Being in the womb of non-being

Aha that solitude's brace
with full grace
on one's hassled self!

The fragrance of silence

away from the mind's violence,

Smell it,

Enjoy to the last bit,

But never forget 

the scent of humanity,

It has its own beauty,

The sweet-sour smell of attrition

of life against testing odds,

Of pleasure, pain, sighs, moan,

The soft brace of a flower

and the divine shower

of smiles and tears 

also bears

the stamp of the unwritten laws,

Nothing'd exist without humane flaws,

The heavenly bliss

and peaceful kiss

prevailing in the vales

won't have any meaning without

the strife and humanity's travails,

Silent whispers in a forest

and the noisy outpours in a bazaar

share deep roots,

Life is impregnated in deep chambers

of silence and solitude

and the mystical beatitude

somewhere far away,

It's then let loose

to seek a higher meaning

in the congested, overbrimming,

cacophonic, struggling bazaar,

Life comes out of a deep cave

to brave 

all that blood, sweat, smile,

tears, love, guile

and hate

that berate

we humans,

We have to pass the test

and be our best

in the crowd

and then wear the shroud

of the eternal sleep

as undisturbed silence motherly creep

to take us deep 

again into the silent womb. 

Among the mountains

 Away from all guile,
where the stones smile,
And silence sings a song
to mountain wind's gong,

With disarming translucency the sunrays

seep into the stones' heart cold,

The eagle flying so bold,

A new reality hitherto untold,

Morose and weary,

and the soul all teary,

I walk on the stony path

with needle sharp memories

frozen in the mind,

like the glacial ice behind,

With a cunning discretion

they slowly creep

by inches over the years,

jarring the stones,

rubbing boulders and crags,

I want to escape

from all that breeds pain

for some soul's gain,

And the stony solitude

seems to feel my estrangement and platitude,

It embraces me,

Bares its secrets for me to see,

Furtively slide a few pebbles,

Dead grass breaks its drowsiness,

It sways

and prays,

With a resounding laughter,

the wind runs after

the stony peaks,

Bubbling and gurgling

a little stream from a glacier,

A huge boulder greets,

stifling a yawn,

in its clumsy, gruffy voice,

I just stand there,

My soul ready to bare

all pains and listlessness,

And looks at the icy summit

standing there like a peaceful hermit,

For comfort, solace and guidance.

A little bouquet of soft treasures

A little child's soft touch
is healing much,
Almost an atonement for all grown-ups' sins.

An old person's smile,

innocence beyond all youthful guile

is fresh, honeyed and young.

The gentle touch of a kind heart

is a mightier support

than the rock-solid calculations

in a scheming mind.

Simplicity a far better

ornament than any cosmetic make-up.

Truth is the best representative of God

than any rituals and customs.

Joy is soul's most suitable food

and happiness best food for the body.

Broken forever

It has been a slow burn
and a painful churn
going in the innards of my being,

The blades of those memories

now spin, whir and buzz,

unleashing a tornado in the soul,

The sharp blades cut

and firmly shut

the door to any new bloom

in the heart's gloom,

They cut any new image,

They make noise

to outshout any fresh song's poise,

They unleash winds

to wipe away any new footmarks

of a walk with someone new,

They lick the dew

before a new smile

might grace the suffering pile

and admire and embrace

with grace.

You walked away

with a painful sway

away, away

to be happy and gay

with another heart's new ray

and here I lay,

alone, forlorn and at bay

from all that might give a new day,

Because the rotating sharp blades

whirring in the soul's glades

shake me from inside,

I laugh and smile outside

and cry inside,

I should have known 

that flowers come with thorny bemoan,

The petals and smiles are windblown,

But the thorns remain

as hooks

and nightmarish crooks,

piercing your heart

with a poisonous dart,

Keeping you anchored

in a breached, stormed lagoon,

Shines where the broken moon,

You want to escape from it,

but cannot move even a bit,

You have loved so much

and broken to extent such

that now you can't love anymore,

You just love being tossed away from safe shore,

In love you have given your all

that you love only your fall,

Now you take your pain

as a gain,

You walk in the rain

secretly holding your pain

and pass your tears

as a smile that the raindrop bears,

You are drenched with sorrow and pain

and they think it's just rain,

You are trying to manage the pain inside,

The tortuous heave of the tide,

But they think

you are roiling in joyful pink,

That you are laughing

with the soul happily surfing,

You struggle to pull out the thorn,

while your soul and spirit mourn,

The thorn hooked in your heart

which doesn't allow you to part

from the times gone,

Your soul and spirit bemoan

the dreams broken to pieces,

The hook so firmly embedded,

gone so deep

and going still deeper with a bloody creep,

The hook almost a living entity with roots

and offshoots,

It grows to be a dark forest

without any ray,

Its dark nights hold all hopes at bay,

The long dreary nights

with lonely fights,

Its shadows loom so large

as to barge

into your days

chucking out their rays,

Yoru days are eaten

and smile thoroughly beaten,

You are afraid of a lovely smile

and take it as another guile,

You run away

from any new cuddling sway,

You know you are broken within,

And now you can hardly be a mender

of some lovely heart

seeking your company for a new start,

Looking up to you for solace,

love and peace.

 

 

On an icy mountain

Away from all guile,
where the stones smile,
And silence sings a song
to the mountain wind's gong,
With disarming translucency the sunrays
seep into the stones' heart cold,
The eagle flying so bold,
Smiles a new reality hitherto untold.
Morose and weary
and my soul teary,
I walk on the stony path
with painful memories 
frozen in the mind,
like the glacial ice behind,
With a cunning discretion
they creep slowly,
by inches over the years,
jarring the stones,
painfully rubbing the boulders.
I want to escape
from all that breeds pain
for some soul's gain,
And the stony solitude
feels my estrangement
and embraces me,
Bares its secrets for me to see,
Furtively slide a few pebbles,
Dead grass breaks its drowsiness
and sways
prays,
With a resounding laughter
the wind rams into the pointed peaks,
Bubbling and gurgling 
emerges a stream from a glacier,
A huge boulder greets,
stifling a yawn,
in its clumsy, gruffy voice,
I just stand there,
My soul ready to bare
all pains and listlessness,
and look at the icy summits looming large,
Peace sparks its mystique charge,
I open the portals of my confined being,
and allow the non-being
to enter my little egoistic hut,
the marks of the customized rut,
The untamed force charges in,
and douses the individualistic din,
It's all there to feel and see
and just be, just be. 

Ashes

When all the wars will be over
and nothing left to fight for,
The few remaining people
will seek each other,
looking for the long-lost human love,
and humanity's touch and smell
which long ago fell
into the dust
lost in civilizational rust,
They'd recall words kind
inhumanly left behind
in the mad race
to acquire a superhuman face,
Stories they'd share
and go for a solacing soul's bare,
They'd seek music in some bird still alive,
They'd hunt for beauty in some lone flower's thrive,
They would sit under a still intact tree
to spend some moments free
from wars and hate,
and try to rewrite their fate,
They'd drink water from some little stream,
and would dream
of all that the mankind lost,
which mother nature had given 
for free as a kind host,
They'd then sow,
after that typical humans' row,
faith, trust, brotherhood and love
in the barren burnt wastes 
to savior again the long dead tastes,
They'd drop the seeds of love
among the ashes of war,
And nourish the saplings 
with their repentant tears,
They'd hope that the ash bears
some saplings of humanity,
They'd till their little field
with an affectionate shield,
They'd celebrate fistfuls of yield,
It'd be a very small world again,
A tiny flicker of life
among death, destruction and strife,
They'd share the stories
how they unmade
all that had'n made
under a lone tree's shade.  

The question

These questions are yours all,
And the answers that somehow fall
in your knowledge zone
are also your own explanatory moan,
The questions go out
with a seeking shout,
The answers that come home,
These're your own queries reshaped after a roam,
Your query is your mind's eye
wandering with a searching sigh,
It goes on a prowl
carrying its reaping scythe for a meaningful sprawl,
And after many an argumentative brawl,
Comes it home
after a restless roam,
Transformed now
after debates and discussions
ending in an agreeing bow,
It now fills up the space
left out when it went out to embrace
an iota of meaning for you,
The same vapors now turned dew
carrying a solacing hue,
The question was all yours,
The answer too is all yours,
Just some medium carried it on,
And simply a medium took it home,
Yours it was,
Yours it's now,
Just a subtle change,--
The puzzling cloud turns crystal clear dew,
Just a shape new,
Receive it as your own,
The missing child that was once gone,
Hold it,
Cherish it
and smile
for it has travelled many a mile. 

Momentary kiss of bliss

Don't ye seek permanent bliss,
for then you miss
its softest touch
on your soul bruised much,
Permanence is too big a load,
Leave it for the God,
Soft, soothing is the transient brace
with full grace
on your restless self,
A gentle song to calm down suffering yelp.
So journeyman,
soak the tiny gentle instalment of bliss,
Allow it to kiss
your fatigued nerve,
Feel a bird's verve;
a stream's ripply wave

so beautifully brave;
a vale's beauty
performing its natural duty;
a dewdrop's pride 

shining like a new bride;
a bird's free flight;
a child's unconditional delight;
the silence singing a song
in hilly seclusion for long;
godliness in a forest pristine and pure
where truth pervades all sure;
hope in someone's eyes;
a lover's sweet sighs.
These are little dollops of bliss
that arrive with a momentary kiss,
Grab them,
Soak them,
Imbibe their essence in you,
Then you won't rue
the absence of permanent bliss,
Allow its little representatives to kiss
your tired self
crying for help. 
 

Loss

Oh, if not for this chatter in the mind,
I won't have been blind
to softly caressing greeting by a flower;
autumnal breeze's cool shower;
a flowery branch's tipsy sway;
a dew glinting in the sun's ray;
a bird's chirpy pun;
another's flight for fun;
slight shift of a cloud in the sky;
a lonely heart's sad sigh;
the unsaid behind someone's words;
the silence enveloping the noisy birds;
pain hiding behind a smile;
tears lurking behind a joyous pile;
the pause shadowed by the mad race;
suffering behind an angry grimace;
the light hidden under the dust;
the imperishable under the surface rust.
Oh, if not for the chatter of this mind,
so many things won't have'n left behind,
unsaid, unseen, unfelt, unheard, untouched, unsmelt,
Oh, if not for this chattering mind
a treasure won't have'n left behind. 

A dawn

On a vintage autumn night
tremulous dewy stars
kiss the seasonless silence
spread over the lips of darkness,

A mysterious hand caresses

the tousled tresses of the night,

Whimsical swirls and ripples

of the passing seconds

in the vast, silent pools of darkness.
Someone's exhausted sobs 

and ceaseless moans
now dive forever into the
measureless serenity 
of the slumbering eternity.
The high tide of darkness
swallowed the star,
And the gloom
added to its
invisible shades to the far.
Then keen and warm light filters from
the eastern horizon,
Flits across the misty, dewy curtains.
I feel a benevolent new sun,
a new fireball
with warm blessing rays.
  

The mountain eagle

The mountain eagle--

a hunting, humming sophistication--
unabashedly flying in splendor and ecstasy,
Its unquenchable, well-mapped tempests
creating an airy, overwhelming firmament,
But does this fraction of neatly ordered reality
possess anything good
for the prey as well?

A little place

In the hills there is a corner little,
Peaceful, silent and still,
Motherly protects the hill
the daughterly shrine pearly,
The sun cometh early
and kisses the dew-jewelled cobwebs,
Shines upon the watery beads,
Fatherly the sun reads
all that was mysteriously written at night,
Away from all light,
With its softly reading touch
stars shine much,
The dew shines and smiles,
away-away from all guiles,
like the jewellery of bushes and grass.

Herein I walk in sometimes,
Gently seeking permission to be let in,
Away from the noisy din,
And like a smiling host
it feels my weary roast,
And without boast,
the kindest host,
opens her gates
to this little soothing place
set-up by the
free-flowing spontaneity 
of the existential force. 

The moth that burned the flame

O thou lady moth,
Holding 'this' and 'that'
in your hands both,
Accuse thou me the flame
and put all the blame
on my burning male flame.

You say,
keeping your own mischief at bay,
that I burned your wings,
How stoutly self-justification sings!
You blame
fully aflame
that you scalded your skin
in going around my fiery orbit's din.

Dear, let me share this,
Lies lie buried under your kiss 
and a selfish hiss
under thy whisper soft
and the best fakery held aloft.

You complain of scalded skin
and bruised wing,
But what of me?
If you could ever feel and see!
You just feel the heat
of the fire,
o thou liar,
The fire that burns in my heart's each beat,
It was merely warmth,
as your miseries swarmth,
to melt your rigid icicles of pain,
And amazing was the gain,
You bloomed and flowed,
Your face glowed
with a new lovely hue,
And now thou rue
that it was a scalding, furious fire,
O thou my sweet liar,
Know this that,
my wily cat,
you pierced my heart
with your sweet poison's dart,
And drilled a hole in my flame,
putting on me all the blame.

Thou proudly walk away
with all coquettish sway,
leaving a hole in me,
which nobody can see,
A hole more fiery
than my entire flame,
And the crown of shame.

You hurl accusations
with a shine in your eyes,
But you should know the flame dies
hundred times
for each little scald of yours. 

A morning walk in a misty vale

I feel reborn,

After a dark night all forlorn,
When the sunrays come, 

embracing me as a chum,
kissing the early morning mist,

opening the darkness' fist,
The beads of dew

lying like scattered bridal jewellery
after the conjugal night,
The remnants of mischievous bite,
Now they shine under light,
Glittering diamond is the dew,
Real gems left so few,
The air fresh and cool,
Refreshing pool,
There I go,
Birdy songs in tow,
Walk on the little path,
Feeling freshest after the bath,
Silence, peace embracing me,
Softly whispering, 'Dear, just be!
Everything is yours to see, 

Walk your journey,
Sing your song,
Own your feelings,
Accept your wrongs,
Forgive those who hurt you,
Own the choice that went wrong,
See then how light you feel,
As light as this sunlit, misty veil,
Then you will just flow,
with a beautiful glow,
Walk slow
and shake hands with this little flower
beautifully burdened under dewy shower,
Smile, greet as they line up
by your almost untrodden path,
They are the loving, lauding audience
as you reach home
after that puzzling, tiring roam.' 

A deal

Why do most of the
relationships fall apart?

Because a fake buyer

met a simple but eager seller.

When two people meet,

a man and a woman,

and woo each other 

to win their respective favours,--

Some body's delight,

Some balm for the heart in plight.

They tease and bait

testing their fate,

To catch the coveted fish of pleasure,

or gems from heart's hidden treasure,

But baiting naturally involves attraction,

A cute hypnotism and some innocent distraction,

The hook needs a tasty worm,

It's a claw disguised as food

waiting in the stream of varying mood.

It's a sweet tussle of flesh and spirit,

One catches

and the other gets caught

after a nice extravagantly battle fought,

It's a complete play

involving dialogues, drama and plot,

The pursuit should be hot.

For her, the ignition of initial chemistry needs 

a handsome knight in shiny armour

capable of carrying all the colors of her dreams,

While she has to be a beautiful princess

full of promises 

carrying fidelity, pleasure, care and share,

The expectations are high

as both vie 

to fit in the other's eye,

So both adorn a nice costume

befitting the other's brightest dreams.

The man comes with more fakery

than the woman

because he has to catch the huge whale 

of her expectations of a complete man,

He thus dons a glittering costume

to match the stars in her eyes,

While a woman need not fake at all

beyond faint brushing of her physical charms,

as that is all that swarms

the infatuated man's brain and brawn,

Her beauty is all that is there to see,

The man is eying only that with a glee.

Thus a fake customer meets

a simple, coquettish seller,

Promising to buy the entirety of her dream,

Leaves that her in an ecstatic stream,

The deal thus gets done,

Proceeds then all fun,

Sadly, after the pleasure-run

his costumes come off gradually,

She is now surrounded by her broken dreams,

The naked stranger stands affront,

Now she can hardly recognise 

the purchaser of her dreams,

Her soul screams

as she realises that

she'd sold herself on fake promissory notes.

The strangers then fight,

The love-flower bugged with blight,

Darkness where it was all bright,

Hopes now out of sight,

They now bargain a separation,

Guilt, anger, accusations, justifications fly

not leaving any space even for a smiling bye. 

The broken boulder

The promises were all rosy
to make my dreamy world all cosy,

And I believed you,

Believed the blushing hue

on your face

whispered as 'love you' in my embrace.

Believed the honesty of light

in those eyes, big, dark and deep,

They looked a clam, balmy sea

for me

to swim, sunbathe and reach home

to that island bearing the love-dome.

Believed the purity of that kiss

purred with a seductive soft hiss

on my lips

with ecstatic coquettish drips.

Promises are made to be broken,

I should have known,

You think you just broke a little vow,

A tiny promise,

A dewy fragile word,

Or just the brittle assurance of a kiss,

Or a few stars in the eyes,

You think these are small cuts,

not amounting to a big sin or murder,

Dear let me tell you,

These are the major cleavages

in the dam,

Every stone has a brittle seam,

Hit it there with the tiny chisels of

unkept promises, fake stars in the eyes,

lying kisses and feigned whispers

caressing the earlobes,

Hit the mightiest stone with them,

And its stoniness lays bare,

There it lies broken,

It'll withstand a strike

by the head-on strike of a bull,

But it will fall apart 

by the strike of a tiny chisel

that knows where to strike the softest spot.

Clever are the feminine strikes,

They hit deep,

The masculine blind force hits

just the surface to give a skin-bruise,

But yours lays bare the entire structure loose.

All done 

and moving ahead for more fun, 

And clever enough to put all blame on me,

Using the male's kitty of stereotyped blames,

Judged yourself to be the victim

and me the culprit 

in your own court

using your own laws

your own arguments

shouted by your own lawyers 

and the smart verdict by your own judge.

Confidently you broke the stone

and left it scattered with its painful moan. 

A new day

Masculine dark with its handsome, callused charms
melting in the arms

of soft, gauzy traces of feminine light,

to conceive a morning twilight,

Give they birth then to a day bright,

Warm sunrays for

the leaves suffering frostbite,

The soft petals that

stood against the icy might

during the night,

The stars all out of sight,

Now the morning sun arrives 

for a dewy delight.

I also come down from some lonely height

and open my senses

to what is their natural right.

It's lovely to see

and just be

with all that was lost

when darkness was the host,

It's an assurance to find

the same world behind

the night's curtain blind,

Walk, hop, jog and run,

Fatherly smiles the sun,

Dance on the stage till you're done,

Draw all the sweet pun

and ensure grudges are left none. 

The mighty puppeteer

Love makes
then breaks,

From the pleasure pool

goes into a teary sea the fool,

Love, the tireless fiction writer seeking glory,

Writes it then another story,

The stage shifts,

The protagonists drift,

The characters move

in full groove

with the new stage,

And pain in hearts rage

of those who are left out,

Give they nostalgic shout.

It's now a new drama and fresh game,

But the story's moral stays the same,

Love is the puppeteer,

Juggles and shuffles

various characters from different stories,

Old ones pushed away,

New dreams hold sway

for the fresh arrivals,

They excitedly brush against each other,

Spins it out more stories,

They look all different and fresh,

But are essentially the same

boosted by the new crush.

All this while,

love shapes

then reshapes

the same clay 

for its titillating play,

Some tears of pain

to pay for someone's pleasure and gain,

A teary rain

goes in vain

in the eyes now turned a stranger's,

A sad, resigned smile

to pay for someone's new guile,

A cry

for someone's heart gone dry,

Some pieces broken

for someone's completion.

Love, the master, is never short of carriers,--

the vast effulgent sea of emotions

seething, boiling in many a heart,

So many volunteers to bear the burden

on their shoulders with glory and glee,

It's a sadistic delight to be its prisoner,

Privileged feels the carrier,

the poor bearer

of the royal palanquin.

And the show goes on

amidst joyful shouts and many a painful moan,

Some eyes lose their stars

that shoot off and find new

fresh dew

on the flowers in fresher eyes,

The old one just sadly sighs,

Thus, the show of love goes on,

The same old story

but the characters heartlessly ruffled 

and mindlessly shuffled. 

 

A full moon night in a forest

The full moon
smiles through a canopied, leafy screen
of the chir-pine forest

to light a tiny lamp

for some soul caught in depressing swamp,

To light a heart gone all dark and damp.

The crickets jingle

to mingle

with a broken dream's notes stale,

And compose songs to fill up the little dale.

The mountain wind drums,

Silence hums

a song using hardly pine needles,

An owl mischievously twiddles

the brooding shadows with its hoot,

Unconcerned the wind plays its song,

Unbothered of the mysterious shadows

that throng

the looming swabs of darkness

around the moony raylets

filtering through the canopy,

It's a tune of mother nature's

unbound hilarity

unmatched in parity.

The dew-crowned wilderness,

The music fragrant,

Intoxicating,

A natural brew against dark fate's bite,

A soft, fragrant heart's culinary delight,

The bushy growths looking up at the trees' height

to become a stalwart tree

and kiss someday the air all free.

There are corners where 

no sunrays come kissing earth,

They miss the morning mists of the valley,

Life and living longing to bloom up

with joy and energetic girth,

The secluded corners look at the moon

for some solace and soul's boon,

The sun is too shiny and still shuns them,

The moon they can cajole and caress.

The peaks around

looming with a pride unbound,

Then the moony beauty caresses

their hard edges,

They melt and abandon their arrogance's badges,

The highest of the high

surrender their arrogance 

with a palpable sigh.

The play of the moon on the darkness,

A mystical combo of white and dark,

Light gently creeps into

the folds of darkness,

Not trying to annihilate it,

Just zestfully temper with it a bit,

So that it melts somewhat

to pleasant shades of gray.

A lovely transformation in a mountain forest

on this full moon night,

There are hearts that can delight

in these subtle shades,

The day hides so many things

which now come out for freedom and liberation,

Free from all prying eyes

and dry, dreadful sighs. 

  

Ode to an autumnal full moon

A full moon,
shining like the sun on a joyful noon,
on this autumnal night,

What a wonderous sight!

The milky rays,

Whispers through them divinity and says,

'Sleep thou my child

after the daylong hankering wild!'

The darkness is lit,

The milky rays even sneak a bit

into my tired, resting heart,

and stroke to life some sleeping art,

creating a smile on my dreamy face,

A glow, a hope, a new dream's trace,

Its lovey, soft fingers brace

with a caring lover's grace,

The pain gone,

after a soft mumbling and sleepy moan,

The full moon just for me shone.

The milky, translucent nectar

filtering through a veil of dewy mist,

It assuages, alleviates the pain

born of dreams broken

still tightly held in my fist, 

The shattered love pieces

held in my grasp like gems,

The glassy shattered pieces

still cut the flesh on my grasping palm,

and the heart finding this sweet pain a balm.

The night jasmine is all abloom,

all fragrant with a seductive smile,

And darkness hiding in little corners

with a predatory guile,

All and everything relaxed

after crossing another mile,

With dreams of repeating the same

with the coming new sun's fame.

Some lone lark,

fighting its sorrowful dark,

lets loose a pining song

finding its loneliness too long,

The sadly sweet notes awaken me

and ask me to be

a witness of their melodious litigation

in the final court for some mitigation.

The full moon on a misty night,

and the lark's song of sorrowful delight.