Ode to the Spring

 

Labour is in the air around;

Spring sun fades the wheat green,

Their grainy tops; ripening and ageing;

Million crowns from the clown’s kingdom,

Prepares as he for the labour duty.

Spring, the season of fruition, procreation,–

Nature’s ejaculations for kama-mahautsava,

Now when cold father makest love to mother warm,

First cries of numerous infants chirp around;

Picturesque gift, merge as they in one:

Spring is here, mature and blown full.

 

What a great time it is;

New comers smile first; do they cry!?

Flowers wild, isolated, conceived hastily–

Nettle, clover, primrose, thistle–

Worry they not uncaring parents,

Who, too sensuous, flow blindly,

And these small daughters or sons

Scent the solitude, wilderness around,

Play they with hurrying swallow tails

And fear not moths in the dark,

Mature as if, welcome they bees.

 

More flowers than eatables around,

The season with the message:

‘Reality lies in eyes, not mouth,’

New leaves, new colours, and hopes new,

Bunchgrass, weather beaten by the cold, relive new,

Reed warbler gets sinews new,

Hangs as it among lengthy stalks,

And nature lulls them through skylark’s beak,

Seemst it if a virgin maiden

Sings, dances wildly like grassy ‘wavy hair’,

Would be mother!

Enters the conjugal threshold now.

 

What if one fade in, and the other fade out,

Colours emerging or going out care not,–

The days are just matchless,

Spring, the season balanced; the day and nights

Cool warmed, or warm cooled.

The landscape becomes a garden,

Lie where so many beauties;

Each and everything beautiful,

Need not they, thus, caring special,

Urge is just to create new,

While, spring tracks the parental escapades.

 

Now, when waters go heavens,

Except the dewy rain of nights;

Waterbodies—puddles to ponds—start slimming,

Slimming like a narrow curve around the back;

The back of springy damsel.

More are seekers now; drops becoming divine!

Thirst forces more walks over banks transitory.

Smallest grassy worlds, tiny flowers, insects

Anguish not the hierarchy above:

Spring flowering from man’s to His kingdom,

Hides as the burying beetle; passes a foot near by.

Gypsy Girl

 

Like the mystical flower, seen here then there,

The lovely wild maiden, spring laden

Showst its non-periodic rare; not to care,

Stupefied eyes gaze but settlement ridden.

 

O flowery lass, thy breeze-driven gyrations

Prop winy drops upon tongues,

Still, thou unapproachable to focussed vibrations,

Through thy escapements caravan moves, singths.

 

How can thou be so heartless!

Not to fix eye somewhere for someone,

And always fly away without bestowing a single kiss!

What a classy heart to be won!

 

Gypsy girl, thou spread beauty’s message:

Sudden full arrival, lost then in a haze.

Sister

 

O my dear sis,

Time was then all bliss,

This once home thine, now miss

All that growing, evolving care and wish

Thy sweet happy return

To the place where you were born.

 

Thou for a greater purpose gone

To nurture life in some home,

Still, thy place becomes a shrine here;

Down to dusk, work with so much care,

I can still sense thee in this air,

Circulates which orderly, like my sis fair.

 

Thy virtues sing, commit when we mistake,

Great are the homes whom sisters make.

Some Lines for Some Time in Future

 

When thy eyes begin to glow dimly

And walk form not a rhyme with the body;

Flowers when gone for a single lily

And world's eyes see not once fair lady;

When even cup loathes thy shaky pout

And time engraves its loath on thy rosy cheeks;

Eyelids drop when for vision out

And life only but leaks;

When thy grey hair die day by day

And all crests shrink to troughs;

See thou not when a single ray

And violently shake thee those coughs.

 

Then dear, pick my book up,–

Where thy youth shines immortally,

Unhampered by the time's hand rough.

Far! Far! Somebody is in Need: Let Me Soak Miseries All

 

Let my tear drop

Where there is hunger and pain

And too many a sandy grain

For a single drop of rain;

Where in eyes drained, hopes never prop,

Lord! Let my eyes give fullest crop!

For their slightest pain

Let my heart bloody drain

The terrain, where death grope.

 

Let that infant’s puzzled look,–

Due to unholy experiences first–,

Cast gloom, pain over my face

For the childhood hanged by the hook,

Let me begone of my thirst!

Hold me back from the life’s race.

One Simple, Real Beauty

 

Country girl, I salute thee for thine rusticity;

That devoid of complexity, which

Bathes thee naturally without made-up artificiality,

Thou art only thou; not try to become such.

 

Least conscious about thy greatest gift,

Thou pour smile uninhibited,

Truth about thee never shift

Beneath thin layers venerated.

 

I like thee for what thou art,

Too little thou have to show other than thou,

Thy inner self and outer never part;

False seeds thou never sow.

 

Thou represent crystal clear beauty,

Thank God for thy farness from the city!

When Time was Helpless before You

 

Thou art beauty unchanged, unmoved

Just like that waterfall always the same;

Whose persistence running water can’t tame,–

That gracious continuity which time always pursued.

 

Thy gentle breezy state maketh time nude;

Attired if not by its changing game,

And thy beauty becometh a name;–

A picture which lives; never moved.

 

I salute thy infinite instantaneous beauty,

Thou smile and live for the beauty’s sake;

A beauty that was and will remain forever,

Time’s elements will try haughty,

But it can never take

So many jewels from thy lover.