Soliloquy

Take my hand, and guide it past the residues
of these brilliantined escapades that the sunshine
has written its name on today; fake sincerity
and tell me that you have never felt this way before.
Escort me beyond the lines where civility ends
and past the boundaries where the modern
confines of our lives merge seamlessly into the
path towards your oft-darkened and misconstrued
soul; leave me in the gloom waiting to smell the
roses on a day when you get engulfed in the madness.

Wake me before this tragic happening of our
disjointed feelings run unabashedly among the gardens
of pecuniary worship. The clouds gather overhead
amidst the noise of a deep Hyderabadi sky that
expels all notions of us being shut deep within the
immurements of your fingertips. Touch me and tell me
that this is real, and that this is so- that love and life
blend illogically in a country where the Gods reside;
it would be far too difficult to accept the actualities
that our alter egos have imposed upon us.