SCARLET


And  numb …under the orchid

I had awaited your steps since dawn

here you return …when the sun is about to set

When forgotten are promises

Lost are desires ,buried under the soil

The urge has vanished

and I motionless & still

stare at you…

The sun sets with a dab of crimson. It was all scarlet like my blood.

 

©Soumya

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Rhetoric


Ah! Exclaimed the unknown poet
Bidding adieu to the world of sleeping souls
“Will thou never wake up
anyday before the
temple bells  or will the sound of
 a blowing conch stir thy senses
Then thou would get up from the slumber”
In dark , have thou lived
Forgetting the golden hours
When the prismatic rays kissed
Thy temple’s horizon
…long before the birds sang thine praises
And perched beside the mangoflowers…
Now sleeps the land
and thou folks in inebriation of materialistic ,egoistic treasures
Leaving aside the golden strokes
of humanism….
Shattering idols of faith…creating statues of stone and places of fearful altar
Mingle thou in dust while thy soul shrieks to remind
illumine the cavern
Then would be the advent of
An age utopian…
@Soumya
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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 .

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“After death”


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When left “I”
‘the life’ in a split second
From the door of the body to heaven
Where did I get lost in between,
O ! lord !
Was ‘I’ a body with a life
Or a soul imprisoned in flesh of being?
..
Where was I ?
Who was I ?
Amidst the melee. I didn’t hear any sigh..
What was my name ?
What am I named?
Is it the same,
as I lose
myself …
on pyre,
in ashes
when burns my effigy,the form of five elements created by thee

Where will I go and traverse?
is it the The cosmos
or The astral ?
what’s the journey ahead,O thee!
hold my finger and take !

©soumyavilekar

 

The flames!


Ravishing, the tender filaments ,

those which tie the twin souls

often swayed which

in  breeze of amor

dipped in pool of sacred nectar…

unraveling the knots of past and present

which were long forgotten

vis a vis ,the flames of destiny

burning on the candle of verve …

Remnant


Who knows thou! sings the baul

his fingers struck the single chord

the solo of duality , he hums

in remnants of the grief stricken

some old souls, few shattered and broken

Oh ! does it require to be a tatterdemalion

or a ramshackle old pier

to whisper the tunes of eternal weather

while plays the

impulse of seeking the invisible

or knowing Him through

the world visible…

The rampant hunger and

lingering thirst arrives wherefrom

in the arteries of singing legends

is it necessary to be in a deplorable condition

to call and cry for

the cosmic creator!

why forgets the mind of many

bask who in sun of pleasure…

its going to be dark soon

whence shall it find the light for right direction?

 photocredit: aduphoto.com

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The lonely nightingale !


whence shall I be freed from the bondage of destiny
in blind clutches,
tied securely with strings
Breathlessly the body sinks,
ageing with the duties endlessly…
the cluster of orchids drooped
whilst I was busy in the chores of world
not once I got to touch the
enchanteur
failed the effort…
nothing earned…
why does the lonely nightingale then sing
song of solitude in melancholy
there’s a melody in her voice
inside the four walls
she sings and dies.
 
photocredit: king.portlandschools.org
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