Ode to the Early Winter

 

Autumn thus goes for the early winter,

Coolness now starts to tinker,

Topsy-turvy like an anchor,

It takes hold through its lazy days,

When the sun with its cooling grey rays,

Sprays amusing tender maze.

 

A new canvas on easel for painting:

Farmers go working as if hunting,

Paddy’s brown sweep vanish to nothing,

And the barren fields get new beds,

Such a soft soil for the numerous heads

Of wheatlings, to prop up for survival breads!

 

Look autumn’s leaves brown!

Finally, foliage gets them thrown

From the deciduous with a shivery frown,

While the winter sings a lullaby,

As if to sleep a baby:

‘Too much thou played with summer’s gaiety’.

 

Winter flowers blossom bold,

Lo the dahlia, petunia and marigold!

Wonder, soft petals fear not cold!

And feathered friends from distant arrive,

As if only here lives thrive,

Ducks fly V-shaped to nature’s drive.

 

Rosy pastor, tailor bird and wagtails,

Painted stork, painted duck and common quails,

Because those wintery hails

In mountains force their sojourn here,

And same winter will take care

Of the visitors; whom season’s scold not dare.

 

Mynah, drongo and ecstatic barbler,

Depict they cool-spirited farmer,

The air now bothers not the above ‘warmer’,

Its sulphureous ebriety doth sweep

The hairy velvety grass and keep

The intoxication perpetuated to the deep.

 

The egrets fly drollingly,

In the air blowing genteelly,

The air! As if its spring coming courteously

With its flowery shiver,

Yes! It is airy-fairy’s spring here,

While, ebriated birdies fly as its flowers.

 

Such are the days of early winter;–

Fog, mist, dew, cold quietly enter,

Robustness, meanwhile, makes a small banter,

Vow, the invigorating Goddess smiles!

Blessing of wellbeing for miles,

While, the autumn goes for annual exiles.

Ode to the Winter

 The winter pouts its fishy full,

Shiver as we beneath clothing and wool,

It jerks its foggy locks,

Fed up with chilly love, ye agrestic folks.

 

The mornings, with Silver Goddess

Spraying silver amidst the greens,

Feathers and furs get drenched,

Dart as birds across tiniest droplets.

 

And the trees seem so stoic;

Immortal shades from His brush,

Whom misty mortality fail to crush,

Vow, as if inspiring spirit from the gothic!

 

Look how the rural damsel goes!

As if dew diamonds a perfect rose,

Her salad gyration at misty dawn,

Anklets jingle to her music own.

 

Birds fly in the foggily-low-sky,

Earlier they took autumnally sigh,

For, too high seemed the teasing blue,

Now the flight without any rue.

 

The noon with a milky smile,

Like a bride after first night

Comes out dreamy and royal,

Others, while, enjoy her facial delight.

 

Aha the light breeze!

Steals dew diamonds from the leaves,

The airy-fairy, it doth tease,

Frees as it the beauty from the seize.

 

How wonderfully the day weds its night!

The crimson setting behind the mist,

Intoxicated gets the light,

Worries not the loss, as the couple kisst.

 

Night fog veils the stars, –

Millions shy beauties

Cajole the dark-misty-lover below,

Whose stoic chill gives a look of neglect harsh.

 

And how lonely the night feels,

As everything takes a shelter,

Like an orphan it tries to enter

A homely warmth in some corner.

 

How sleep prospers under the quilt!

The sleep fed by the bodily warmth;

Humanity energising itself,

As myriad dreams get built.

 

But, also the merciless cold

For the calf and the old,

Both cold-preyed and hold

Their souls inside life’s fold.

Ode to a Scientist (Stephen Hawking)

 

The wonderful concept of cosmos!

Do you know where lies the boss?

The one related to relativity,

Always attracting souls to its gravity.

 

The forces of nature;–

Consciousness where pervades the matter,

And the space-time continuum

Zeroing on our illusionary vacuum.

 

The defined part of universe:

Luminary physicist’s verse,–

Beyond bigness in celestial bodies of the whole,

And lesser than compactness inside a black hole.

 

Still, human spirit takes quantum jump,

For moments few we dump

God as the possessor of all mystery,

And try a taste of the unknown’s chemistry.

 

Theories are what they are,

Spirit, perhaps, at war

With the matter,

One goes only for another’s better.

 

Reality but always one step ahead,

The ultimate expansionist is, perhaps, glad

To be symbolised as the God pious,

While, a lamp burns as faith on reality’s dais.

To the Solitude

 

The jungle and its solitude,

As if a destitute;

Alone and forlorn,

But happy to be born!

 

Silence rustles through twigs,

While, wilderness wispily digs

The deepest grave for its opposite,

And peace doth invest in wind-fallen deposit.

 

Away, away it seems,

Far away! Thus dreams here

Smile like a reality,

Same dreams, which suffocate in a city.

 

Like a mystic gone serene,

Environment here had been

Meditating from the yore,

While, rain poured with heavenly lore.

 

Like a lass too shy,

It doth try

To preserve its chaste privacy,–

Shrink away from any gaze lusty and lacy.

 

Wonder if everything here goes

On awake or enjoy perpetual sleepy dose!?

Perhaps, both enjoy synchronism,

Aha! The heaven without any antagonism.

 

Love oozes here without paired chemistry;

The love purest in history,

As everything here is a born lover,

And will remain such forever.

A Name which has’n Written in the Air

 

Death, what a patient game

Thou play throughout life!

A life filled with strife,–

Thou always keep thy dark fame.

 

The life desperately tries to live,

Thou but grab a hideout

In its territory to blowout

The final flicker trying a survive.

 

How meaningless thou make

Everything about life’s craving!

Oh, the name seemst all fake,

After its matter thou annihilate.

 

Someone, perhaps, understands the futility;–

Of a name written on water,

Still, it has the trivial most existing utility,

There are names which even the air deter.

 

The name so lifeless,

That it forgets itself,

With whom fate creates such a mess

That even death fears itself.

 

What death means to such a name?

Meaningless it doth seems,

How can it? There is nothing to maim;

Where there is none of lively dreams.

A Long, Long Journey

 

A lone man was walking somewhere,

Along the secluded path’s solace,

Brave walk to some distant place,

Eyes had tear,

As step-motherly fate never hear,

While, the only prize of his long race,

Jewelled his brow with grace,

Still, the destination nowhere near.

 

Looked it like a journey to infinity,

The only success of the footsteps

Was the maintenance of their pedigree,

Destiny followed to wipe them out without pity,

And the failure waited for momentary lapse

By the man, to fill its belly hungry.

Ageless Flower

 

The spirituous wine,

How it addicts the adolescence!

Intoxicated heart, then, pine

For a flower awaiting florescence.

 

Most hallucinating is this

Heart’s spirit,

Head goes all amiss,

And soul suddenly becomes bereft.

Divine potion’s first taste,

Pleasure-garden’s immortal flower,

Fade which not to time’s haste,

Occupy heart’s corner forever.

 

And after a long, long time,

Grave finds something still sublime!

The Caravan Moves Further

 

The windy air of fading February,

Frost beaten leaves finally give over.

Still, trees happy as spring hover in the air,

Withdraws winter as if in a hurry,

Inside pond, bright rays seem to marry

The dazzling waves; a sparkling pair,–

Passionate kisses in the starry shining layer,

Seeing which the winged visitors doth worry.

 

Oh! How unemotionally winter passes!

Like that gypsy caravan preparing to go away,

Gone will be the winter with gypsy damsel;–

Two heartless lasses

Will go along a lone pathway,

Away, away! Where autumns dazzle!

Earthquake

 

The great hammer of God,

Fault in geology’s abode,

Thousands loose balance to the strike,

And death, destruction prevail without fight.

 

The adjusting rocks

Spew out tremoring locks,

Which win over walls faithful,

And macabre clapping all joyful.

 

Aah! The roofs which sheltered,

And never bartered

The family’s fate,

Now, crush all of them in sadistic hate.

 

The debris around,–

Mass graves surround

Still struggling soufflés,

Alas! The rescuing hand only baffles.

 

Infant’s softest bones get crushed,

Why death only brushed

Aside mother from its reap?

Oh her eyes! Even tears weep.

 

If nature itself brings destruction,

Then who would auction

For the beautiful dreams,

Dreams which now die amidst screams!

 

Whom should we blame?

The nature playing its accidental game,

Or the fault lies with its child,

In rising too high with his knowledge mild.

 

How secretly nature plans

Its mystery to enhance

The unknown about it!

How ruthlessly soft petals get hit!

 

Someone’s eyelids refuse

To come down and thus loose

The singlest moment of finding love lost,

The eyes which once glittered most.

 

Where’d so many soul go?

Wait ghostly in a row

To have the final rest,

Mutilated lies the body dearest.

 

Aah! Painful and fearful death,

For long it hath

Its wait for elders' body system strong,

Now, clutches its prey on foot wrong.

 

Human settlement song,

Which for long

Sang with its social source,

Turned, now, mourning by nature’s force.

 

Courtyard flowers which once smiled

Along with the owner’s child,

Now, they lie rumbled;

Child and the flower in concrete crumbled.

 

Worst kind of death’s artistry,

Oh! Wanton most spread out cemetery,

Lives still alive; lie buried,

How ghastly death hurried!

Flower and a Verse in Grave

 

I have a flower in my book,

A flower paged, levelled, worded

Among words of my verses,

Once its petals smiled fragrance,

Time was when it scented,

My poetry written around,

Like an epitaph now;

Verses of an instant’s immortality,

Dropped which from time,

Form now flower’s eulogy.

Life will dry out of the flower,

With the passage of time,

Dry it will become,

To be crumbled to pieces,

My words meanwhile

Chant its immortality.

The flower among pages,

The words and the verses,

And the book from start to end,

Meaningless and unreal,

Except the page flowery;

Two pages and a flower:

Oh the flowery grave!

Which lies buried there,

The flower or the verse?

Which one is the eulogy,

The nature’s deflorating one,

Or the words from my pen?

Death seems in a puzzle there,

Start it should around the pointed stalk,

To sneak into compressed petals;

Or curve it should,

Around syllables, words, phrases.

A flower is there in my book!

Ode to the Winter Sunset

 

The sunset on this small sandy plateau,

Agrestic fellows turn it in a paradise,

And the red rim with its salutary motto,—

Only from dust pearls arise.

 

Perfect becomes the nature’s artistry,

As nothing changes to time’s hurry,

Except sun amazed at one mystery;—

The lonely perch of a bird on a tree.

 

Happy homecomings of the birds,

Love where sinews the nests,

Purest friendship returns in herds,

While, the air as if in complete rests.

 

White shiny shrine under a peepal,

Enshrines faith in that lamp,

Burning perfect straight without flicker,

Perhaps, God, tonight, will lay here camp.

 

The crane couple passes with a cree.......k,

Echoing conch-shell alike,

Oh, the sacred chant which seek,

Blessings from the lamp; to light the whole night.

 

How calm the path seems!

No one to beat at its door

To reach the farthest of dreams,

And distance meaningless to this lazy-lore.

 

Sweet-sour berries amidst prickles,

Smile with their ripening orange colours,

On both sides; pathway’s anklets

Give life to someone during the long hour.

 

Wheatlings lush green,

Pea’s white flowers get a vegetative fold,

Lone farmer becomes keen

To pass watchful night in the cold.

 

And the sun tries to see

Inside his small hut,

God, let there be

Too much warmth for the frost’s fret.

 

That misty wood of far,

Embanking the canal,

Seems too far

For the fading sun’s rays all.

 

Look, how ascetically that dog walks

Along the lonely path’s solitude!

Away, away from the settlers' barks,

How contently it lives on the farmers’ gratitude!

 

Farmhouse on that gently uplifted fold,

Geology’s smallest of dome

Shines to the day’s rays old,

Seems as if paradise has got a home.

 

And when the sun starts

To go below the horizon,

Heavy hearted it parts

Away; where humanity's other half has arisen.

A Lovely Remembrance: Is it Love Still? Or Is Love Always for the Past?

 

Time was once,

When the flower was at its prime,

Lost love now only feign,–

Immortality which time can’t maim!

 

What a great make believe!

Heart’s no cause of yore,

Today, mind’s cause to deceive:

Hence the lyrics required many more.

 

Celestial to remain in love

With love that once was!

By tongue it creates wave,

Ripples whose get lover ‘pass’.

 

‘Pass’ in keeping flame alive

For others to see it

And credit for negating time’s heave

Against the love lamp tenderly lit.

 

Where art fullest petals?

Which formed earthy beauty; love

Among vast stretches of vales,

Oof! Find them, now, afore toe.

 

Thy wide parted eyes,

Show now the angst;

Vision before them dies,

And thou laugh at the epitapher biggest.

 

Thy soft trysts in my arms

Make the pen stubborn,

Bent on creating charms,

But write they only lover’s mourn.

 

At times thou had tears,

Brooked which thy rosy cheeks;

A flower flooded with fears,

Me now tryst only wordy shrieks.

 

Shaking lips when sent

Tremour theirs in mine,

Very same now hell bent

On paying lip service to that wine.

 

Then, thou sipped worries from my brow,

And the wrinkles there unfolded;

Luck seemed for a charming throw,–

Poet’s lines, now, to be traded.

 

Those hot gasping whiffs

Formed warm passioned air,

Float, now, in cloudy ifs,

And the mystic sucking his share.

 

Aha that sleep thine

In the blessed lap mine!

Those thighs now seek pat,

Claim love’s survival and bet.

 

Crossed I physical limits,

Souls merged to play games,

This lover now hits body

To show the soul lame.

 

Beloved, hardest I tryst

For thy aliveness in me,

Still, efforts to reach highest

On love scale always neigh.

 

Alas, thou art past now!

Historian, but, tries love still,–

New love seeds to sow

New love crop for some crazy will.

The Old man and the Night

                     The old man and the night,

Both of them lie awake.

His life fading out of sight,

Cough, meanwhile, doth a serious shake.

 

Lost out dark world around,

Times ago he was born,

The soul when got aground,

Old, old! Now it is other world-lorn.

 

Night is his companion now,

The day too hectic and bright,

So many of them swiftly passed, how?

Now the night comes, fades as the sight.

 

The night tries to bring sleep,

O mother, child sleepless for too long,

Time may come for a slumber deep,

And motherly it whispers a song.

 

Too much hurried was the day,

While the night has much patience,

The day only for the hair’s grey,

The night doth die it black in silence.

 

The old man and his old mother,

Thus, stand by each other,

Stepmother will come with sunrise,

How will then cope the sun wise?

Perhaps, It will Rain Today

 

The sky is overcast,

Grayish dark clouds

Ebriatedly stoop over,

Perhaps, rain will come,

And the birds anticipatedly fly,

Like the children turned all urchins;

Roaming across the streets,

Shouting with every thunder above.

The breeze comes cool,

To cool down the eagerness,

It whispers, wait, wait ye fellows,

Listen to that thunder,

God is certainly preparing water,

Listen to His bowl.

The trees wait with their wisdom;

Oh, the patience of decades, years!

While, the chirpy leaves, branches;

Childhood with its swinging moods,

Seems it as if an infant

Kicks grandpa’s lap gone serene.

 

Only God knows when it will come,

When the dreams will reality become?

God’s Child Playing

 

Once again I fall,

Fall on my knees,

Like a child after a ball,

And like father, God watches with please.

 

The mighty father sees

His cherub playing, learning,

Helps He not with every breeze,

Exclaims, ‘Thou art just a starter darling!'

 

My mountainous tumbles,

To him just childish rolls,

And complaints just boyish grumbles,

Pacifies, ‘Thou just play son, I worry about goals!’

 

And I go on playing

For the father’s muse,

Constantly with spirits flying,

Till the teacher Himself rues.

 

The child thus goes

For the biggest of tries,

Yes! Smiles only a rose

After the branch gives many thorny cries.

The Hero

 

What if a man’s might

Beats destiny’s delight?

Like the aerolite,

In a cold dreary night,

Gives the brightest fight,

For the sake of light,

O the never ending aerolite!

Always too bright,

Defeating fate’s sight,

Escaping its play site,

Where nothing holds tight,

And all fateless in their own right,

Paying a blissful rite,

To the destiny gone quiet,

Yes! There are some kites,

Which reach such heights,

Not to fall for earthly delights.

Surrender

 

God! Here and now I surrender before thee,

Let fate onwards be

At war with the prime deity,

Let it draw all arrows from its kitty.

 

Surrender to the nectarine form,

God! Brave now thee, thy own norm,

For I have lost the battle,

And leave war for you to settle.

 

I bow before thy supreme grace,

As defeat proudly brace

The low held head,

While, all willpower gone dead.

 

Too loudly the victorious conchs blare,

And the defeated, wounded can’t dare

To touch the weapons in dust lying,

For, winner’s fatal most arrow still eyeing.

 

So many efforts butchered this macabre,

Aah! The annihilator with its tabor,

Its ghastly, nasty dance,

Gives me not the singlest chance.

 

God! Now I lie at thy feet,

And see how thou beat

Someone who fought so valiantly,

Fell then down silently.

Processing of Greatness

 

A fluty wail from the well of woe,

With angels playing harp softly above,

Dumb music from this most tragic tragedy,

Go on, Go on! Crown of mercy too greedy.

 

The tragic, saddened heart,

Where the lamp of longest pain burn,

Its light reaching transcendental eye,

And the oil of fallacy saying smoky bye.

 

Aah the ways of destiny!

Who can understand its allegory?

Why doth purest affection of human soul,

Gets crushed for the purest emblem of the whole?

 

Too far is heaven’s corbel!

There sanctified souls dwell,

They sing, go to tragedy’s depth,

For, without pain’s awake, no one ever slept,

 

Perhaps, too vivid is pleasure after a long pain;

Golden glow of morning after night’s rain,

The pure star in clearest sky,

After worst elements, now shining high!