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
Like a Bohemian
Like a bohemian she moved to places
A nomad at heart
as a bird in sky
swirling the colourful skirt of aspirations
paints down every town red and and streaks of turquoise
hadn’t the cuckoo perched every branch
hiding from the limelight
beneath the vast azure she vanishes
as a star during daylight
what if the colours create a motif
of a saga in humble words
she runs behind the tall corridors
where sleeps since years a history epical…
do not dissect the words or rhyme
forget to decipher or analyze
her pastels sing
her trinkets dance
words paint
and voice charms
faraway the bohemian lives
away from the world in a realm of dreams
moving under thousand suns
The humming river
Let us flow like the perennial river
gushing past the rocks
through the valleys
and down the hills to
our heaven.
let us hear the song of chirping birds
play with butterflies
bloom with the orchids
and roll on meadows laughing
and cuddling over.
let us climb to the sky
catch the stars twinkling
and draw doodles
of love on heaven
will you come over
or beckon me there
to flow together
like the humming river?
An excerpt
She cleared the mist with her fingers etching the outline on the glass. The wintry night had left an envelope of thin layered fog on the window pane. She stood there every night after her dinner watching the lone moon hung in the sky. The moon wasn’t visible today and she was wiping the glass to have a glimpse .
The breeze knew the heartbeats of her soul and carried the message of her silent yearnings to faraway land of dreams,where dwelt the twin part of her soul.
Wasn’t it so unworldly, pocketing treasures in the casket of nature and reliving the moments at peace? Nothing mattered as long as the moon was visible to both ends of the world,they lived, breathed and felt the urge to communicate through the dancing waves of morning and night breeze.
How often the nightingales sang and the butterflies danced? Her eyes sparkled and knew the message was through.
Beyond several seas , the orchid had bloomed .
“Faith”
wandered I on various lands
ov’r seas, ov’r bridges
strolled on sands and
walked through indefinite contours
every land donned
a new robe,
a new colour
of hope ,
of belief
of religion
and
each thought,
each urge,
each craving
converges to the same destination
THE CREATOR
Paths many , journeys different
all under the same azure
witness the sun and moon while playing hide and seek
from their co ordinates
innumerable ways to elevate and transcend
ceaseless is the travel
there’s lot to discover
get set go and
breathe
in different atmospheres
before it ends…
©SoumyaVilekar
“Since eonian”
I stare without a gaze
emotions bereft
open strands
in pursue of the zigzag roads
my wings get plucked and ruffle
faraway a mountain attracts my heart
again…
births a new zeal
infused with endless enthusiasm…
like petals of rose, my words fragrance
will they live eternally between the nostalgic pages
as love echoing poetic passion…
would someone unravel the buried grave
one day,
will light dawn on the million verses
sleeping in peace for eonion
fluttering them to their destination
letting them free
to be epical scriptures.
She lives nowhere
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
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
a veneration;
an assimilation of glitches
burns the scared pyre
illuminating the inner luminescence
the random conversation
misty eyes
choked voice
in midst of inner chaotic silence
affirmative or prerogative
one word replies
emotions suffocated
strangled in a knot
the lily beside, pleaded
few more moments sought
hesitatingly I nodded
henceforth
lone will be the journey
lone will be the path
under the blue
as two souls walk apart.
Oxford Handset nay, am God’s clay !
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..
soumyav 