AT THE FEET OF THINE !

I wish to be the tiny flower lies who,

at the feet of thine…

Instead of the jewel that shines in thy crown

O! immortal Krishna ! I sing your praise

in verses of mine!

 

The brilliant gem bedecks your aura

Outstands it every precious stone

O! but it cannot see thy face benevolent

even while decorating… in thy diadem…

 

I , the lonely flower, rest in thy feet

grace bestows my presence

When thy eyes look at me…

 

Thou universe that rotates around you thee!

I unaware of the method,

here! I sit and surrender at your feet

O! Krishna ! Raise me from

the chasms of time!

 

 

 

 

THE REAL POET

O! look ,there’s the real poet

who pulled out his heart

adorned it with

“the blows of ruthless love”

the mute feelings unearthed from gravels

slide as drops across the scar

creating a magical aura

in between the theme.

The silken imagery of fabulous scenes

diced with stupefying verses

dipped in the blood ink.

 

Oh! He rolled out his soul

on the streets and alleys

where once lived his wife to be

in the deserted palaces

and through the lanes of slum

wanders he , frantically.

 

 

Wondrously he conversed with the birds

Kissed the floating clouds

flowers danced to his tunes

in broad daylight , he fears

Under the starlit sky, he wanders

 

Alone he undertakes the journey

for miles in deep slumber

and in his solitude .

 

Look ! Oh! There’s the real poet

His soul dripping with blood and love

resented by the world

he now

is named lunatic

psychic he is referred to

on the path of destiny.

THE SPLENDOR

 

silently the stream cuts through
the green land into two
runs the parting silken
adorned with the water crystal clear
tiny sparkling drops
glitter in the midst
thousand uncleaned feet
loved and kissed
thy splendour shines in
the golden light of love
like a silver ornament
which bedecks on a woman.

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here moves the pen
words emerge ,
an intrinsic art
in an ink of sadness…
as the verse loses its rhythm
the imagery gets tarnished,
caged get the free thoughts
once were they flying birds

dreams of myriad colours
vanish
in darkness of the hue
searches the mind
an inspiration to continue…

moves my pen

scribbles the mind in air

words emerge out of nowhere.

THE GARDENER

Lie down , on the soft green grass.

The silken carpet is spread for you

for you to rest

on the cosy emerald

 with ease and  comfort …

The gardener tonight watered the weeds

Lo! It transformed into a satin sheet..,

How much he cares ,

Do you realize…

He snipped off the rough edges

while you sleep…

 

Open your eyes ,

absorb the beauty..

The vast sky spreads its arms with care…

 

The gardener awaits …

till you wake up…

a thousand flowers  embrace your season…

with ravishing dew drops

will the jewels shine…

 your soul and heart  forgets

There is a gardener to water,

The Garden of your life!

“To Rise”- A Verse for Women’s day

It’s a dream ,

 A simple wish

Neither jewels fancy me

Nor the glitter of being rich…

As a tiny colourful bird,

I want to wing my feathers

Spreading in the open air

To hover over the colourless ocean…

 

Clipped , chained,

I lay in tethers

In the dark abyss

The dust of nostalgia

Suffocating my nostrils…

 

From ages , restrained I am

Crumpled like a rose ,petals crushed,

Oh! Who doth seen ,

The blood that oozes

When Iam strangled within my shelter…

 

Buried beneath the fire ablaze

Watch the smoke moving high

Kisses it ,the clouds white…

I await…to be born again..

from the ashes of the pyre…

Like a phoenix ..of modern times.

 

The Grey Shawl!

Beneath the grey shawl

I still shiver and tremble,

It shrouds my figure

Yet is devoid of the warm ensemble.

 

Sparingly I look up

Or try to search

The tattered shawl needs a mend

Few stitches shall repair the imperfect shred.

 

With a needle of courage

A thread of hope

I hide the patch and refurbish

It’s a new wrap in possession

The old torn is nowhere…

Water wont seep in

through the pores of this mantle ever…

A different song

how do I sing a new melody,

of blissful tunes

that wipes old tragedy…

 

in a pitch higher than the rest

on a note different

but the best…

how doth the nightingale weaves

everyday a gorgeous tale…

 

how shall this unsung lore

of love, be

a song of courage…

 

sing along , O humming bird

why doth your voice so vibrate

yeah! I hear the heartbeats

betwixt your sighs

those which reverberate…

 

lets hum , lets pluck

the harmonious strings

tap and dance like a ball

only you and me

on the crust of the earth

O ! chime of the wind serene!

 

 

DREAM

within the closed eyelids

lives a dream,tiny,small and glittering

whose shimmer shines like thousand stars

amidst the deep forest or even in dark….

 

like a perfumed rose, as a satin feel

the bud of dream ,lives to dream

as cluster of pearls precious

it gathers moments transitory.

 

like an evanescence of fragrant oils

which fill the senses with richness

the infinitesimal dream

diffuses in our breathe!

From the pen of a woman!

I burnt the effigy of the old customs

Is it  a sin,

amidst the snowy chilled world Iam standing,

Grant me thy courage to withstand

And  forbear the ransom

That which strangles my existence….

 

I , born to be thus,

A silent crusader,

A life long fighter,

What shall then

stop my battle…

behold, I watch the world mutely,

beware!

my ink  screams with utmost intensity!

 

The  pen  dwells through my veins

narrating the tale of agony and miseries!

does the splendid  ink speak of glory

or stories magnanimously  told as lie!

 

whatever it  echoes , it shall resonate

the sordid  reality

of   mankind!