Whispers in the Dreams...

And while there stands a countenance well received and content,
the turmoil underneath oft goes unnoticed...
Is it a gift, to bear witness to such trauma as none can see?
It is a gift to be so sure of nothingness, and have no calling?
Is it a gift to be unnerved by the meaninglessness of our mundane pursuits?

Or curses be these which one should hardly receive?

One doesn't see beyond the curtains of success,
yet some see and remain in denial...

One doesn't see beyond the immediate gratification,
yet some feel and numb it with pain-killers and gluttony...

One can see all the depth,
and all the darkness,
and in Nietzsche's words something sinister surely looks back...

You simply can not converse with death,
and feel alive at your daily tasks...

What is it to be a man?
What is it to be alive?
The cause, the effect, the dream, the ambition...

All but not with-holding the strands of time...

If at all I can see a dream come true,
there is yet one dream to dream and feel alive,
the dream where in paradise of true love and flowers,
you sit and watch upon the canvas of nature,
the artists dance away,
paint their ideas,
and in those ideas,
the experiences rest,
and you in front,
marvel...

Such wondrous life can be in the briefest of moments,
but that has far too often been lost in the busy deliberations of the day,
and oft afternoon you rest,
sipping expensive coffee,
come home,
listen to everybody's woes,
yet see no escape from a disturbed sleep...

Often in those moments a song puts you to rest,
and in dreams someone whispers,
There are many poisons in the world...
None more scarier than ambitious dreams...
None more vile than obsessions over themes...

- Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Preying on Your Smile...

A lonely boy standing,
His back against the wall,
And there is a lone vulture absconding,
Waiting for its prey to fall…


Now hear his sound, oh people,
And learn from this wolf-child,
Who spent his days discerning,
Whats in it for the wild…


You may stop him from screaming,
But you won’t forget what was silenced and held foul…


There is just so much different to do in this world,
Yet we linger with our smiles, longing a different life…


They wait for you to reach your prime, my brother,
So they can cut you through the side,
They wait like that lonesome vulture,
Preying on your smile, oh brother,
Don’t smile…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Seized.

Here in the deepest of chaos, I lie,
mute.

Just a harmony, submission, and patience.

The willful angst, and the anxious wait,
come pain and allow me to slither in your arms.

Mother, I wait, mother I wait,
I wait.

I am patient,
and I can see.

Humbled, yet repetitively used, 'I' still.

Grander designs, I see,
I witness the follies,
and believe I am what I see.

What I feel...

Still, synchronised, I sleep,
and dream,
mother, I wait.

For the embrace,
wrongfully seized.

Universe.

Drenched by the very air,
clouds hovering, smooth,
peacefully...

Through the hollow bamboo,
nature blows its flute,
birds,
wood stock,
small footsteps...

Twig breaks underneath,
wriggling ants,
tirelessly flowing fog,
mist on the wood's resting bed...

Mud and leaves make no difference,
all is one, clouds beneath,
rain under,
winds all over...

Open, open, open wide,
fall upon the ground...

Eight, the shooting stars,
seven the nectar,
three the leaf-less trees,
two the minds,
half demonized,
half angelic,
and a single soul,

throughout...

Universe.

- Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Celestial Fantasies...

The naked stars imagined,
with rested beauty of celestial fantasies,
were but dangling onto a thread of myth,
or was it just me,
too sober,
to ignore the beauty,
and worry of basal bloops?

Mystery,
entrapped in the skilled weaving of the web,
and how can a hunter escape,
inept as he was,
in - from the web woven across his sides,
laterally and more so bound,
he waits...

Something is wrong,
the distortion far too great,
and mess far too simple,
and where but solution within his head lingers,
like the stars
dangling from a rusted sky of no moon...

Yet, suddenly,
he wakes,
looks at the brightening skies,
he wonders where was the light,
when he wept last night...

The dried web, lies tattered,
and he bemused,
takes off to the mountain top,
from where with a orange courtesy,
bloodied orb rises...

While returning from his sunrise,
fore noon,
he chances a sight,
a sight which pauses all time,
and all that seems to pass,
he finds a frail white bird dangling like Floyd's albatross,
yet with motion,
flapping wings,
moving nowhere,
rooted to the spot in the immediate pale sky...

Was it beautiful,
or just a plain marvel,
he wonders...

He wonders what really is beauty,
that stimulates,
then he ponders on the sky,
where gravity defying -
hovered a bird,
and turned back...

Darkness had returned, and with it,
his shackles and his ties....

He mourns the day, he wove,
as the ghost of web had never passed,
ever haunting the bland night sky,
and he looks up again,
beyond the contour of darkened leaves,
and there lie,
the celestial fantasies,
falling one at a time...

- Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Ode to Nothingness...

There is nothing...
Nothing to seek,
nothing to find,
nothing to explore,
there is just nothing,
nothing of nothingness...
There is no haste
nor necessity
to chase,
to wanton,
to desire...

There is no meaning,
no answers,
no equations to solve...
There is no beginning,
there is no end
that a man's mind can contemplate...

There is no God a man can define,
there is no Aadi,
there is no Anth,
there is but only
fluid consistency of nothingness...

True peace exists,
without conflict,
without doubt,
without question,
without struggle...

Trust,
peace exists with nothing,
and nothing with nothingness of mind...

Honestly,
there is no haste,
nor necessity
to run behind anything,
because there is nothing,
just plain silence,
of a mind
with no thought
and no feel...

~ Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Desolate Verse...

Desolate chambers,
With pictures, ghosts in mind,
Chamber sleep to the silent music
of the woman who seems to be in pain,
And I wait, slow drumbeat,
Thunder, storm,
Come, Come fast!
And I shout, mute silent scream,
Inside, with a small thirsty knot inside,
Words flowing unto the brink yet falling,
As though water in a low pressure tube,
Hollow cough, drought,
Intrigue, and the flow pauses,
You wonder, dried hands, emptied isolation,
If your fight, in that struggle,
it is isolation you seek,
Music flows seamlessly,
In a strange and distant song,
And in the clouds of smoke,
You sit pondering…
Life passes by…
You stare, vacant eyes,
Vacant voice,
Desolate life…
Desolate chambers,
Desolate lie…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju