For her who by next year this time, would've forgotten me completely)

Woke up with a premonition
Should let go of her
Love prepares
Love repairs
There is a gentle rain in my heart
But I know
I will find my rainbow smile.

Tired is the night
Sad is the day
I know I have to carry on
On the path that I chose
Without fear
Without prejudice
Love is not a relationship
And I never learned to say love in the past tense.

The Song of the Prisoner

I have been walking all along

I have been walking all alone

I look back and I see the mirage of my past

I look ahead at the trail left behind by a clown

I am walking, yes, I am walking, back to my home.

Entangled in chains of breath within me is my soul

I keep on hearing now and then a sad piercing howl

“This journey is not what it seems! ” -the cry echoes again

“You are going to lose everything that you think you have gained.”

So I am walking, yes, I am walking, back to my home.

The prisoner sits in his cell repairing his wings

He has got to be ready for the day when summoned by the King

The journey is not what it seems, now that I understand my pain

I cry along with the prisoner, to each other we are chained

So we are walking, yes, walking, back to our home. 

One Raised to the Power of Five inFilmIndia Worldwide: Debut section–FIW Vol X ...

FilmIndia Worldwide: Debut section–FIW Vol X ...: One Raised to the Power of Five   Rajiv B Menon Mumbai-based Rajiv B Menon’s debut work presents five different short films that merge toge...

The Insomniac

Only an insomniac can see the beauty of the night! The night is so full of treasures. Of dreams discovered with awakened eyes. Let me embrace the lovely brightness of the night.! Let me touch the lips of silence!

Only an insomniac can see the faces of his dreams. As they masquerade under the star lit sky. The night breeze carries the song of the moon which finally settles as dewdrops at the break of dawn.

No, I am not as imaginative as I seem to be. Its merely that I take a stroll along the banks of the night when the whole world is asleep. Picking pebbles of thoughts and ideas which blossom into fragrant flowers in broad daylight.

Only an insomniac can see the beauty in the night. For he stays awake to make love under the silky moonbeam. The night is dark, sensuous, mystical. Swaying to each and every touch of mine. The night is mine. And I belong to the night. 

And only an insomniac can tell you about the secrets of the night. Secrets that are buried deeper than the memory of the soul. So let me embrace the lovely brightness of the night! Let me touch the lips of silence!