The covetous gambler!


What do selfish wants and gruesome lies do to a human? The stature of a human being falls below any level and exhibits the egocentric character. For once, the person descends into the pit of suffocation, where conscience plays its role,hereafter.

The Monologue of a covetous gambler !

 

gossip I in the corridor of lies,

dwells where the queen

burning in envy bright…

the timid , quiet truth sits in a corner

watching the powerful blow

might of the false emperor…

sometimes withered , sometimes cornered

the creeper of truth can’t grasp

firmly the wall of belief,

falls it, hopelessly,

while dig I the roots

underneath the soil mature…

The world reckons ,my stature

I , covetous gambler.

 

Oh! what’s this!

why am I suffocating , what smoke is this

filling the corridor…?

Alas! Is it my own selfish endeavor

in burning the roots of verity

I char my own … fingers.

The trivial mind


Wonder I of

the shallow words and churning of thoughts

satisfied with simple pleasures

ne’er touched by façade of life’s learning

miles away from the biggest ocean…

ne’er drenched or even wet

the wisdom drops, slip over the surface

oiled with comforts and petty measures…

one dimensional image of the trivial mind

remains submerged in trifling delectations…

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PURPLE


 

Isn’t the orchid pale today or

the azure lost its hues in frosty weather

the pink lilies too

seem dull

when the dusk appears little purple than

the scarlet pier…usual

forgotten in dead remains

as ashes they scatter in dust

reminiscences of the beloveds

who died one fateful night

last summer…

again prevails the same climate

transforms the camouflage of

flowers and world

Tis the sky who alone

remembers the fury

repercussions of war

in cold blooded atmosphere…

sulks the orchid tonight…

purple appears the crimson lover

stained in blood drops

dried and desiccated as humans of universe.

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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

images

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
red-winged blackbird

Barged !


from the window

of my room trepid,

while barges the first ray of gold

across my site camping

the melody of little thrush

I hear

echoing mildly …

 

hurl I the things next to me

at  the thief , unscrupulous ,

forgets who the ethics code

to steal my sleep forever…

 

hark, the thrush is here

red glimpses amidst the bushes

forget I , my rage

and anger

smile at the welcomed ambience.

HAPPY DIWALI TO ALL !


Thee , the emperor of the cosmos,

one who reigns the galaxy,

The pristine nature

 blushes

 on his glance…

whose tears flow on earth

 as sacred Ganges,

To thee! I salute,

 who visions the creation…

..

Soul of mine , thine art,

Thou colours have painted …

with the emblazoned emotions

…whence shimmers my heart…

 

 

I owe to Thou ,

the Supreme Lord ,

Craftsman of this existence

The Magnanimous artiste,

Every second, every moment,

Every joy,

that I have knoweth

Every tear,

every breath ,

 the ceaseless energy 

that keeps me dead or alive!!!!

 

photocredit:dig.do

diwali candles

“The Farmer”


Dim the hope , bleak appears the future
in every grain of the field’s harvest
rests the destiny of  poor .
while the ones who had
a silver spoon
hardly noticed the worth of a grain…
a morsel was all… for a day,
while the couple sleeps
 under the leaking roof
of the shelter 
with a noise of
roaring stomach
 in emptiness .
One who grows the crop
for millions
feeds
 whose stock
the children of everyone…
he has the glass
full of water
until the morning sun dawns
and he toils again till
his last measure.
The irony of life
 tonnes of food
 being thrown in spills  
as leftovers ,
in garbages,
while the farmer
remains famished .