Timidly  the moon moved

from behind the clouds

Peeping for a while

then secretly  singing aloud

“where art thou”?

It sang the song of separation

A tale of  memories stacked and stored in minute cages

of the golden heart.

Melancholy and romance dissolved

in the mood of  its birth,

perplexed watching the flow of time

and awaiting for destined moment of life.

Stars of galaxy ,

twinkling in the Milky way

live & thus survive.

©Soumya

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I know not the change
 nights long or the sweating day's pain
Is it the moon’s peeping game
or the wildflower’s fragrance putting
Samsara to shame?
the flow of time and course
alters abruptly and ceaselessly moves
sometime letting the scarlet dusk
embrace me or often
 leaving the stars in jealousy
while the dewy drops sparkle
I await
momentous fancies dreaming of being real
on the sandy shores 
when our intertwining fingers and seashells will play.

©Soumya
IMG_20161027_175839.jpg

Her mind’s garden


IMG_20160616_153013-001

In the backyard of her mind’s garden
Where grew thousand lilies
On ransom were few flowers…
may be some Desires  unseen…
Oh! She knew it wasn’t easy
She struggled all through to barter her dreams
Breathing some  fresh air she stumbled intermittently
While the rocky terrains kept throwing obstacles
in between…

Now,what next?She kept thinking
“Do I win, or I lose
am I on the right  way or the  wrong
my soul   away on  an exile
what’s the predicament
I tried again, I tried my best...
I will again until finally I’m put to sleep in the grave
Thence shall the soul rest"
Until the pen has inscribed thoughts
Until the sky has been painted red
Until the sea sings my  lore
Until the river takes my breath to it’s door
until few daisies sprung on the soil
of her garden
Until the veins have drop of blood to shed…

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..