“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.

THE LOST PEN

I have lost my pen

its nib – golden

once scribbled ceaselessly

while the world retired

to the cushion of comfort every night

the quill loved to brush against the papyrus…

 

leaking on blank pages

the painful emotions

which were witness of sordid transitions

helplessly,

yet as a powerful weapon

narrating every encounter thus illegal…

 

where is the indite

where’s the instrument

the sword -that sliced reality

spear- which pierced the raw veins

dagger – which wounded the cold heart

…

as a potion for lovers

and deadly poison

for hypocrites

…

lost somewhere

… help me ,find my pen

Tis’ lost somewhere

in the desert.

The Last Breath

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The last breath and the heart sighed
Alas! Will my eyes close without a glimpse of the promise made,
through turbulence and storms,I have struggled…in an urge to sip a drop
of immortal
falling innumerable times,
often
stuck in between,
With zest I pulled over
off the dark plunging well of loss,
and continued to be strong…

yet today I lie
on the verge of death,
losing pulse,
faltering sense
awaiting the last call…
any minute ,
any instant…

Lips quiver, eyes sunk,
mind halts ,the beats stumble
a chilled touch
send shivers
Lo! I revive
what a miracle!
Sip, I
a drop of nectar …
in a glance of your crepuscle.

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?

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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.

 

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Rooted!

alive remain we, until grounded,

in depths of soil, as we are rooted.

a moment takes to uproot the base,

dry the leaves of existence, life devastates.

 

 

The setting sun’s beloved !

The setting sun today spoke

of tragedies and sorrows

amidst the life of a day

the goblet of fire too

weeps at conjecture

left when its beloved in arms of the night miserable

who engulfs,

the sweetness of melody,

the music of nature of its arrival…

haunting the innocent birds to their nests

shivers the sky

man trembles…

O! human, you knoweth not,

I worry for my beloved,

the immaculate earth, untill the next day ,

when I return

of the nights terror…

she sleeps alone, cuddling ,

while the sky cries,

the earth gets misty…

Alas! I must leave

you

to the fate of your own destiny.

I love to watch !

 

I love to watch the flying bird
who has the strength to soar higher
regardless of strong winds
manages
to flap the wings
and stay there more…
through the thick clouds
in the high skies, is its flight
hovering over huge mountains
the avian
like a free soul glides.
when will the heart scot free
flying over distant hills
when shall the limits and bonds
vanish,tie which the soul
to a post
in chains of imprisoning.

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Painting!

PAINTING

On fingertips , smudged is colour of the
ethereal ,
rouging over a blank canvas
images of illusory candidness emerge…
gradual strokes, the tender touch makes
silky smoothed the texture
violets, scarlets,lavenders,carmines,
sapphires,turquoise brighten
the alluring render…
a song reverberates in the chamber
pounds where the heart in thunder,
miss I the enchanter
the painter of my existing splendor.

“Elan”

rumblings few
cannot deter the elan
the zeal borne out of enthusiasm
and charm
betwixt the intervals by trepid  interruptions
wins the way , Thou! solitary heart…

Thou, hath seen enough storms
tornadoes
that wreck and leave torn
yet thy ship has sailed through
turbulence , with faith and courage ,
in every voyage…

when piercing words like darts
poisoned
and bled the
innocent heart
Thou! solitary heart
like a calm breeze
soothed
the bruises of thyself
with divine charm

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