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!