While my heart throbs in the Misty mornings of winter Thy soul snuggles for some warmth in my words I paint the sky saffron embracing thou presence Years ago beside you under the mulberry tree you had asked while scribbling my name on dust of a storm will thy be mine I had nodded carving thou inside deep notches Births later We sit and dream Away from one another by seven seas will there be a common sky a single roof where you would be the ink and I, the quill . ©soumya v
The Rainy season- A random musing
Like the beautiful flowers of palash, popularly known as fire of the forest, I was burning . The inner turbulence like the upheaval of tides made me rise and fall against the heavy rocks of life.
Had the shore been sandy ,I wished to have laid myself on the shore surrendering to the splashing waves of a sea,but nonetheless,it was n’t such.It was rocky.
Life isn’t what we dream and wish for! We have to create a path to realize this dream and then walk on it ,many a times getting pierced by innumberable thorns .
The fragrance which disseminates in the atmosphere is usually of the wild flowers growing on open meadows and hillsides, those which bring freshness in life and also in the monotonous mundaneness. Pruned, I loved watching birds flying in the sky, they seemed to be so happy, free and delighted ,marching towards their goal . Their wings unfettered and whistling to their favourite tunes they sang whenever they wished .
A sense of freedom filled the heart and I wished I could fly thus like the wading birds.
The riot of colours in the evening sky brought more nostalgia as I walked towards the mound on the top of the mountain. This rainy season, nothing had changed.
your words pierced every vein
and I saw the lost moment again
In dust I vanished
you in the dew of time
both in opposite directions
but hearts connected for lifetime
with a sigh,
the hope dawns with every morn,and sets
in the night dark
a moment to be together
leaving the world aside.
She lives nowhere neither in her own cage nor in open air homeless, shelterless she moves… seeking solace would the tranquil blue provide her some rest will the traveling clouds quench her thirst ageless, in the crowd, she gets lost her voice diminishing to nothingness where ‘s she now where is her abode in the limitless sky she searches for her unique dwell.
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
an assimilation of glitches
burns the scared pyre
illuminating the inner luminescence
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 …