The Catcher in the Dust...

There is the distance scaled through this mind,
Speed given by this thoughtful find...
The ghost of the past regime,
History of a distant past,
Running and pant of a tired boy and his scream…

Legend of the faces, creases of the age,
And the mind’s own cage...
They are like the stranger passing through
This unknown land, like a whisper
soaked by thought's own hand...

I am the change you want to see,
I will never show you what is there,
that is for you to see, but not me…
I see your soul naked and its fire,
I am the old school, who never tires…

I am the Lancelot of mystery,
I am the Arthur of history…
I am humble as we speak,
As I know I am just as weak...
But inside I am Hercules,
but that's just saying for me…

For this day, and days hence,
I may seem to be a freak,
But I know what I am,
I am the beauty that I wish to see…
Nay boasting, I am the trust that I wish to believe…

You see, faith is what is in me,
And duty is what there awaits…
I am the only chance I have,
And the only person on whom I can bank…
I am the faithful, only sincere to the duties of me
and the slave of this body, but my dream
and my course is free,
‘cos the will of free soul does not sleep…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

We the Sultans...

We play with those guitars, not the guns…
Last night we went home drunk…
We are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

The strings on those guitars move,
Fingers rolling over the chords like a swift little breeze…
We get those shivers, when we try to imitate
The snob and those bullies…
‘Cos we are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

Competition, and search, earnest to imply what echoes
And in our eardrums rings…
When this old guitar is on the road,
And the wheels don’t mind,
Singing the road a lullaby…
And on the road we go,
We move through the highway,
‘Cos we are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

We play with the Grey old beast,
That dark wicked horse of dreams,
Dreams which, failed, shall ring us a sorry lullaby,
But we never mind, as the soul wishes to sing…
We step up to that dream,
Facing with the ammunition and guitars,
Facing with words and laughter and, why yes,
Rolling fingers across those strings,
‘Cos we are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

A Verse on Nature's Dance...

When all mankind sleeps,nature awakens,
Playing those heavenly dances of wind and rain...

This winter has brought to me with it,
all the joys and happiness,a wishful thought,
and unstoppable ink...

It is in the slumber of man,
in human inactivity,does nature find its activity...

Cold,and inert,a man rests,
and for once the puppet becomes the audience,
and the stage stages the dance of itself...

Rain falls down,whispering
tidings from the warm Adithya
and wind blows off the rain,
earth smelling of wet leaves and grass blades,
bent with the weight of dampened rays...

And slowly,through the darkness,
amidst the clouds,there comes this light,
which stays but for few minutes,
before running away,scouting for further clouds...

But how shall poor sun know,
that clouds,that it seeks,
cover its retreats,and the leaves look up and smile,
while groaning little rodents go back to their mead...

Rain splashes across the ground,and now its night,
all is silent,save for the moon that shines...

But stars aren't favoured by these neighbouring steeds,
who but proclaim with irony
the defeat of fading stars that retreat...

This, and all the allied wind,
woven and spun into a thread or a string...
Now,all that is left is a song that is to be sung,
while the nature plays its tune,
to that friendly game,
where cloud won but still,
everything remains the same...

Nature with its many ecstasies never ceases to sing,
We with our preoccupied slumber,
allow our stupidity to ring...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

A Song for You...

There is something we see,
there is something we can be,
but then, sometimes we realise,
what we are is worth it...

There is those moments we think,
If we were that one bit different,
Would it have made all that difference in the world?
But then that smile would be gone,
I may not be the person you may find pleasing,
But I have found that my mind,
It stays, it stays forever asleep,
Dreaming that which my heart says...

That day when you danced in the rain,
I felt all my joy saying thanks to that rain…
That day when you cried, I felt,
I felt my arms, stretching out,
Trying to hug you, trying to wipe those tears on your pallor...

Ever since I have known, this fact,
This feeling, and known this soul,
Which made me feel so happy...
You may pardon, or you may not,
But for me, angel who soars above that sun,
it is you...

I am nobody, nobody who may make you feel happy,
This song is not for showing you what I am,
I write this song to show you what you mean to me,
This maybe a fairy tale, with an ending as foretold,
Or it may be reality, not really untold...

But now, at this moment, I want to say,
All I care to say to you who are dearest
of all that is dear to my soul,
All I want to say is,
Dear, I just love you so...
All I want to say is,
I just love you so...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Wintry Truth and A Song for the Rains...

One two, one two, one two,
And so the key notes sound,
Almost as though they have
Played it, this tune of pain,
All along… There is the key note which
Reminds me of rains, and there is this key note
which talks of the hoof on the wet lands…

You might get up, and see,
Rising sunshine,
Which talks of the happiness that is in the form of those rays,
And the joy of small droplets falling across your sill,
While it is you, sitting by the window,
Curtains raised, welcome the dance of playful nature…

Few drops come down to kiss you,
Some just pass along with a gentle touch,
Wetness of emotions, touching the smiling pallor,
Much has that pallor suffered pain, and this…
And these droplets , they wash away the hurt
They wash away those pains, which are unsaid and unheard…

There is this sweet respite in the notes of Piano,
Which notes the sweet song of the wintry rains…
Fair and sweet, this coldness speaks,
Fair and sweet, this cold nature shows,
It tells us the reason for its coldness
Is for us to find warmth inside,
Warmth of this soul, that which is the greatest gift
That possess the insignificant we…

Winter is oft proclaimed as season of death,
But for an esthete, it proclaims,
It unearths, the beauty of life…
Winter is a sacrifice by God unto we,
To make us remember the beauty of life,
That runs within…

You may feel the Piano lies,
But a key deferred changes joy to sorrow,
And a key differed changes sorrow to joy…
Ye may perceive Winter as death,
But for the lover who romances the beauty of life,
Every season is a great friend,
Guiding us through our short yet sweet lives…

Rains may be tears, but mate, remember the girl
Remember the girl who dances when it showers…
Rain remains no longer formidable pain,
But rather a sweet Elixir of Beauty of life…
Remember the smile after rain splashes
across the face of that beautiful girl…
Remember the huddled little child covered in a quilt of love,
In winter, waiting for your embrace…
Then, my friend, sorrow in the dampened environ
Ceases, and all that it leaves behind is incessant joy,
All that it leaves behind is incessant happiness,
All that it leaves behind is incessant Love,
And all that remains in you is the loving smiles for a lovely life…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Flow...

Here I see a cliff,
A cliff,a doorway…
Red sand,and soapstone,
Breaking against the waves,
barricading the ocean…

You see,the waters are those
exquisite thoughts,Flowing in your mind
and you cease to exist…

No longer,your body embodies your soul,
You are like those rays,that sunshine
Which is from the sun,but no longer a part of it…
You break through the doors,and the viels
of those leaves and the tall trees,
you stream these lands,yes,you
as once broken you are the strong and steady soul…

You break through the shackles set by mundane,
The bamboozle of stupidity,that embodies this head,
Has for long been discarded,
And now remains,the endless eternity,
Where we humans,are nothing but the wafting
flavours of God’s creation,endearing elements,
and the remains of the epiphany of Nature’s creation..
I see these verses,rather lengthening
with the weight of thought…
Capturing are these, images
Picturesque thoughts and the beauty of the journey,
And conjuring the creative effort,
I rest this ink,for journey takes me,
With music and art,into its keep,
And I shall retreat before that Satanic sheep,
Come forth talking of those boastful unnecessary heap…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

The Bane of this Unjust Boon...

Everyone praises you for your gift,
It is common indeed,
But you know, but yourself, how that boon
Has been the bane of your life…

Sometimes I wish to give up all that
And wish, just to gain a normal life,
Wherein isolation is not
the general manner of the day…

whoever said being the black sheep
was of any merit, needs retrospect…
Sometimes you wonder,
What are you, beyond that which is called your gift…

Sometimes I smile, rather in place of tears,
On my much hurt pallor,
Whether people forget the existence of
Sensitivities on a seemingly cold, yet human soul…

I wish you were here,
One who proclaimed beauty of
so-called blessing unto the few odd we..
Sometimes I wonder what has this brought?

This gift has brought naught save hurt
Hurt of isolation, wherein love and care
Wherein acceptance in the common stream
Is non-existent… Aye, acceptance is non-existent…

These questions when asked with those
few who cared enough to listen
found the answers of indifference…
How else can I describe it, my muse?

Is it my fault, that I am not, what my age speaks?
Is it my fault, that I cared inspite of that hurt inflicted?
Is it my fault, that I still thought, I shall be accepted?
Is it my fault, I hoped?

I wonder, if loving somebody was a sin?
I wonder, if hoping that the attention was more
than a decoy… A decoy was a momentary gain…
Why, my friend? Had you asked in plain terms -

Still I would have answered you, my friend,
Still I would have helped you get through…
You need not have played this way,
In this opportunist and hurtful fashion…

Now, it is me, who is hurt, while you
Yonder celebrate your gains…
You built a stairway to heaven For this hurt
soul who but wished to share few moments…

Those stairs dissolved, in the wisps of decay,
And in the smoke of betrayal and insensitive
Role play… And I have fallen, yet again in these
Sands of earth, where care is like dew,
shortlived and hard to know…

And all, I have seen, and all I have got is,
Just the juices of scorpion’s sting…
All I have won, is the undue betrayal,
Through the bane of this unjust boon…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju