DEATH


DEATH
I simmer in the boiling emotions of past
Oh! death ! it isn’t that easy
to sleep in thy arms,
before the world awakens
in duty is immersed my heart.
Would thou ever survive a second
in such life , craving for a glance…
Oh ! death! thou ignorant
of the mortal ways of earth…
how doth you know
the sordidness,
eyes when get wet with reminiscences …
Wrap me with the white linen
of thy warmth,
wait ,
let me furnish the assigned task
there are few minutes left
to be in thy arms!
My son!
Come here, adorn the casket
spread the lilies
Beware!
I fear roses
they prickle my skin…
quietly step near
I sleep in peace…
do not disturb…
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Remnant


Who knows thou! sings the baul

his fingers struck the single chord

the solo of duality , he hums

in remnants of the grief stricken

some old souls, few shattered and broken

Oh ! does it require to be a tatterdemalion

or a ramshackle old pier

to whisper the tunes of eternal weather

while plays the

impulse of seeking the invisible

or knowing Him through

the world visible…

The rampant hunger and

lingering thirst arrives wherefrom

in the arteries of singing legends

is it necessary to be in a deplorable condition

to call and cry for

the cosmic creator!

why forgets the mind of many

bask who in sun of pleasure…

its going to be dark soon

whence shall it find the light for right direction?

 photocredit: aduphoto.com

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The lonely nightingale !


whence shall I be freed from the bondage of destiny
in blind clutches,
tied securely with strings
Breathlessly the body sinks,
ageing with the duties endlessly…
the cluster of orchids drooped
whilst I was busy in the chores of world
not once I got to touch the
enchanteur
failed the effort…
nothing earned…
why does the lonely nightingale then sing
song of solitude in melancholy
there’s a melody in her voice
inside the four walls
she sings and dies.
 
photocredit: king.portlandschools.org
red-winged blackbird

Barged !


from the window

of my room trepid,

while barges the first ray of gold

across my site camping

the melody of little thrush

I hear

echoing mildly …

 

hurl I the things next to me

at  the thief , unscrupulous ,

forgets who the ethics code

to steal my sleep forever…

 

hark, the thrush is here

red glimpses amidst the bushes

forget I , my rage

and anger

smile at the welcomed ambience.

I love to watch !


 
I love to watch the flying bird
who has the strength to soar higher
regardless of strong winds
manages
to flap the wings
and stay there more…
through the thick clouds
in the high skies, is its flight
hovering over huge mountains
the avian
like a free soul glides.
when will the heart scot free
flying over distant hills
when shall the limits and bonds
vanish,tie which the soul
to a post
in chains of imprisoning.
photocredit: http://www.photl.com
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SEARCH


 

SEARCH

 

through the lanes and down  the streets

where once stepped thy feet,

I find myself on faltering knees,

behold! the dust just flew

thou!disappearing

in the gushing wind…

 

the painted vase still vibrates

from the touch of thine fingers,

handicrafts and carpet

exhume thy scent …

the aromatic fragrances mingle…

near the jeweler, who sold antiques

I see thy bracelet silver,

studded with blue sapphires

carved with my name clear…

 

the moon shines overhead

directionless I return,

through the sands of time

lookin’ for another clue in the desert.

 

photocredit: http://www.pinterest.com

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“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 .