A Name which has’n Written in the Air

 

Death, what a patient game

Thou play throughout life!

A life filled with strife,–

Thou always keep thy dark fame.

 

The life desperately tries to live,

Thou but grab a hideout

In its territory to blowout

The final flicker trying a survive.

 

How meaningless thou make

Everything about life’s craving!

Oh, the name seemst all fake,

After its matter thou annihilate.

 

Someone, perhaps, understands the futility;–

Of a name written on water,

Still, it has the trivial most existing utility,

There are names which even the air deter.

 

The name so lifeless,

That it forgets itself,

With whom fate creates such a mess

That even death fears itself.

 

What death means to such a name?

Meaningless it doth seems,

How can it? There is nothing to maim;

Where there is none of lively dreams.

A Long, Long Journey

 

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.

Ageless Flower

 

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 Caravan Moves Further

 

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!

Earthquake

 

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!

Flower and a Verse in Grave

 

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!

Ode to the Winter Sunset

 

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.