The Music in Solitude

 

He just went on a long journey,

Which the soul lit up,

While, the matter’s stern pride

Trying to stave off the fighter.

 

With his great heart glowing;

The living fountain of light,

Went on fighting the darkness,–

Heavenly luminary kindled this lamp!

 

Sacred mystery giving him safe passage,

From that bottom of appearance;

The sorrow-stricken bearance,

Aha, nobler destiny awaits somewhere!

 

The musical journey!

Music of word, heart and nature,

For that fountain of splendour,

Gushing heavenly at the infinity’s fringe.

  

Traveller himself amuser and the amused,

Such is the inward symmetry,

His rhythmic footsteps with a song,

While, divinity sways to his tune.

Poem

 

In the calm core of my wind-lashed, stormed self,

some unmovable shadow defines the substance of my being.

I but have been running miles after miles,

chasing mirages to find my identity.

***

Expansion and contraction—

A raindrop in the ocean,

and a balloon in the air,

One mixing with the whole

to become complete and happily spread out,

The other capturing a part of the hole

to egotistically confine for a specific, limited self.

 

***

Doves in Love

 

Dove in love.

Impatient he.

Teasing she.

Airy swirls.

Hugging frills.

Breeze free.

Passionate spree.

Almost a fight.

Soul's delight.

Love.

Dove.

Love.

 

Deep, Deep! Water Exists Somewhere

 

He went on digging a well,

With his spirit valorous,

Deep, deep! For success smell,

His battle-song like divine chorus

Waxed the belief to most solid state,

Only to such heroes, God’s emblems relate.

 

The water at unfathomable depth,

Still, hardest effort’s divine force,

Kept him going and he never dejectedly slept,

Far, far! Soft light’s mild source

Kept up this cloud-light’s thunderous spark,

Vow, puritan at war with the dark!

 

Fighting he was from the God’s side,

Against devil trying belief’s downfall,

On his brave back Godhood ride,

Like an awful radiant ball,

To reach the goal, piercing earth,

And play with deepest water in mirth.

 

Volcanically he went,

Cleansing earth almost spiritually,

Digging, digging with back bent,

To reach water, somewhere gushing fully,

O thou free roaming soul,

For how long could escape thy goal?

Wild Beauty from Hills

 

The mighty river, in wintry shiver,

Warmly it flows; water motherly glows,

Majestic Goddess! Gay abandon and virgin fresh!

To wash the child; for aeons who guiled.

 

Comes cold air, to kiss the upper layer,–

Flautist around her lips, blowing musical whiffs,

Untamed beauty listens not, with mountains it fought,

Defeated broadest shoulders; sensuous curves ate boulders,

 

From far, far............ without distance’s bar,

Thou walk everywhere; stop nowhere,

Like beauty nomad, who doesn’t shed

Her heart’s tear; which her freedom can’t bear.

 

Lapping, joyous water; thy stony falter,

Thou, but, never fall, clear obstructions all,

Rock woes! Wins as a dewy rose,

Thy victorious path, for the sinner’s bath.

 

Beauty wins, while proud father grins,

Daughter go on, and do not moan

Thy victory’s incise; it is father’s prize,

Take my worth, for the plain’s mirth.

 

Timelessly it goes, like immortal rose,

For millions’ sake, and take

Faith in full flow; save the sinking low,

Rest it doesn’t take, till the final lake.

The Star with Endless Beauty

 

Full bloomed flower; beauty in shower,

Raining to drench, raining to drench!

To colour eyes dry, where colourless dreams cry,

Softly pacifying destiny’s lynch.

 

Aha coloured rain, shooing away defeat’s pain!

Forget everything, forget everything!

For heaven’s sake, and take

Glimpse of the real being.

 

The petals soft, inspire aloft,

Live like me, live like me!

Make hay a day; worry not last ray,

Let life a flower be!

 

Give fragrance, without self’s hindrance,

Multi-hue others, multi-hue others!

So, death when comes, a loser it becomes,

Everything already given, now what is gathers!

 

Glow thou beauty, it is thy duty,

To celebrate and congratulate even those who lose,

Godly appreciation, so that desperation

Does not become deadly noose.

A Maiden’s Living Painting

 

Heaven has just sprinkled green,

Wonder, if nature had ever been

Painted so monotonously!

Paddy, paddy everywhere, He says generously,

 

The greenish sweep sways,

Guess what the sun says?

Shy-eyed from that cloud’s corner above,

Green-girdled maiden gives naughty shove.

 

And the clouds roam;

The love separating dome,

Prevent the full eye’s glee,

Lover lost; his damsel on the flee.

 

Softly, softly comes the breeze,

So that time may not seize

The beauty gone motionless,

Nimbly flutters her dress.

 

Farmers paying tribute to Goddess green,

Remove wrong colours from the scene,

The devotees with painter’s precision,

Go on working, working with a vision.

 

She, meanwhile, gallops across fields,

Giggling and air-heeled,

The virgin in its full bloom,

Would-be-mother, many fates lie in thy womb.

A Rhyme Written Across the Jungle

 

The meditative flow

Of this small brook;

The waters serene and slow,

Move bearing a pebbled look.

 

The jungle seems

Spellbound by its beauty,

Like a lover dreams

About those curves and lips pouty.

 

And the trees

Watch the damsel with gleeful eyes,

Softest of the breeze,

Slow, slow the silent majesty flies!

 

A sparrow dips its small beak

Into the generous, smiling water,

Thirst goes away! And seek

Refuge where water doth falter.

 

This slim feminine Goddess,

Blesses everything with its soft touch,

Aha, extreme beauty seemst too modest!

This wild maiden is careless such.

 

Thus, the brook flows with its beauty,

In harmony with the time,

The universal flow doing its duty,

God, how great is thy flowing rhyme!

Alas, the Spring Too Far!

 

Frigid fate gone to ferocious winters;

The winter with its frosty bite,

Shivers where warmth’s might,

And failure lets loose its hungry hunters.

 

Aah, the ice cold reality!

So ruthless for vein’s warmth,

And the forceful fist disarmth,

Lost is manhood of its valiant beauty.

 

The blizzards seem so frightful,

Oh! Superficiality crumbles deadly,

The avalanche hurries madly,

To follow the failure for its handful.

 

Long Ago the summer passed,

And autumn too with its windfalls,

The winter but seemst too harsh,

Will spring ever blossom where death danced?

Alas, the Orchid Too Far!

 

The rising rays fell upon a dream,

Shining future got upstream,

And expectations windily blown,

Nobody, meanwhile, listened destiny’s scream.

 

How painfully he nourished that dream!

The sweaty toil to nurture

And water the bud for flowery future,

How rugged the chosen path seem!

 

The path to that

Lush green orchard,

For whom he went diehard,

While, the fate chuckling for a bet.

 

Went flowerily on the path,

Following the flower of life,

Alas, the ‘predetermined’ preparing its knife,

To cut the bud for its bloody bath.

 

Reached he when there,

With his feet all bloodied,

The bud lay already buried,

And the orchid gone for cemetery’s bare.

 

God, why the sincerest efforts fail?

Perhaps, victory too loses

To huge efforts, which give it repeated bruises,

The unsung heroes, whom it doth hail.

Journey with the Autumn

 

Autumn, become my friend,

Thou holding my hand,

Take me through the windfalls,

To help me forget my own tree’s bereaving calls.

 

The tree where summer’s ripenings,

Too fruity, heavy for the branch’s likings,

The air through their fall singth,

While, thou make me follow thy grayish path.

 

‘See not thy own windfalls’,

Thou say, dodging thy falls,

And push me from my tree,

So that I become mourn-free.

 

And the autumn path brownish,

Summer’s warmth vanish

Joyfully from fruits, leaves,

Vow! Fairy for its beauty not grieves.

 

Happily I run with thee,

Away! Away! Where another season be,

Where trees glee with fruity prospects more,

Where snow melts to welcome the spring at its door.

Too Far the Birds have Gone!

 

Where have the birds gone?

Too many of them used to roam

The sky over the villagers’ head,

Yesterday, I saw a couple too sad,

Are many of them dead?

 

The parrots, pigeons and sparrows;

Humanity’s flowery arrows,

Have they gone too far?

Away! Where man is not at war

With the nature, –

Awaits where future

Like a self imposed zoo,

While, vast treeless tracts rue

For the natives now exiled.

 

Sometimes, the winged visitors come

To solace the mighty tree gone dumb,

The houses now without corniced crevices,

Oh! The niches, holes from the wall

Enter the plastered souls,

Architect, thou grow too tall,

Too spacious and monotonous fouls,

Accommodate which only human,

Oh! Why thy constructive acumen

Sprouts only from the nature’s grave?

 

The birds thus try to reach

Where we still have not,

To escape our civilizing shot,

The chirps and the singing shrieks

Which the kids imitated to sharpen verbal beaks

Now die and fade out

Amidst all this urbanizing shout!

Enlightened Moon

 

How mysteriously the moon

Was shining last night!

Dim, oblate, struggling half,

As if a fallen hero

Trying to arise for another fight.

 

The great souled!

Waging still a righteous war,

Though shadows were subduing light,

It did not seem faint hearted,

Went on fighting, without caring

For the infamy about the look,–

The popular esteem of a full moon.

 

How divine was its even-mindedness!

Exempt from pleasure and pain,

Loss and gain,

Thus, free from the grasp of opposites,

This scion of warrior class

Went on with its dispassionate work,

While, the sense objects around,

Scattered sleepily across the ground,

Find this truthful seer,

Quite unfathomable and worthy of jeer!

The Night in Revolt

 

The sky is too starry today!

As if the night too wants a new ray,

Whitish shine of mother milky-way,

In her lap numerous stars play.

 

Stars visible to the horizon,

As if the night has arisen,

In revolt against the dark; with a vision,

While, the darkness browbeats for the treason.

 

Like martyrs the aerolites go,

As if to show:

Burn brightest, but not bow

Before the dark, which destiny casts over the show.

 

Their escapades over blackness' chest,

Aha the life lived best!

Too much fiery light, then salvation rest,

Break they out of binding circle; much to destiny’s detest.

 

The sky with its vault starry,

While, the dark seemst wary,

Its agitated darkness scared of the enemy hoary,

Oh! Feeblest shine of farthest star seemst so fiery!

 

Thus the night glows in revolt,

Depredations in every nook corner, to bolt

The dark behind the strongest door, and halt

Its march; shines every eye with a colt.

The Nature in Love

 The singing vales and flowery dales,

Away, somewhere in nature’s cradles,

Dreams open arms, with all charms,

Come here, come here! Worry not falls and waddles!

 

The place in isolation, with Godly intuition,

Too excited to meet someone!

Come dear! Come dear! Don’t thou hear

And remember that fun.

 

The musical rivulet, and thy hut,

By fullest heart they call,

And the air awaits with thy breath’s share,

While the clouds still remember that playing pal.

 

Trees sway with breeze,

It whispers patience in their ears,

‘Come he will, on this hill,

In dreams, thy call he hears.’

 

Little pathway, companion on that day,

Embraces those footsteps still,

Hums that song, sung in shadows long,

Where is he? Asks a cloud passing the hill.

 

Wild beauty of yore; opens heart’s door,

Remained I loveless for too long,

Then thou came, with thy love’s tame,

Resonates here now always the love song.

 

Thus the lovely vale, falls in love’s dale,

The love-lorn lady; silent beauties moan,

Dreams moments those, blossomed when love’s rose,

Come, come! What purpose serves the beauty alone?

 

Night Song

 

O Cuckoo, thrown destitute,

Singst thou now in nigritude:

The beautiful rhymed song,—

For whom? Wait who hung

In adopted nest and parents deceived;

Mistook as nestlings conceived.

O singer of conceited bravery,

On this night dreary,

Drive they competitors out

To eat whole food; become stout.

 

O foolish singing mother,

I blame thee not; migratory, wind flown,

Spring abandoned thou either,

Summer gusts left thee alone,

Now, like nightingale thou singst

A long song for the night:

Feel I thy Florence nurst;

The rhymed heal over destruct,—

A day's war we swampt,

Thou now wander with the lyrical lamp.

 

How unmotherly thou art!

Not to pour ditty whole

Upon thy eggs waiting hatch,

Like black Goddess, thou dart

Across the blackness as the mother sole,

Lulling lolly thine match,

The life song over night's camp,

Thou keep life's lamp

Burning with thy awake,

Please, keep singing for our sake.

Sea’s Home-coming

 

Waves sway in the rocky bay,

Sea in this small playground plays,

Such vastness engulfed amidst rising rays!

Father comes to the daughter from far away,

While, scattered, toyed, rocks lay

Numb to 'father-child' who gyrates,

And daughter’s lullaby exhilarates,

Sky, meanwhile, claps its cloudy array.

 

O visitor waves,

Existence-lorn, thou come

Here for a homely swash,

Peep playfully inside coastal caves,

Bring aquatic gifts for some,

Along with gusts of air fresh.

Lady on the Canvas

 

When a painter paints his lady,

Even the colours seem ready

To sacrifice theirs and turn hers,

Vow, colours ebriated form a painted verse!

 

The brush too gyrates,

Softly, softly it narrates

His love tale,

Blossomed how a flower in a dale.

 

He, the love’s portrayer,

His soul immersed in a deep prayer,

Her features emerging,

Aha, love through his hands oozing!

 

Those eyes now ogle at him,

Deep, deep to the soul’s dim,

And his eyes at hers,

Goes on painting the verse!

 

When the love is fully faced,

Brush suddenly stopped and fingers braced

The pretty face eager for a praise,

Fallen sage got the colour erase.

 

The funny lady on the canvas,

Stared at him with extreme alas,

And furiously said,

Dear, have you gone mad!

Encroachers

 

This thunderous beat of waves on the beach

tries to reach

the hardest core of the rocks standing

mute and sullen on the coast.

The sea and its maddening waves;

uproarious, stormy, and boastful most.

For years, its stormy passion kissed the rocky face,

The fury of its infatuation caught the unsoliciting

lover in a grasping embrace,

The rocks mellowed and crumbled as beach sand,

Once where there was land

now becomes the soft love bed

for the waves to shed

their gnashing fury on its soft grains,

where love sighs in gay abandon

and soft showers turn into torrential drains.

In this land—sea love pit—

a new passion gets lit,

Surrendered to excited storms

we forget all norms

and let loose waves

that break false rigidities and forced facades

build inside us for decades.

Waves to waves!

Rocks to rocks!

The sea just watches meekly

this sensuous storm on its bed:

The encroachers with all shame shed,

Its warning shouts ebbing away in distance,

as if afraid of this rival stormy surge

on the beach,

It recedes to save itself from this

huffing, puffing , grunting, tempestuous game.

The Prisoner

 

I’m ragged old,

I was once the youth icon

of the fauna around me,

Delhi was far and nonthreatening then,

We just enjoyed its lights from a safe distance,

The city didn’t seem at war with us,

But then it just spilled over,

Its bridges, roads, cemented pavements

ate into our innards,

I witnessed massacre of my near and dear ones,

I’m now caged in a high rise residential complex,

I’m just a poor banyan tree now,

Standing as an archaic symbol

in my cramped corner of this little park.

I go out of my way to give shade and cool air,

But I’m horrified and scared.

Even a kid picking a tiny pebble

to playfully hit my canopy

sounds like a terrorist hurling a deadly grenade.

So, against my nature

I’m always on guard,

crying for peace and mercy,

But it is too noisy around,

My mercy petitions fall on the deaf ears

of the stony facades standing haughty and proud,

I’m afraid any day the judgment

will arrive against me!

Iron Lady

 

It is noisy chaos,

Delhi at its best,

Impatient horns, smoky guffaws,

tired engines, shouts, dust,…

The lotus, but, shines in the mud.

Pulling the carrier rickshaw she is unfazed,

Two kids, a goat, a bundle of poor provisions

safely in tow,

Like a valiant captain at the best row.

Clad in a dirty saree

she shines like a queen,

I don’t think femininity had ever been

so illustrious in its sheen.

Meanwhile, madly mechanized world hisses,

But its lolloping tongue meekly kisses

the dirt on her hardened feet,

She pulls the rickshaw with pride

in full maternal heat,

Cramped for space she turns the tide,

The goat and the kids though panicked,

but the mother carries on the fight

in the traffic jam,

Fights for space with utmost grace,

and clears like a swiftest deer’s brace.