Candle

A soft night where the candle lashes at the ceiling

breaking and making, a hundred veils.

With the quiet flame mirroring every rising step

and every fall, and fleeing razor breeze

a melting darkness and shrinking quiet.

Meld

Like drawn breath and a weight on ones soul

the pause is heavy and cannot be held.

In the silence I wait, carrying the hot coal

till into life’s swell I meld.

 

Among  others on the stroll,

with nomad hearts so easily quelled,

the toll that will soon cajole

and into the great sleepy waters weld.

 

In trance none will wish or extol;

so pleasant what once dwelled

in the dreams that stole

the pause of a soul held.

The Dreamer

In the portrait of a mind unsoiled,

freed from tangible sight

Skyward eyes opened embroiled

in her dream alien from contrite.

 

Thought I, of the dreamer

lost to her dream of no repent,

of what sight might keep her

in an escape so eager, so spent.

 

While I spied this flight

the tables and dream I study

Careful not to make dreamer alight,

in her eyes I seek prosody.

 

The memory of the quiet scene

and a dream the only proof

of all that had been

in those days of monsoon.

 

At The Match

Above the filling clusters of people,

fluttered moths and insects of night

in the revealing rays of stadium light,

who care not for the flight of beetles

when echoed growls follow the rite

and crackles of colored light,

while monsoon brought no evils

only drizzle colored grey against night.

Hello world!

Hello there! If you’d like to know more about me be sure to check out my writing and poetry, they’ll be an introduction that an bio would be hard pressed to match.

(The address is rijulballal.wordpress.com if you haven’t found it already.)