CHILD OF WORLD”S DESTINY
On streets forlorn
Walks the child, destitute
The infant of world’s destiny…
In rags torn
hungry and homeless
roaming through lanes
for a morsel!
The rulers sit on a lavish throne
speak high volumes of chore
actions fail to achieve
war and blasts kill
the child of world’s destiny
lives as a requiem…
Thou! Jealousy
as a veiled maiden deceits…
metamorphoses into various shapes
changeth appearances
lures
with exuberant names…
lest anyone finds
the hidden coquette
she overthrows him into the tragic well…
Discontented, ever desiring
innocence burns out in her lusty eyes
she hath destroyed the realms
of peace and love
playing the fiddle to her tunes!
Beware! says the soul
here comes, the enticing queen
do not be her slave
dooms she ,every life…thence,
open your eyes
remove the veil…
photocredit:lightworkers.org
shared I , the melancholic drops
fell which on the blossom of life
drenching my fabric
whence I treasure a casket
of those translucent gems for you.
not before long
they had rolled swiftly
away was the spring of love then,
missed thy ,my gorgeous raindrops
doused which as the early monsoon.
I realize ,how precious you
find them, glittering and shining
preserved , saved thus
like jewels
the drops melancholic…
photocredit:www.justkickitnow.com1024 × 683
She fights her battle like a valiant warrior
sporting a new robe of courage
guarding off herself with a rapier
slashes the nonsense and babble…
shedding the dead old skin
yet unlike the rest
she dares forth determined
in her combat with the vagaries of social metaphor.
Her weapon is the most powerful,
,the five and half inch pen
killing millions with a single severe blow of words…
while reviving hundreds from the dead chores…
A new hope rises from the ashes of oblivion
A neoteric incarnation of a woman in the dominion of chauvinists…
spoke she with humility pulling the truth
that laid beneath the mattress
she shakes the conscience of the slumber,
to lift the losing values of human coherence…
Births a new age,
When a woman is armed with intelligence
fortified by mental strength
ready to shoulder the task in a nations’ progress.
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.
through the passage of turbulent times
runs the stream of love divine
narrowed which the chasm of nothingness
filled the vale with fragrant roses.
ravines cut by the flow of words
on the rocky path or desert
bruise the tender heart
the balm for this ache is rare,
hard to realize
and exceptional to find!
love for the soul
kindness at heart
benign the wellness,
gracious becomes the art!
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.
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…
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!
soumyav 