WHEN

When I begin to wonder; I never seem to cease;

Pondering sheepishly upon vivid extensions on me.

When I begin to act as per the actor in me,

Setting up a stage wherever I may please.

When I gather the gatherings of irrational fights,

That often rupture rudiments of probable antichrists.

When I relish the joys of a justified, dimmed sky,

Killing time with conscience without knowing why.

When I start to fall in love with songs I sing,

Delicately progressing through all that life brings.

When I go on to scorn the dirty liabilities I own,

How the guilty regal in me abdicates his throne.

When I dismiss my sufferings beside her as I walk,

Yet refuse to break silence or propose an awry talk.

When I eclipse dislike with a moony spread of lips,

Against distasteful company; very tough to ally with.

I often begin to write just how I am at this time,

With little hope of dazzling ever in easy sunshines.

So when I lastly cease to rant, write and breathe,

I pray someone recalls a ‘when' spent with me.

-Karan Ghosh

AMONG TALES UNTOLD

For sympathy's sake, on his demise,

Men talked of him, and women cried.

Till the day when a last breath he drew,

We scorned his rantings, just like you.

His suit I hear, went to his grave,

Pronouncing that the man was brave.

His life I hear, went into war,

Declaring that which he stood for.

No maiden of ours did he ever woo,

No confederate could get him through.

Hence no beloved marks his tombstone,

Just as him, his name alone.

Far from home, where his woman may await,

Unaware of her husband's twist of fate.

And here he lies, in a foreign land's cold,

Amid his chosen pride, among tales untold.

-Karan Ghosh

BESIDE THE ENEMY

His cold limbs remained aloof of me,

A sleep resting and existing in him.

Calloused crease constructing pleas,

The war in his head, still breathing dim.

The pride in him being deprived space,

And resistance hovers only in his brows 

Willing, wrinkled arms; sharp, pale face.

A harvest awaits him now at his ploughs.

I caused him sweat, I drew his blood,

I've wanted to cause his folk a memory.

So as to feed my heart in the name of duty,

And just so that the dying be not me.

-Karan Ghosh 

EPISTLE TO THE ENEMY

With weary eyes, I gaze upon this sheet,

Whose uttering your eyes will soon meet.

This I render, for I must convey,

Of one righteous calling that I must obey.

So prepare you your infantry and yourself too,

As I march to charge and conquer over you.

No more may we breathe of the same sky,

Hence it be clear that one of us, one must die.

To you- The bringer of dismay I write,

The one whose guilty of wounding my pride.

All your goods may unite, yet cannot make,

A case for the wronging, a trial's debate.

-Karan Ghosh

HIS FORTRESS

His fortress consumes none inside,

Yet, vows of companionship he recites.

No doors lead inside those grey walls,

Upon which all natural forces do befall.

You may gaze at him while he perches and smiles,

Upon the stony portico, looking beyond miles.

But hardly meet anymore than his eyes;

Those that captivate, those which conceal several cries.

Not an opening did the maker provide,

As if he intended a provoking divide.

Provisions for several windows are yet still made,

Beside which his silhouette sits and contemplates.

Through the window, what you see,
In you it brews curiosity.
From where you stand, its a brilliant sight!
Who knows but what else within resides.

-Karan Ghosh

LAMP POSTS

Standing like a prima donna,

On the stage of reclusion-

The beam of man-made brilliance
Howls in almost isolation.

Thickets providing shelter,
To stray society-hounds-
Turn golden in the gleam,
And charming paucities of sound.

At day, there is no stage to see,
The beam stands in tiny dignity;
A station for feathered daredevils,
A thrill to share in solidarity.

None sees the moon's disloyalty,
When stars twinkle alone at night.
Nor do they see the constancy,
Of lonesome lamp posts, each twilight.

-Karan Ghosh

THE PREACHER AND THE OUTLAW

Fate organises an assembly,

Of men hailing from opposite runs.

At a half-mooned twilight;

One held a cross, the other, a gun.

With no twisted intentions involved,

Both men stand with different calls.

One stands for a bounty,

The other, to cleanse evil that befalls

"The greed of shimmer is a curse,

Dyes the soul in stubborn shades of grey."

Probes the gallant preacher,

To the outlaw; this society's prey.

"Mother refused me her milk,

And my father refused me his name.

I'm the breeding of uncivil wastelands;

For which I cannot be blamed."

As words escaped his mouth,

More compassion in the preacher conjured.

His eyes peered through the man before,

A flurry in his head, a desire to cure.

"Oh seeker of unreal illusions,

Pray contemplate upon what I foresee-

Your heir gets in heritage your sham,

And leads a life that you lead.

I wander on a path of truth,

And someday I'll lie in soil, free of lies. 

You march in manners which you may please,

But share not your past with the child."

Arms on the cross unarm the armed,

An outlaw fades, a noble within survives.

A father saves a father to be,

The shepherd draws another herd to life.

-Karan Ghosh

BLOODBIRDS

Trials were made,

Yielding just deceit.
Loitering aimlessly,
Two starved birds meet.

Regard providence,
Or put the stars to blame.
On a common branch,
They seek refuge in a rain.

Comfort in times of need
Is medicine to the ill.
They rendered, they received,
And united in free will.

Above a deeply rooted oak,
Soon bloomed a nest.
Higher than worldly matters,
Hidden from the rest.

Gradually the nest grew old,
And the occupants, mature.
The ties began to rupture,
The union seemed unsure.

Wars that lust did wage,
Consumed faith by decay.
Togetherness became a strain,
With each passing day.

Diversion is the inevitable,
Amid mates taken for granted.
The two parted ways,
To seek what they wanted.

Years later they meet again,
En route to the forsaken nest.
Like pirates coming home,
For their final rest.

-Karan Ghosh

A MISSING STANCE

Baseless skies, become evidence,

At a hearing of separation.

A rupture matures and unlocks

An aged, mutual fixation.

The wise prefer roots to fruits,

While dreamers devour yields.

Some celebrate within for walls,

Others set fires at the fields.

An enriching profit for all,

This eternal loss for the two 

Attendants retire to greener pastures,

The victims go homeless and blue.

Both see a roof over their heads,

But no home under their roofs.

They took their remains with them

And lost identity in each other, aloof.

Rains poured through grey days, since,

And summer breezes have advanced.

All forces resumed their paces,

Paying homage to a missing stance.

-Karan Ghosh

BLUE TWILIGHT

Her bed was a forgotten landscape,

One upon which unlit shadows prevailed.

They drizzled renditions of a blue twilight,

The river was pouring, the bank was pale. 

Upon satin sheets were creases of yore,

That paved way to undiscovered roads.

Like puny settlements for dying folklore,

Losing to desires that our hearts unload.

Clumsy gestures resisted silence to invade,

While incurable dreams made her sigh.

Emergence from games that she once played,

Were celebrations of her enlightened cries.

Could I stay or could I depart?

As the dawn arrived with her veil of sense.

Or could I enclose this in my heart,

Like another sweet remembrance?

-Karan Ghosh

TRYING TO LOSE

They said you were in love again,

Is it another of your fancy medicines?

I see you by the river almost everyday,

You look terrible, tell me how've you been?

Remember you once had a black guitar?

That you sold for a couple of bills.

Do you regret selling out your dreams,

Or do you cherish taking those pills?

I don't wanna gatecrash your brains,

No, that's not what I do anymore.

I heard the songs that put glitter on you,

But I like the songs that you wrote before.

What are you trying to lose so bad,

To gather all things that make you sad?

What are you trying to gift yourself,

Against my photos on your shelf?

You show yourself among friends at day,

I wonder if they know you at night.

Where's your pride when you're played,

You said you'd fight the good fight.

All those pretty face that surround you,

I don't see why they should cause guilt.

I'm glad that you're tucked in comfort,

In the dream palace that you built.

Its a lousy day here, its a cloudy day,

Did your ignorance condense in the skies?

Mommy told me about this earlier,

I guess this is how I had to realise.

What are you trying to lose so bad,

To gather all things that make you sad?

What are you trying to gift yourself,

Against my photos on your shelf?

-Karan Ghosh

THE MAN WE KNOW

His home swept, his maiden wept.

His fate lay scattered in ocean beds.

Yet still, he builds, day by day,

Idols of folklore in mud and clay.

With bare hands and white belief,

And with innocent hope of relief.

His harvest in flames, once again.

His labour questioned and stained.

Yet still, in ashes he sprinkles seeds,,

Shows them light, provides them feed.

Like a father raising his second child,

In memory of the one that didn't survive.

Today, his greys glide in mature air,

Wrinkled hands and a fading glare.

Smiling, on a withering eve,

And withering, yet with white belief.

But his home will be swept again,

He again will bear a stain.

Only, he won't look the same.

Only, he'll return in another name.

-Karan Ghosh

THE ONLY OCCUPANT

Evening sunshine

As the sun comes down

This heart of mine

The only one alone in town

Setting sun

Drowning in the waters so far

Your still the only one

Lingering fragrance in my car

Fading lights

And fireflies at an orphaned land

At a distance

Are footsteps in the sand

Lonesome walks

And feels of your hands in mine

Cherished talks

With farce childish rhyms

Memories of twilight

With me lost in your embrace

Fantasy flights

And your gleaming pretty face

Hazy constellations

In the beautiful nightsky

Warm situations

In the arms when you cried

Midnight tunes

And the dances in the dark

Under the moon 

Uttering beloved remarks

Dark mornings

And vows in high zeal

Blackbirds calling

Disbelief in the real

Splendid sunrise

A cool breeze that reminds

Silent cries

In those thoughts unkind

Divine morning art

The skies are once again blue

A tattered heart

Whose only occupant is you

-Karan Ghosh

WHEN YOU SLEEP TONIGHT

There are shadows in the wall

Under the enchanted moonlight

So can you please miss me a little

When you sleep tonight

Theres a song in the dark

In a voice so bright

So can you please miss me a little

When you sleep tonight

There is a fear in my soul

And it dose'nt feel so right

So can you please miss me a little

When you sleep tonight

There is a battle up ahead 

But I dont wanna fight

So can you please miss me a little  

When you sleep tonight

There is a weakness in my soul

But in my eyes is a might

So can you please miss me a little

When you sleep tonight

There is so much to say to you

But it is meant to stay forever inside

So can you please miss me a little

When you sleep tonight

There is a long sustained denial

And I know I can never make it right

So can you please miss me a little

When you sleep tonight.

-Karan Ghosh

BEYOND THE DAWN

The dawn of mist has arrived,

Fallen leaves welcome the falling.

The land nestles under a grey blanket,

While the sunlight tries crawling.

The bark of this oak still has two names,

One being yours and one being mine.

Standing witness to farce, childish vows,

Made hazy by the assaults of time.

The fog conceals what we share,

This thing, that we so carefully named.

A meek stream by the grass delays its flow,

As if, waiting to be framed.

Hold on to the thoughts of summer,

For the cold is here, here to stay.

Forget to remember tomorrow for a while,

Take all that this dawn has to give away.

-Karan Ghosh

 

AN ODE TO THE WIND

O gentle breeze, of the west!

Do not disturb the letters of love.

Scattered carelessly on my desk,

While dusky skies prevail above.

If you so wish to take from me,

Take the moist of my pillow.

To the far off land where she be, 

Standing by the willow.

Carry the fragrance of wet soil,

And sprinkle memories along.

Touch her gently, ease her toil,

Or sing to her my song.

A savage kin of yours parted us,

But you kindly be kind.

Taken, soon I'll be by the night,

But tis' her I'll ever find.

-Karan Ghosh

ITS A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT FOR A NAP

Flowing on the sheet like a river of silk,

Your tresses beat the night.

Engrossed in an unknown thought;

A room immersed in silent light.

A closure of walls contains your body,

But could they bind your thoughts?

Of the battles waging within,

And the worldly battles that have been fought?

Fly away, you dreamer,

Its a beautiful night for a nap.

Make the most of it.

Choose a direction and not a map.

A thousand faces to turn to,

Yet not a shoulder to weep.

A thousand jingles to rejoice upon,

Yet not a melody to dig deep.

Make mistakes and make them again,

Discover all kinds of falls.

For therein lies the secret,

Of rising again to stand tall.

Fly away, you dreamer,

Its a beautiful night for a nap.

Make the most of it,

Choose a direction and not a map.

-Karan Ghosh 

WILDERNESS BLUE

Silence hosts the evening,

And darkness raises a toast.

Fireflies from an orphaned land appear,

And the gleam indicates the approach.

The night is young, young and cold,

And the endless river of its glistening flow.

Many a secrets to be told,

Many quests to unfold.

The leaves rustle the perfect symphony,

Romancing with the air.

A distant fire sprinkles warmth around,

While the moon serves each guest its share.

A forlorn floyd sings while a blackbird mourns,

Emanating the wilderness blues.

The former with nothing to gain,

And the latter with nothing to lose.

A sheepish rain takes over and departs,

And then gallant day-break.

The floyd dissappears and the blackbird seeks another refuge,

The leaves now covered with snowflakes. 

The silence died and the moon escaped,

And the distant fire is gone.

All attendants disappear somewhere,

Only the river still goes on.

-Karan Ghosh

TEN YEARS

You were standing on the orphaned bank of the misty waters.

Pure, serene, innocent.

Not a sound from the wilderness.

Your face was lit yet your eyes, silent.

The moon was unconcealed that night.

But no heed did she recive.

For you were the one emanating the awe.

To my sheer disbelief.

The sky was curtained with grim clouds.

And so the heavens could not see.

The picturesques sight of delight.

And the helplessness in me.

I wanted to get closer.

But feared this to be a dream.

I wished to have you close to me.

To know how it may seem.

Ten years since then, that very day.

But unchanged remains that feel.

And everyday I see you to believe.

That angels are for real.

-Karan Ghosh

PROMISES OF MY SHARE

Serenity, the only attire of the night,

Lost in the sable revulsions begotten.

Behold the ones walking into the black light,

Before they are forgotten.

Fondle with the vicious gale,

As you cast away your sorrow.

Drench in the rains that prevail,

Before you're wiped out tomorrow.

Will the morning ever overflow,

In the profound melodies of the floyd.

Forever it would be for you to know,

The deception between sins and joys.

Someday, with the fading lights I too will fade,

Leaving behind thoughts in free air.

And the air would caress you in the shade,

Keeping the promises of my share.

-Karan Ghosh

SOMEWHERE IN TIME

Blank face on the windowpane,

Scattering fragments of life.

The stary skies are never the same,

I've seen those unending nights.

Thoughts of a distant demise,

Slow, unrelenting and grave.

Drenching in the hope of life,

By the spirit of the brave.

There is no pain in separation,

Just an unusual haunting.

To forsake the grooves of relation,

Amid the silence ever daunting.

Let silence be the only promise ever kept,

And joyful be the tears ever kept.

Remember me and these words of mine,

As I fade somewhere in time.

-Karan Ghosh