the pragmatic spirit
which failed to live as a free bird
pinioned to the ancillary pedestal with bondage,
a pit of darkened sphere
where like a dragon is a holocaust
…
in the feeble body,
a sunken heart,
fears swing of life
forgoing and abstract
stares at the time pendulum
under the lampshade orange ,
dawned a ray of wisdom
a veneration;
an assimilation of glitches
burns the scared pyre
illuminating the inner luminescence
flickers the lamp of trust on deserted path of life
the gigantic trees ,old and widespread appear ghost alike
their shadows apparently engulfing the existence in dark embrace
whilst the wind echoes and shrills to fear and death …
Amidst such storm of turbulence and devastation,
enwrap your tiny fingers of innocence and faith around
the quivering flame
Tis’ endurance and devotion, that makes one cross and trail
the lonesome obscurity and murkiness.
Her eyes had become lifeless, like a stone ,she stood unmoved, the life of iris had turned into pebbles, yet flowed from the depths of heart and soul infinite incessant tears… She was a mother, a wife or a daughter, her voice deafened in screams of the martyr, Tis the unmovable body of maybe her son, husband or brother, nothing actually mattered … He gave up his days of affection, lost nights amorous in the deep jungles infested with insects and animals deprived himself of sleep and rest to give us a realm of freedom to live without fear… he was hungry for days or sometimes raw food he ate half cooked in deserts or on terrains while we sumptuously enjoyed the delicacies ,yet grumbled on the pinch of salt that was less in dinner… do we realize while the handsome packet of salary in our pockets we earned an only risk of attrition & no apprehension of seeing the last summer… why then like heartless beings we are ungrateful and forget the martyrs? Those who lived and died for us, to fortify our existence and secure us a future Don’t we owe a moment of grief, a sense of gratitude or a moral responsibility to support their loved ones , who laid their lives for cavalry the silent great Indian warriors …
Can I ever express?
Can I ever say?
murmurs the inner voice
The random ruminations
struggling details
endless musings
thoughts ceaseless
turbulent apprehensions
intense emotions
words falling way apart
when the ink of life flows like the Ganges….
the arteries suffocate
what hath the social environ done
strangling wishes in the cage
flutters the bird a last time
before she forgets her own desire
…
how then would the heart speak
after being buried in soil nine feet deep
why then the soul screams
in silence when neither the world hears nor
peeps
Is it the solitude that echoes
and relishes the scathing pain
the lump in choked throat
or the blood of a slit vein…
the smile of the sad heart
or a laugh lame
…
how would the heart start
singing its own tale?
nay, it doesn’t glorify
nor intend to sermon
Tis the lonesome want of a
scribbling poet
Ya! listen comrade
lend a moment ,close your eyes
hear my soul’s tale
as drenches the parched heart
in desirous rain!
soumyav 