The pragmatic spirit


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

the flame


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.

“The Silent Warriors”


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 …
 
 

Random rumination of a scribbling poet


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!


Thy sobriquet


plucked I from the garden of epithets
a wondrous appellation
Sapphire! Thy sobriquet,
I sway gently in thy ecstatic kingdom
leaning against the sweet whisperings of thine creations
In moments together sitting parallel across the seven oceans
yet under the same vast expanse,
Thee soaking in the golden sun,
while I drench myself in monsoon showers
prompting minutes
of our pristine meet,
like an expected ephemeral juncture

WAILS


WAILS

Prevails the monotonous rhythm ,

whence drags the mind

the fettering body to duties unattended

lonesome soul

tired limbs

dreary mind

how much to pull and get off the plight…

a page is torn

lying on the floor

it mocks every tile of the loss

and cries heaven

to flood the earth more…

numb the senses, mute is the voice

Alas! The wails of a dying soul aren’t heard outside.

IMG_20150613_175047

“Ego & Love “


“EGO & LOVE

“fidgety fretful , always had been his heart
he threw tantrums whilst, love wept and scattered like shards
stamping arrogance he displayed
in a corner few tears she shed…
a silver bowl that bedecked
overflowed with pearls
precious…

what a paradox
epiphany in delusion
he flaunts false pride
of translucent treasures
in possession
while she drinks with her palm
cupped
an incessant intoxicating ale
from the open wounds of
her chafed heart ,
with a smile gentle…”