“The Farmer”


Dim the hope , bleak appears the future
in every grain of the field’s harvest
rests the destiny of  poor .
while the ones who had
a silver spoon
hardly noticed the worth of a grain…
a morsel was all… for a day,
while the couple sleeps
 under the leaking roof
of the shelter 
with a noise of
roaring stomach
 in emptiness .
One who grows the crop
for millions
feeds
 whose stock
the children of everyone…
he has the glass
full of water
until the morning sun dawns
and he toils again till
his last measure.
The irony of life
 tonnes of food
 being thrown in spills  
as leftovers ,
in garbages,
while the farmer
remains famished .

Painting!


PAINTING

On fingertips , smudged is colour of the
ethereal ,
rouging over a blank canvas
images of illusory candidness emerge…
gradual strokes, the tender touch makes
silky smoothed the texture
violets, scarlets,lavenders,carmines,
sapphires,turquoise brighten
the alluring render…
a song reverberates in the chamber
pounds where the heart in thunder,
miss I the enchanter
the painter of my existing splendor.

MONSTER !


I see a monster on every shoulder
Thou! named stress of responsibility
what needs one for survival
two square meals and a shelter to live?
why hath then the demon
crushed the flower of mental peace
gobbling up moments of happiness
 dancing on heads with
a satanic mischief.

Why carries the man then burden
can there ever be a limit to desire
luxury, comfort are monetary matters
tranquility can’t be gained by this measure…
wealth stands helpless in joy and satisfaction
whilst an affluent man is clenched too
by this monster.

How far would you carry the Goliath
smash this Lil’ devil off your shoulder
unburdening useless pressure
breathe freely in the enchanting nature
walk in joy with conciliation,
between the tussle of worry and placidness
the heart wins with self-confidence and valor.

ADIEU!


Who knoweth the serrated pangs

of the piercing of poisoned dart

Alas! it pierced and pierced.

That nostalgia of the suffocating breath

memories flash in  visuals

history held the pen in hand

 bleed the pages…

prior being written.

the shrill and softness of the yearn

the quivering voice ,lost in sunburn,

drips through the sides with sweat or raindrops

as the oozing blood from the bruised heart gets frozen…

Brush, I aside the reason,

why and what for,should such happen,

isn’t trust , the jewel of faith,

blind how can be then a soul of reason…

wounded which my existence by charring words

turning me to ash,

…ablaze my integrity and conscience…

I sunk in oblivion

Knoweth not the world

neither can e’er

wish I, the sun dawns

when the ephemeral second arrives

stand when we across…and the mirror shines

Till then thou ! and me shall remain away

from the clutches of time…

photocredit:blog.selfarcheology.com

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Timeless !


like the countless stars of a night sky
as the endless tides of the ocean nearby
like the fragrance of flower ,felt and unseen…
the river which endlessly flows …throughout
summer, winter or spring,
as the ceaseless pulsating beats of a heart
under the constant blueness of sky
on  greenery of the land
dwells the eternal , inimitable
treasured thought…
in depths of soul, immortal
lives the love timeless… like God!
photocredit:www.bandagedear.com
timeless-love-ii-by-jennifer-broussard-673389

On that perch!


O! The singing herald

chirp on that perch

which awaits the sunshine

and seeks hope…

on the branch emerged few new leaves

tender  and fluorescent green…

no, it still isn’t that strong enough

to hold the nest of life,

yet it remains unbent and straight

in days of storm and strife…

Withering season marked the place

the ground beneath showed the fall

songs of different hues

echoed

when the sky again turned blue…

Thou! singing herald

sprinkle thy blissful voice

on that perch

anticipates which with diligence and patience

fighting odds of tenacity

with dedication and devotion.

 

Photocredit:birdsofnewengland.com

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