Whence thus…

Treading through rough terrains when in the invisible threads of world entangle lost is the soul in the tandem of livelihood and survival.

Whence thus, whence would

breathe I the fragrance of jasmine

play through forests of green firs

watch the golden over peaks Himalayan

tread along sands of flowing rivers

count the stars lying in a desert

dance with waves of an endless ocean

vibrate in tranquilness

under the sapphire

O! mighty one

paths many I traveled

found umpteen chronicles

thousand relics

but thou reside in me

I knew…

whence would then

thou reveal?

 

©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

QUEST

 

under the expanse of colours

where breathes life due to HIS desire

infinitesimal are such glimpses

whence overwhelmed is the atmosphere

yearns to express the soul

often losing words as eyes trickle few pearls

to compensate the mute emotion

away from the worldly plays

in silence cries the soul craving for eternity

and

The quest continues forever…

©Soumya

 

 

“After death”

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

 

“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

O’ Raga !

O! Raga

the ancient rhythm of my soul, how cautiously you move

infinite waves rise and fall, dancing on

heartfelt tunes

crashing against the world

tis old traditions .. while weeps the soul in a nook

where art thou!

the blissful Raga

can I compose a melody just for you?

in monsoons

wet you with my verse

or soothe you with a lucid song

in summers?

the serene music of nature

what makes the fall smiling

when deciduous trees wither

the serene music of nature

Tis the rhythm of my soul

O Raga!

that beats on a celestial composition.

Random rumination of a scribbling poet

Can I ever express?

Can I ever say?

murmurs the inner voice

The random ruminations

struggling details

endless musings

thoughts ceaseless

turbulent apprehensions

intense emotions

words falling way apart

when the ink of life flows like the Ganges….

 

the arteries suffocate

what hath the social environ done

strangling wishes in the cage

flutters the bird a last time

before she forgets her own desire

…

how then would the heart speak

after being buried in soil nine feet deep

why then the soul screams

in silence when neither the world hears nor

peeps

Is it the solitude that echoes

and relishes the scathing pain

the lump in choked throat

or the blood of a slit vein…

the smile of the sad heart

or a laugh lame

…

how would the heart start

singing its own tale?

nay, it doesn’t glorify

nor intend to sermon

Tis the lonesome want of a

scribbling poet

Ya! listen comrade

lend a moment ,close your eyes

hear my soul’s tale

as drenches the parched heart

in desirous rain!

---

“My Life ain’t a stage “

Endlessly my heart cried
eyes searching frantically in vain
“where art thou”
behind the curtain of life
is anything true or is all disdain?
My life ain’t a stage
neither I a performer to enact or flaunt
in mystical attire as perceived everyone
..I ,a mere soul
wish to be a lotus
blooming in the mud
admiring the sparkling moon afar
from the altar…
Allow me to be my real self
I neither wish to be a actor
nor my life a theatre…
Spare me O! world
from the pangs of hypocrisy
from the rings of falsity
let me break away from the glitter of gold and
tinkling of coins
I’m a mere soul
elated amidst nature
blissfully admiring eternal creation
I live for love and affection.

Time

photocredit:stylonica.com

Howsoever far soars the bird

It has to return to its nest in time…

Like a wandering nomad roams through

Yet tents in places at a specific time…

As a traveler,

the soul voyages on earth

before its assimilation with divine…

When the azure turns dark

and the leaves shrivel in autumn time

Or the flowers which bloom in spring

and seasons change

The moment of realization is predestined.

 

THE SONG OF MOCKING THRUSH

photocredit:www.picssr.com

She is the mocking thrush
who on the high end branch
sings and perch
laughing at the world
on human errors…

Ah! she imitates in a hoarse voice
satirical,the cons of a
power game
and money launderers of
the affluent race
she hums the low note in tears
twitching her beak in anxiety…
hypocrisy ! thy name
of every face which dons the mask
while innocents become prey
to the hungry mouths of
greed and misery …

in melancholy ,she serenades
about the empty stomach of thousands
homeless shelter innumerable,
falter who on every path
while
a gory dagger butches
life
somewhere in the dark hours
echoes intermittently when the din of
explosion
haunting the survived ones;
wonders the mocking thrush:
“Oh! how I wish to sing a song
of love and serenity
shall I ever sing a tune
melodic and blissful”,
hiding amidst the camouflaged rue