Ye black clouds amidst
Dark night knowst not,
How thy smallest daughter kisst
Slightest opening in bud’s pout.
Flower’s cherub and thine,
And sissy, hilarious time’s twin,
Thou seest not thy rhyme,
Pass thundering, lightening wink.
Huge! Thou dost overcast sky;
Time also takes mountainous leaps;
And flowers stretch heavenly eye,–
Thou three infinite parents.
Still, three children thine,
Only through them thy worth shine.
Life, how much should I love thee?
And in which form and appearance?
Is it the one inside me
Or, the heart’s praise for that flower with fragrance?
The flower possessed by fear,
Love it is, or owner’s craze?
While, wildlife throbbing near,
And the flower still uncaught by
Someone’s love-net’s maze.
Why must a flower be loved?
Is it that it appears beautiful?
Or, love it creates which moved
An inward passion from death's pull.
O thou flower, I love thee more than the self,
For thou art the dreamy life unpossessed.
Where the light shines to the last ray
And night falls prey
Upon the rugged day
Sprawled mountains array.
And it raining to day’s last grey,
Drops shower darkness to lay
Solitude in night’s fray,
While the clouds thickening make way
For drunken wet night, which say
Like a drenched damsel makes hay:
‘See me not, for I foray
Hilarious hug in lover’s shrug, Oye!’
Vow, that eagerness! Sea ye
Seemst dying to see off the day,
Thy quivering pout through bay
Excites earth to foreplay;
Closing eyes to gentle breezy sway.
Alas! Eyes, imagination goes nay,
And the love scene blurs away,
Her sprawled hair put shadowy sway.
When I think about the past,
Time’s load overcast
Rumbling clouds stretching vast,
So many beautiful things died; now aghast
Me remember them as alive for the last,
Alas, but life is so fast;
So many beauties annihilated in the merciless blast.
At each step a graveyard,
Present’s efforts fought hard;
Like versified truth from some bard;
Then coffin cradled, which once flowered
And whom this hasty runner favoured,
Now when time hath devoured,
Me prepare its next food; step as forward.
How impermanent, transient is life!
So many full flowers cuts time’s knife,
Still at each futuristic step we arrive
At something where newborns thrive,
And for more and more we strive,
Alas but, sacrificial presents only for the past’s survive,
And future’s tiny, trivial, momentous drive.
Are those graved beautiful flowers dead?
Whom no eye would ever read,
No! Seeds they are which time had
Furrowed along a path by someone who bravely lead,
Bloom they will again afore some eyes sad,
Whose present-past coexist and future dead,
My graved beauties then'll relive afore that bent head.
His senses lying rusting,
Still something in the dust goes bursting;
Swelling to Himalayan husting,
While illusion’s death hissing;
Dying before newborn rising
Above father’s head, where Gods watch praising.
When I think about the past,
Time’s load overcast
Rumbling clouds stretching vast,
So many beautiful things died; now aghast
Me remember them as alive for the last,
Alas, but life is so fast;
So many beauties annihilated in the merciless blast.
At each step a graveyard,
Present’s efforts fought hard;
Like versified truth from some bard;
Then coffin cradled, which once flowered
And whom this hasty runner favoured,
Now when time hath devoured,
Me prepare its next food; step as forward.
How impermanent, transient is life!
So many full flowers cuts time’s knife,
Still at each futuristic step we arrive
At something where newborns thrive,
And for more and more we strive,
Alas but, sacrificial presents only for the past’s survive,
And future’s tiny, trivial, momentous drive.
Are those graved beautiful flowers dead?
Whom no eye would ever read,
No! Seeds they are which time had
Furrowed along a path by someone who bravely lead,
Bloom they will again afore some eyes sad,
Whose present-past coexist and future dead,
My graved beauties then'll relive afore that bent head.
His senses lying rusting,
Still something in the dust goes bursting;
Swelling to Himalayan husting,
While illusion’s death hissing;
Dying before newborn rising
Above father’s head, where Gods watch praising.
He fell violently in love;
Big, stormy, illusionary ripples got a love-wreck,
And like life’s instinct when death doth attack
Only her image waved around him now.
In such a storm only the heart doth row,
While poor mind fell off the deck;
Logic struggled for its life behind back,
And storm intoxicated heart throbbed upon bow.
Logic but is such a slave;
Struggled it for a ‘follow’.
And storm when subsided to show the captain’s
Loss of direction; whom to look for a save?
Fortunately, mind stood there with a glow,
Saved, thus, from further delusionary pains.
O sweet success, fragrance of nectar,
So many flowery moments got
Themselves killed for these clappings far,
Wined throats now celebrate a lot.
Suppose the flowers had lost for vain,
And bad fumes cometh out of the passioned flame,
That single bent head had bore pain,
Too many pocked noses had sought blame.
Aye! What one standth to lose or gain?
From the mob which gulps only by the name;–
Benumbed by victory; failure maketh insane;
One’s abhorred content changed there to lusty fame.
Thus the story of success-failure goes,
Prickles too many for a single rose.
