THE LOST PEN


I have lost my pen

its nib – golden

once scribbled ceaselessly

while the world retired

to the cushion of comfort every night

the quill loved to brush against the papyrus…

 

leaking on blank pages

the painful emotions

which were witness of sordid transitions

helplessly,

yet as a powerful weapon

narrating every encounter thus illegal…

 

where is the indite

where’s the instrument

the sword -that sliced reality

spear- which pierced the raw veins

dagger – which wounded the cold heart

as a potion for lovers

and deadly poison

for hypocrites

lost somewhere

… help me ,find my pen

Tis’ lost somewhere

in the desert.

Tireless eyes-


Tireless eyes–

watch the setting sun’s scarlet mask

a young morn, enfurling petals

The lonesome cacti in sordid desert

orchids blossoming as fragranced love in cold hearts of summer…

What if they become tired and close for few moments

Nay! The noisy chaotic shimmer of dutibound survival

shall enforce them to be wide open…

not long to reach their goal

The pair of epic witness

thus shall retire

Ne’er again …

the world would look beautiful

when those pretty eyes  close

the curtain forever…

Copyright @ SoumyaV2015

the ornamental rhyme


The ornamental corridors
of an ancient palace,
witness the elegant sway of
an embroidered golden veil.

Ah! she forgets to hook it
to her waist
and
dances in air on the wondrous call
of the peacocks singing under the blue…
They must hath seen the greyish tinge
…announcing the arrival of
a drizzling scene…

she hurriedly … leaves behind
an incomplete verse
a half note
on sitar
she’s half decked,
her black locks falling like the
ocean waves, behind her neck…

The bottle awaits
for the quill to get dipped in
ink of love
and
the papyrus stares
when will the wondrous words emerge…

The mizzle drenches
beauteous creation
magnificence of
which strikes an awesome glare
fallen drops
rhyme
while they slide down the
dancing figurine !

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“THE PRICELESS GIFT”


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what should I gift thee,
a token of love wrapped
in silk
a kiss shall vanish
in the zephyr,
a rose will lose its colour
lacy pack of chocolates
soon get savoured in hours,
an attire would wrap
thou,
but soon will the thread get unleashed

…then
what should I gift thee…
which valuable jewel?
a diamond, gold, ruby or emerald
they lose charm
in glittering aura of thou…
The stones will fall apart…
then…
what should I gift thee
A book, which
can be treasured for years…
..oh no, it shall be stacked in the shelf
dust will be its companion…
A perfume shall fizz out in days
every gift is mortal…
Unlike the soul of mine and thee
which remains immortal…

O ! then let me pluck few moments
from the cosmic air
of universe,
bedeck them with flowers of love
scent with my songs of splendor…
tune in music with my chords
I would gift thee
this
ceaseless, priceless , immortal
treasure.

The Twinkle


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skips the pulse , one breath I lose

a moment of your thought

when my eyelids gaze the blue

searching for the brightest star

its twinkle reminds me of you…

amidst the constellation

a unique stellar assemble

come closer ! I whisper,

as I capture Thee

in the quiet lake of my iris

to bathe in amor

the lotus petals seal until

the aurora pierces

the dark firmament and falls on the bud

about to blossom.

Beads of love !


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photocredit:www.pearlhours.com

the falling dew

beaded

in the string of my love

as tiny translucent pearls

echo and sing thy name

and disseminate my scent

Weaving a wondrous

prized necklace adorning thy neck

kissing, the round soft nape

a jewel of pride

and passion gets created

around the sensuous arms

embraced by which the dew drops fell

o’er the bare shoulder

of hers

in silence.

Oxford Handset nay, am God’s clay !


Oxford-English-Dictionary-001

photocredit:www.theguardian.com

Oh! am  god’s clay

soft , tender, smooth

yet can be brittle and tough at times

nay, I ain’t hail

from the breed

of proud ,haughty misnomers

who sparsely realize a drop

of tear worth…

neither they hath seen the

gory of dead or

the dreaded hunger

yet epitomize

words ..larger than life

social and palpable

..they have mugged the

Oxford handset

decks which every word as treasure

alas! never could their heart get drench

in the tragic rain of worries under the

shrouded

rain coat of superficial fashion..