisible, evil and unknown. There's a silent dread in the air. Everyone knows it could be them next. But they still go on. Cooking dinners, Roast chicken, maybe to keep That fading chutzpah from going away. The kids don't care. They don't know Anything about dying. It's better that way. They laugh and play without worry, While the grown ups fold their smiles away. The frowns are gone too, and the laughs. There's a straight line drawn on the curves. No one is scared really, or sad or angry. They are half dead, living zombies, Anticipating the worst, so they hide. From the unknown killer. Who could it be? Is it you or is it me? Or the guy at the grocery? Everyone's a suspect in this cheap mystery. I say, let's forget the killer for a day. Let's just put on our dancing shoes And dance this storm away. Nothing comes from d

 Today, I thought I should write a song, About all the things that have Kept me awake at night, in recent times. All the thoughts I wake up with, As if nothing would have happened  While I slept; as if my dreaming Anymore doesn't matter, because  I am in a dream, one of many. But I wavered and drew back again, I will write about that in some years, When I'm looking at it outside in, Not inside out; I will revisit When the wheel stops spinning. It hasn't yet. The verdict isn't out still. The climax hasn't reached its dramatic end. I am still in the dream. Sometimes I wake up and smile, Because I'm glad I woke up. And others, I wake up crying, Because I will miss what I saw. There are no masks in the dream, Only the truth, unfiltered and clear. There is no hidden, aching pain in the voices, That retreat with the enemy's battle threat. Only the singing of an old song, Remembered in fragments of the past. So I wrote a song about nothing, Because that way I could