Esthete's Moments Enchanted...

And through the mind's eye,
I whispered,
the slow song talking of the mist
which was cleared with first rays of the sun...
I tried to look, but the cloudy day had made it all very dark,
and then the drops fell,
with the pianoforte clicking away the key notes...
Nature seemed to understand the music,
and the music seemed to understand nature...
I stood there, mute,
trance gripping without any drug's trace...
Truly enough,
while there formed those tiny rivulets,
I heard a whisper in my ear,
someone's breath had fogged the back of my neck,
I smiled listening to the little song,
now the October rain splattered in my face,
while someone whispered to me,
"what more could you ask for?"
Hearing this, I smiled and wept...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

A Scene from Beyond...

On God’s Altar I stand-

And passed to me,

I take and drink red wine,

In a silver goblet with golden rivulets engraved,

Written in a tongue not known to me…



In front of me a giant waterfall,

Wine in the colour of blood flowing in front of me

From a source only "heaven" beholds, me supposed…



Behind me a thorned carpet,

Piercing every limb that walks upto the altar,

Like mine, numbed by the incessant red roar

of the Boss Chimera and his league…



I do not sweat, nor fatigue engulfs me,

I just stand, and I just see

vision but no feel…



Here I am in a dream,

On a bed of broken shells,

All glistening like an old Greek sea's

mythical lost pearls…



Here I am,

Where everyone laughs,

Ghastly demented, and soulless zombies…



Here I am,

At a place called God’s own Altar,

And hear only wails and screams

of afterlife's ghouls and hags…



All there is,

Is just empty hollow me

a shell of my body,

a zombie with no zeal…



© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Prying on the Ancient Lie...

On the road we live,
And beside we die…
We lay rotten until a storm picks us by…

Seems like the journey
Is half as healthy,
Thinking back on how useless wealth is…

Seems like only rich that we get is
The gravel on the tar
And the mind that is empty…

Seems like an ancient doorway closing,
Vaulted the secrets of immortals posing…

Its been a ride,
Where we all are at posing,
Doing things we shouldn’t
And still drinking our throat pipe dry…

High enough on hills you might be climbing,
But the birds hunt down
The tired and broken,
There is no life when the wild sun is scorching,
It all ends in a dried shriveled coffin…
And there we all pry,
Our ancient lies…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Poet in the Heart...

Highway keeps calling,
Telling me it is late,
‘come back and try to be a part…’

And the worst thing is,
To be the one hiding,
Telling ‘I don’t know where to start…’

There is nobody thinking with reason,
As all have been busy doing their part…

There is nobody happy this season,
As all have been living their lives apart…

There seems to be a,
Simple thing called heart,
One that keeps looking
For you to notice what it wants to do,
from the start…

All that it wants to
be is be happy,
And bring a smile upon your face,
that is all…

‘All that I look for is a smile,’
Says it with pain of being torn apart…

Somebody needs me, like I do, a walrus,
But the only one listening is a goat from the past…

There is lamb, running on water,
Past the rains of shame and,
Distance only brought between the hearts…

Somebody needs to
be out there,
Who would be the savior,
And save this journey that is there
without a start…

All that I see now,
Is an empty palace,

Groaning are empty hallways,
Without doors and people,
And a laugh…

So many players,
sang in the darkness,
But the only voice that remains,
Is of the poet in the heart…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Orange Dreams...

From the deep wells of my mind,
to the dark room with the blinds,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
play a song of orange dreams...

With the crimson of the fruit,
and the blackness of my hoof,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
play the melody of orange dreams...

The guitar lay covered,
the webs and dust on top, showered...

The strings of my fingers' music,
lay, rusted and I, feeling sick...

Here I lay wondering,
if the Hula hoops were barbed rings...
And here I lay half asleep,
awake, yet to take a leap...

You see, I said,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
keep playing a song,
the tune from the orange dreams...

And here I lay half asleep,
awake and wondering what to play,
song for the dungeons, or the mind's keep...

But then again,
the thoughts and the tangerines,
I hear them play,
this song from the orange dreams...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

House of Cards

Here I sit, spaces between,
The moments of past and future unseen,
Here I linger, hitherto unknown,
Poised and in languor, telling the story untold…

The moments of toil must’ve been in past,
But the remnants of memories are things that last.
There might come a gale that destroys,
But the picture of what stood remains with joy…

There has been the moment where a little swoosh of air,
Or a lighted match, or water, I mean, everything that is fair,
Have rumbled the House of Cards built with toil,
Have taken that away, which has eaten my midnight’s oil…

But then again, my memories don’t cease,
A thing of past Card House might be,
But its image still lingers, and cherish I with ease,
a thing that could be and never is…

What is life, but a House of Cards,
Built through ages, through toil and labour hard,
Stands for an instant, crumbles in a sweep,
But the memories of what had been, never cease to sleep…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Things that don't glow...

I smile the past away,
I always look this way...

I talk along the way,
and the laughter creases my face...

I spend the nights so cold,
with a pretense inside my soul...

I feel the bright sun, shine,
and all that's hidden entwined...

There is always a reason to show,
a mask that I don't know...

There is always a reason to smile,
though laughter just makes you tired...

There is always a reason to know,
that when you walk away in the snow,
you might leave that place,
but the prints will always leave a trace...

You may smile as if you know,
but your shadow will never glow...

It will remain a faithful mirror,
showing the image of the buried sore,
frozen in the past's dirty snow...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju