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.
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 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!
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!
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!
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.
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.
