The marks of sin

 

A grain turns to your morsel,

And maybe it was a bird, rabbit

or some other animal

that’s on your feet

or head or on your legs

or torso,

Be watchful,

For your carry the sad marks of

transformation on your skin.  

The hero

 

You’ve to be a bigger person

to say sorry first,

You’ve to be a strong person

to keep the imagined reality

shorter than the imagined one,

You need strength of character

to retain the worst for yourself

and pass the best to others,

You’ve to be a very brave person

to still smile even while shrouded in sorrow,

You need to be really living

to find a meaning in life

even with pain entwined in your soul.

Happiness

 

Happiness is like a meteor shower,

It hardly starts

before it ends,

But its brief sojourn

on the dark breast of the cosmos

is exciting, beautiful,--

the spark of life in a dead pool,

Like the verdant fresh look

on an old dusty face,--

the lush glimpse of hope, wisdom,

forgiveness and acceptance.

 

A small yet eternal book

without title and author name,

The lively flash of being

in the dark womb of nonbeing,

A smile on an impassive, sullen face,

A path-side wild flower

by a dusty path,

A brief shower on sands

kissing the parched grains,

A warm hug,

A friendly chat,

Some words of empathy,

A smile,

That’s what happiness is,

Brief and momentary,

but a yardstick for eternity.  

The kingdom of love

 

Falling in love

is like a magical rise,

The bored monotony of life

lies scattered on the ground,

Angels and fairies sing for you,

You’re the prince of your airy kingdom,

But we can’t float forever,

Earthbound we are,

That’s life,

Falling from love is hard,

Becoming ordinary again is painful,

Losing the kingdom hurts,

Being a commoner again pinches,

Then we fight

to retake the kingdom,

Again we fall in love

and float.

 

It’s unclear whether we're

more addicted to rise or fall.   

Miracle

 

The sun, moon, stars, dew, flowers, rivers,

It’s a miracle unfolding every moment,

The thing that we call as a miracle

is just a tiny snap-shot of the Miracle,

Just a little framed reality

viewed in abstract;

delinked from the bigger chain,

put on the frame

and termed as a miracle,

But it’s just a mere grain of salt

in the sea of the ultimate reality,

It’s just human to try to

define the undefinable;

to try to know the unknowable,

The fact is, we just take a few drops of water

in our palm and see our stars in it

and call it a miracle,

But you are the miracle,

Everything and everyone is miracle.

The lean, loyalist hounds

 

The lion fattens itself

by eating the parts in others,

The net of fear, vanity, hate, jealousy

catches the prey,

He is the ruler,

The followers are the prey,--

the loyalists,

They get addicted to

the pleasure of self-laceration,

They cut down those parts of theirs

which annoy or displease him,

They allow the flesh

of their soul to be eaten,

They turn lean hounds themselves,

Grow sharp fangs of jingoism,

Get trim starved bellies,

Then they hunt themselves

to further fatten the king.

Carbon copies

 

We are like books,

Our appearance, identity, presentation

are like a book cover,

It’s to attract

and be sold well,

The glittering cover and catchy title

to enhance valuation and price.

 

Unique covers to create curiosity

in the reader’s mind and heart,

Showcased, we are then purchased,

But when the covers flip open,

pages unfold,

our lines read,

Alas, the story

that promised something different

turns out to be the same,

The same old, stale story,

written and phrased differently,

The same plot retold

with the same characters

named differently,

The same wine

in a different bottle.

This & That

Tell me a place where 
light and dark don't coexist?
Or a heart where
good and bad don't struggle?
Tell me a land where
Gods exist without demons?
Or a sky where
heaven exists without hell?

A canvas of moss

In the mossy fluidity of a solitary pool
in a lonely vale,
I see my shadows while the mountain breeze hail,
My spread self mixed with the mossy waters,
And I marvel at the small canvas holding the image,
While the brook tries to rewrite the colours.

A stepping stone

Humans, you may have a stony heart,
But mine is definitely a soft, mellifluous, mossy green one,
And I wear it on my sleeve,
While you step over my clean white yard,
And scamper away,
I just pray,
Safe you reach,
Without any further breach.