I was born on this day,
Quarter century old,
Time's scythe takes hold
Around years, months on the 5th May,
And the hot summer pay
For the cake gold,
Lies which in barn to be sold,
While sandy swirls make hay.
Thank thee O summer,
Only thou show passion for the child;
Arriving like the flower late,
Becomes who then a dreamer,—
Summer flower; without singlest trace wild,
Oh! The flower with unflowery fate!
Had I known the time
When the sleep came
Over me like the name;
Thou great mystery infinite!
With that instant to ignite,
I could light a small rhyme:
First maiden to be kissed firstly,
Or, ye lightening sky briskly
To quench the thirst of yore
Eagerly awaiting the first downpour.
Me doth but fail,
Like a disappointed lover hail
The start of love days:
Gaze first, first meet,—
Time caught in crazy ways,
Again but sadness beat
Its unlyrical, unrhymed tomber,
Lost is that instant
In noise huge of the bomber.
Aha that contemplative inward time!
Body when reaches its prime;
In harmony with mind, writes a rhyme,
Illusions not, but reality shine.
Aha that divine perfect position!
No couple ever found such satisfaction,
Every part stimulates loveliest reaction,—
Soul sends such vibration.
Aha that obliviousness to deflected reality;
Self-truths forced for social duty,
This but is the true beauty,
Simple, straight without sociality.
Aha that becoming part of the whole!
Where individual plays no role,—
Still, a huge stage with character sole,
And that possibility with single pole.
Aha that sudden cosmic struck!
When the ultimate crisply lurk,
And falsely hard-worked walls jerk,
Transform these into heavenly arc.
Aha that golden light inside head!
Beats which the dark dead,
Infinite facets cut the fad
To a glittering diamond on something dead.
Aha that helplessness of senses!
Struck which through the tenses,
Come they now across the fences,
Liberate which infinity in His ranches.
Aha that time of being with the being!
And seeing too much without seeing,
Crowning moment of the body's king;
Yes! Soul triumphant, possessively sing.
There walks the winner; triumphant
Shine of sweat on the brow,
Once he almost gave up, now buoyant
Bosom swells solid for the morrow.
There is the loser's bent head,—
Eyes which once sparkled, dropped dead;
Unnoticed, uncared to destiny's glad;
Bosom hunched back and example bad.
Who makes this greatest loss?
The difference between winning and losing,
Is it deciding time's momentary chaos?
Or those long hours found no time moving.
Branded two species; unmatching,
Aah! That even after single hatching.
See the kite's sway in the sky:
Papered soul pulls for escaping fly,
Corded attachment but to the earthly;—
The life force to its limits finally.
The will of the soul for free float,
Alas! Possible only jerks lot,
Till the last drop hot,
The instinct, the desire leaves not.
And the momentary penury released,
As if to get the prisoner appeased,
What a beggar the besieged!
Pious but still teased.
Yes, broken at last! That wondrous free flight,
Alas but until fall for earthly delight.
Summer hast arrived
As all the spring flowers begone;
When so many smiles shone,
Sun brighter now; perfume fried :
Flowery dust lie buried,
Small whiff and even that gone;
Scented maiden's ashes thrown,
Sis's dusty reaches get seed.
Silver Goddess sweetly hiss
Upon everything from leaves to tongues:
Dry leaves' short sway;
Discharmed lips open to kiss
The lost perfumed songs;—
Spring doth seem so far away.
Little houri! When I saw
Thou for the first,—
Morning star in the horizon east,
Fought which night's awe,
To change my morning's law.
And there I was standing wonderstruck,
Pondering, now when sky has been recast,
Dost this new star takes row
To shine for me during the day?
Sun's light I have'd enough,
What dost this new celestial angel creates?
There I was cajoling my new ray,
The lips parted for a laugh;
O my ears, what heaven narrates?
Death, when thou'll come,
I don't know how'd I feel,
O thou destroyer of life's zeal,
Thou keep perfect mum,
So many noises fall upon thy ears dumb,
Thus, nobody knows how to deal
With the deaf host gulping last meal;
Listening not to prayers and Godly hymn.
O thou majestic unknown hunter,
So certain is thy grip on the prey
That lifelong we prepare ourselves as food thine,
And thou quickly saunter
Over the eyes with last ray,
Death, how you'd stamp mortality mine?
Wispy summer bides a hesitating bye,
As nature's law forces exile
To the other hemisphere, along Nile,
Awaits which eagerly hot fairy's sigh,
That tropical ever-greenery doth wry
Over the cool lover gone vile;—
Makest love too much in spring's guile,
Over-bred, she calls thou with a cry.
Thou but autumn-stricken here:
Pine for these dew rainy nights
Over the winter flowers already sown,
Like a mother thou fear
Warmly for children left alone in cold's delights,
And with a fleecy sob thou moan.
Autumn, thou stand betwix
The summer and the winter,
Still, like divinity thou mix
Contradictions: The soul and the matter.
Summer still warms during the day,
As, takes it paddy to its youth,
Winter too sneaks in after the sun's last ray,—
Dew almost rains to water their mouth.
Summer's last ripening and windfall;
Last gift to that lonely little lass,
Looking eagerly into some tree tall,
'What'd I offer', the winter guess.
Autumn, thou save that farmer from weather bite,
Which the two extremities try to force by fight.
Look how the night milks
The whole landscape spread infantly,
Like a mother breastfeeding her child gently,
And everything hazy eyed by winy maternal sips,
Vow! O moony night thy motherly lips
Kiss the sleepy panorama; the mother saintly
Strokes everything lying in her lap faintly,
O sleepless mother thy head never trips!
Look how whitish the love bathes the shadows!
Aura such that even ghosts seem friendly,
What fear has to do near love such,
Thus, every soul opens all its windows,
So that mother's light enter grandly,
And still she never finds it too much!
A sanyasi in the cave,
Where the Himalayas pave
The highest path; stony silence rave
Rhymes musical, as Ganga brave
Boulders, which gave
Into the ascetic wave.
And his beard grows
Like the flora unchecked across
The edgy vale; happy of course:
Who lovest not cravings loss?
And there sits the man; legs cross,
Static they forget dashy furrows.
The rain when drips
Through the roof, perhaps to frisk
The human through trips,
Urvashi but fails in its tricks,
Him, the stone, Ganga's monotony grips,
For billion faiths, prayer only lips.
Comes when the sun,
Or the day at its final run,
He perceives not the job done,
And the fauna making fun
Leaves him as if none,
Who knows? Maybe with some pun!
This child in mighty father's womb,
His soul chants 'Om. Om. Om................'
Delivered once by mom,
Now the second through father's dome
To a world ebriated with Som.
And where souls freely roam.
Aah, the era of hard talk!
Each and everybody vies for
The worldly stretch across the pages,
Depict which paged humanity;
Words, only words, queuing
Along the social misdeeds,
Still, each counts for millions!
Alas! The soft talk;
The words which lit up
Invisible illumination over superficiality,
The language which only
A flower can sense,
So few words!
Still, saying the epic tale
Of humanity's glory,
But, they fetch nothing.
Perhaps, the soft talkers have
The sixth sense,
Enables which the common five
To mix up and come out
As an apostle of reality,
Understands which nobody.
Why then a bard should create a rhyme,
If all dump it as an economic crime?
O gem, why thou shone
Lovely in my eyes?
Why thou were born of aeon,
If beauty's reflection surely dies?
Even memories have gone
To the deepest burial,
Faintest memories sometimes moan
Over the love's funeral.
Why they say
That love never dies?
It, of course, does on the dooms day,
When someone so lovely, heavenwards flies.
What is the use of fragrant shower?
If you do not see the flower!
The night was spiritually lit; milky,
Aha such a beautiful night!
But, still not lucky
To dazzle in a couple's love delight.
Perhaps, alone with its misty milky light,
Hey Look! A farmer is there,
Irrigating his wheatlings amidst frosty bite,—
Ritual holiest by this agrestic seer.
And water here or there shines
To a chilly chide by the moon,
While, milky loneliness pines
For its brave son a harvest boon.
His feet numb in freezing water,
Amidst 'warmly sleepers' he seems a martyr.
Life is a song,
Which soul singths;
The spirit playing matter's lyre,
Melody starting with first cry,
Goes on and on,
Till completion of the journey,—
Notes high and notes low;
Beats ecstatic and tragic most;
Sometimes fast and sometimes pensively slow,
The soul goes on playing
The strings in body's harp,
And then the barely audible;
The last twinge at the death bed,
The soul as if in a hurry,
Plays the mysterious rhythm,
Which, though, completion of the song,
Stands distinct for its abstractness.
Aah! Why is it that
Most of the songs end on a tragic note?
Why not the escaping soul,
Plays the most rhythmic tone
At that moment last?
Consoles which those eyes
Where pain creates furious storms.
We smiled, dulcified with
Great display: the life song,
But alas! Eburine years passed,
Crony days ebbed, never to come again.
Crowned each other, thought
Two paths always go parallel,
But, we just tread side by side,
Only to slip away, at the opportunity first.
Blame not friend or thyself,
As we are 'friends at court',
It is a day, dawn to dusk;
We meet only to drift away.
Inevitable as it is, humans
Beat never the dust same;
All need own track,
Runs where nobody besides.
O man! Crib not about vaporous friendliness lost,
Never judge friendship by time,
Feeds it only on the present; future preys,
So, cherish only moments those.
The year prepares to say bye,
Here comes the last day with a sigh:
'Pray I for the humanity's high',
Takes birth the 366th with a cry,
The dawn having a sunny try
Over the mist which lie
Silvery still around His 'eye',
Which struggle against the eyed sly.
O new rays upon facets awry,
Would'u make them diamonds? 'Ay'
Says the day's eye,
Oh! The eye from the sky,
Ponder over earthling's vie.
From the time gone by
Gods doth fly
On chariot rays, to lay by
Godhood and get terrestrial tie.
O Dawn, thou doth imply,
Pious start for all and I,
Say as thou a smiling 'hi'
To the love hungry; lover's eye,
And the obstacles face a 'why'
As thou hand over a gyve
For the fates dry.
Thy sunny camp; tight up a guy,
New delicacies thou fry
For the bellies where even the hunger die.
Day, thou handling a key,
To bring fatality to its knee.
Today is the 1st of January,
The day as if in love,
Black-silvery, it says sorry
To the cloud-veiled sun's shove.
A new day with a new aurora,
Week new with new lyre,
20th gone, now 21st opera,
And millennium new with aurum-aureola.
Yes! New Year's first day
With its rainy ray.
Droplets with winy chorus falling,
Ebriated, chilly air goes sailing.
And we get an excited shiver,
Like a river
In a cold rainy vale;—
New drink for humanity's hail.
Trees dance to a moderate gale,
Leaves rustle to rainy tune,
Pouring as destiny's boon—
A new day too in some solitary dale.
The cold, wet new day,
Still with an aeonic silvery new ray,
Flaura fauna make hay,
Like a wave enters a new bay.
What can death do to thee?
Thou, who’s enlightened at this little age,
And approach it with a glee,
After such blessed souls death hast a futile chase.
For, people like thou only play with it,
Lay it worthless by fearing it not,
Only by people like thou it gets hit,
Immortal flowers, while, never get shot.
O thou, who makest time meaningless
By living infinitely in its every unit!
Instant any can’t complain chancelessness,
Endless is thy journey without limit!
If a single instant can claim immortality,
And goodness pride in its agelessness,
Then thou but do them a duty,
Take them so far without any shiftiness.
Souls like thou are creator’s manifestations,–
Harmony-fairy with its lullaby,
And a soothing voice to hurried steps to destinations,
How can we separate God from its baby?
Happily go, O angel, to that finest
Destination amidst heavens,
For the death will always fail in its quest,
As thou personify His sermons.
O destiny, why thou create flowers?
Why with thy destitutory powers
Thou hide thy sibilant voice?
Why the ultimate lot feigns as a choice?
O fate, why thy appointed lot
Comes with a lacy and gauzy coat?
Swinish hiss posing as a sing-song,
To undo and annihilate even hopes of long.
Why some people suffer so much?
Why, fatality tries to quench
Its thirst from the same well?
Why for some there is always a hell?
Perhaps, the invincible necessity
Has only thorns for some in its kitty,
Its purplish look of prey
Mind not the foundling’s bray.
Aah, the fixed ruin
For the whitish fresh jasmine!
And the joy-hog with its filmy eyes,
Lapping heart amidst someone’s cries.
Wild hilarity and wild rhythm
By fatality’s doom to its fathom,
Why then a flower is born
If the spring is only but desert-lorn?
O butterfly on the soft petals,
Flowers yellow of daffodil,
Its trumpet shaped central crown,
Dilute thou the bulb poisonous;
On cactus type pointed flowers,
And bright coloured in dahlia,
Perch upon daisy’s disk floret,
Among white, purple petals,
Fly over dandelion’s solitary flower,
Disperse its white haired seeds,
Create lonely smiles around.
Compromise lily’s varieties many,
Its showy flowers purple,
Spotted golden, yellow and crimson,
Pure white, some with spots darker,
Thou cluster over each of them,
Flare also with lobes fragrant,
Hearty shape thine in cluster hued,
Match its leaves heart shaped,
Aid thus the florist trade,
Parent as you orchid flowers,
Siblings variety in shape, size, colour,
Thou but favour them all.
Too much colour hearted then,
Thou fly drunken, fluttering,
Take off as you from
Poppy’s white, pink red cups,
Bell then tulip’s bell shaped one,
Its bluish green leaves smile,
Pointed, they show colours ebrious.
Sweet scented nectar from
Garden violet makes you fly again,
Its central petal with guidelines
To pollinate, to procreate,
And thou further the nature there.
O highly coloured and patterned,
Flier strong, migrating distances great,
Thou nectar, plant juice feeder,
Wings rest vertically for short,
As thine club shaped antennae
Senses flowers from far.
Harvesting girl, thy wheatish brow,
Thereupon shine the labour crops,
Receding furrows of wheat heat thee up,
And thy sickle becomes shakti.
Parched lips, work strain on sweating face,
Trickle which upon eyelids and dreams,
Keep heart O girl, prism they are,
Showing imagination-hued coloured hopes;
Hopes of a good harvest; home upstaged
Or groomed dreams about marriage.
The wheatish colour strewn around,
All eager to be cut short by thy hands,
And there thou move ahead leaving stumps,
Wiping occasionally brow thine;
Dreamt harvest go off with a swipe.
Real thou become for the reality one:
Look at the furrows swaying ahead,
Hot noon, flying pollens show them oblong,
And thou start slowly-slowly again,
Brow thine meanwhile glitters with sweat drops tiny.
Drops which fall upon thy eye shelters,
Beneath narrowed eyes due concentration hard,
Still sun reflects through them,
And rainbowed vision thou have.
How much to be finished? Worry thee not,
Lost again in a dream, O girl, thou mingle in gold,
Work as thou bent headed; pollens fall,
Seems it thou harvesting, give offerings,
Blessed such thou reach furrow end,
Tire not O girl, furrows lie at thy feet.
Small sand-swirl passes as by,
Leaves it thy hair more pollen stricken; wind furrowed,
O windy girl, now when the loo is forming,
And all are afraid of sandy gusts,
Thou, but, have fire more inside thee,
Hence listen thou not its voice around ears,
Thus defeated it passes to flutter those leaves far,
Now when sun is shining overhead,
Like a father feeling for his daughter,
Stays it there to avoid thy face directly.
Thou smell the smell of ripened gold,
Sweat scented body thine sources it,
Mingles it with the blowing hot air,
And the message spreads over the vast fields,
The message of hard work without complaint,
Makest it the golden wheat more so;
Inspires the lonely hands struggling across furrows;
Beats away the looming defeat,
Harvester! Thou art the only flower,
For the spring begone, and honeybee wandering.
Peasant girl, stand thou upright for some backrest,
And look around into wheatish wilderness,
Nobody is there except some heads
Bent before the furrows and sickled hands,
Feel not forlorn O golden girl,
For thou art the brightest grain,
See! Each lesser one is looking up to you,
Become their role model for brightness’ purpose;
Grinding awaits them after all,
O apostle grain, go on with thy mission.
O my country, how much I love thee?
Only swelling bosom can tell;
Head when held high and face glee,
Glitters when a diamond out of the shell.
Defeat mine fall worthless
Before thy single victorious step;
That tear in eyes winless
Begins to shine for the new born in thy lap.
Yes, Indians we are, just Indians,
Please, define us not,
Or you will counter definition billions;
So many turns for a single knot.
O my India, so large and spread out;
Extensive to humanity’s all parameters,
Still comes across a single shout,
Which every nook corner hears.
Religions here flow river like,
Doing what’er is required naturally,
And people dip to turn Godlike,
Nothing ends, of course, even after forehead lily.
O my country, I simply love thee,
Asks me if somebody, why?
Reason any I can’t see,
And if still tell, then I lie.
Still, O my country, love is love,
And one loves without reason,
Confident I am only of one vow;–
‘Work tirelessly for the golden vision.’
Anger comes just like a cloud;
As if a shadow over the sky’s head
Obstructing the light of reason.
And what do we under its spell?
Nothing but the reaction,
Which our present doesn’t
Want as its wanton past.
Let me wonder not, why
We have’d such garbage in the past;
The loathsome part of the era gone,
Loomed when dark clouds
On human head and reason failed;
Red veins attacked when temples,
Butchered love messengers midway,
And ill advised machine then
Went on rampage; mechanics bad.
O anger, perpetual source of destructive machine,
Thou energise human mechanics
To move towards destruction,
O annihilative instinct, why thou exist?
With every step, I add to my failure,
Walks it with me or destiny?
They say victory doth always lure,
But I doubt if there exist any.
Still I work forward,
At least for not getting failed,
How can victory pour reward
On someone whom destiny jailed?
And I have to go till my last fall,
These small tumbles make me look below,
Victory would’ve only made a call
From the sky to cajole a blind follow.
Thus I like my failure,
For there is a constant knock at my door.
I try to look at
Something far away,
But alas! Like a short chat
Discourses fall far away.
The wilderness strayed afore,
Trees, terrain obstruct the show,
Walled, blinded feel I before
Nature’s spread; feel low.
With narrowed eyes
Me cast a pinching sight,
Lost it is but in skies;
Something far and above the flight.
One picture is above:
From that far to my back;
Other end eyes don’t show,
Multi-coloured in between hack.
I gaze the one vaulting
Like the brow upon eye,
Below goes the sighting,
And the ‘far’ bidding one-sided bye.
The sun is shining brightly,
And sky if never painted cloudy,
Tranquility arises so highly;
Aloof from any reversal tidy.
Everything without a hurry;–
Man, material contended, satisfied,
Relax for calmness to carry
Them away from hot pursuit which once tied.
Where hast that urgency gone?
Makest which time too small,
Single instant now run
Endlessly without a fall.
Who sayth time never varies?
And instances are all the same,
Now each duty-less unit
Carries on and on without a name.
Ageless they now become,
Those who share this silence,
What are few sips of rum?
Here time drunk loses sense.
Transience wails somewhere far,
As it can’t hurry over here
To create same killer war;
The war which permanence fear.
Thus, the time gost on living,
Surviving without any rebirth,
And clock’s hands stop circling,
Lo all watches without worth!
O God! Make places such
Inside our restlessly bumping hearts,
Calculations where don’t matter much,
And soul where only happily flirts.
Now when the spring comes,
Attired with floridity, sprouts
New leaves, greenery new,
Alas! Visitors but prepare to go:
Ducks, storks, wadders,
The wagtails and the cranes,
Spent who chilly winters here,
Prepare these now to go.
Beatles, bees and insects,
Make merry meanwhile,
Sing a song of farewell,
Their small hymns and flights,
Wish the goers a happy journey,
Prepare as they for distances far,
Woodpecker, wren, sparrow,
Along with natives other
Rejoice over fruits ripening,
O gipsy birds, mind not!
Spring here if not thine,
Waits it somewhere else too,
So fly thou strong birds,
Spring somewhere calls you,
Sings a welcoming song,
If the spring flowering here
Bells departure thine,
Waits it gazelle eyed somewhere too.
Nothing seemst to ‘change’
Despite the rule much fabled:
Booked life: its page
Or pages left just one lined,–
‘Trysts hard and fail,’
And me gost turning more,
Hoping to arrive at destiny’s hail,
Alas but monotony roar!
Life mine with few weighty words,
Make these an iron rod;
Black, heavy for paged birds,–
Too weighty a single turn, O God!
Thus, huge efforts with each page,
Still, but, the familiar ones gaze.
O Indian woman!
Ye familiarise world now,
Beauty, brain, grace bravo!
Jewel amongst jewels,
Diamond outside, or inside dwells,
Alone and aloof thou adorn the crown!
Ramp they call it there,
Thou walk thy rise;
Bodies theirs as man’s prize,
Thine becomes our pride,
Answers theirs only worldwide,
Vow! Thine art from where?
Reveal they physique outside,
Thou bringst the unseen,
Invisible; O smiling queen!
The Indian fairy on the stage,
Million dreams brightly gaze
At the dreamy pair where the crowns ride.
Salute thee O conqueror!
Ye breakst bondage physical:
Realise the man historical,–
Beauty not only in curves,
Oozes also through deep nerves,
Thank thee O smiling mirror!
O solace to the billions
Amongst poverty, toil without rest,
Aastha thou come at last;–
The new daughter of India,
Burning as the only diya;
As if moon brighter by a trillion!
World now at thy feet,
Proud anklets jingle,
While the noise around mingle
In thy success cry;
Eyes thy never too dry,
And so many defeated; more to beat!
Ye people, who speak of love,
Long after the first one is done,
Ye only fool some dove:
Numerical love is but a fun.
Fun from the side one, or both,
Befooling for marriage or lust,
Justified by taking an oath,
Alas! First one was the pure most.
Cometh which by itself,
Others are but dragged,
First one fools itself,
Others befool to be begged.
The former one nothing knowst,
Later ones almost spy the host.
O thou cattle herder,
What forces thy migration?
‘Save life’ instigate
And thou become a wanderer:
Exiled like a sandy grain,
Flew which too high
And far with an ‘aye’!
Found not, but, rain!
Where ist thy family?
Sandy message they groan,
And thou quench thirst daily.
God made cattle for graze:
Easily, without haste,
Battered them, but, with dusty chaste,
Now, harvested stumps they erase,
Outsiders they feel,
Thus the hurried pace
In the land distant,
Abhors which, even, hot western brace,
Helpless, thou ponder over the emigrant's rent,–
Waterbodies too small;
Only the dried crofts for all.
How far have ye trodden?
Weight on thy feet
Looks if hoofs beat;
Heavy, wearied; seem broken,
Chin thou support on
The lathi standing faithfully along:
Cool companion thine,
Its fearful strike blown,
And they needn’t its shine,
For the animal energy gone,–
Weakly they swing horn.
Urge the rains!
With thy lips more parched;
Personify thy cattle’s soul nerd!
Pray which can’t, only feel the pains;
Join thy family chorus!
O herder, leave them not,
Needy cry can make Him porous,
Sand grains forming 'need dot',
'Rain here or there,'
We also await it like thee,
Single drop falling makest glee.
