With every step, I add to my failure,
Walks it with me or destiny?
They say victory doth always lure,
But I doubt if there exist any.
Still I work forward,
At least for not getting failed,
How can victory pour reward
On someone whom destiny jailed?
And I have to go till my last fall,
These small tumbles make me look below,
Victory would’ve only made a call
From the sky to cajole a blind follow.
Thus I like my failure,
For there is a constant knock at my door.
I try to look at
Something far away,
But alas! Like a short chat
Discourses fall far away.
The wilderness strayed afore,
Trees, terrain obstruct the show,
Walled, blinded feel I before
Nature’s spread; feel low.
With narrowed eyes
Me cast a pinching sight,
Lost it is but in skies;
Something far and above the flight.
One picture is above:
From that far to my back;
Other end eyes don’t show,
Multi-coloured in between hack.
I gaze the one vaulting
Like the brow upon eye,
Below goes the sighting,
And the ‘far’ bidding one-sided bye.
The sun is shining brightly,
And sky if never painted cloudy,
Tranquility arises so highly;
Aloof from any reversal tidy.
Everything without a hurry;–
Man, material contended, satisfied,
Relax for calmness to carry
Them away from hot pursuit which once tied.
Where hast that urgency gone?
Makest which time too small,
Single instant now run
Endlessly without a fall.
Who sayth time never varies?
And instances are all the same,
Now each duty-less unit
Carries on and on without a name.
Ageless they now become,
Those who share this silence,
What are few sips of rum?
Here time drunk loses sense.
Transience wails somewhere far,
As it can’t hurry over here
To create same killer war;
The war which permanence fear.
Thus, the time gost on living,
Surviving without any rebirth,
And clock’s hands stop circling,
Lo all watches without worth!
O God! Make places such
Inside our restlessly bumping hearts,
Calculations where don’t matter much,
And soul where only happily flirts.
Now when the spring comes,
Attired with floridity, sprouts
New leaves, greenery new,
Alas! Visitors but prepare to go:
Ducks, storks, wadders,
The wagtails and the cranes,
Spent who chilly winters here,
Prepare these now to go.
Beatles, bees and insects,
Make merry meanwhile,
Sing a song of farewell,
Their small hymns and flights,
Wish the goers a happy journey,
Prepare as they for distances far,
Woodpecker, wren, sparrow,
Along with natives other
Rejoice over fruits ripening,
O gipsy birds, mind not!
Spring here if not thine,
Waits it somewhere else too,
So fly thou strong birds,
Spring somewhere calls you,
Sings a welcoming song,
If the spring flowering here
Bells departure thine,
Waits it gazelle eyed somewhere too.
Nothing seemst to ‘change’
Despite the rule much fabled:
Booked life: its page
Or pages left just one lined,–
‘Trysts hard and fail,’
And me gost turning more,
Hoping to arrive at destiny’s hail,
Alas but monotony roar!
Life mine with few weighty words,
Make these an iron rod;
Black, heavy for paged birds,–
Too weighty a single turn, O God!
Thus, huge efforts with each page,
Still, but, the familiar ones gaze.
O Indian woman!
Ye familiarise world now,
Beauty, brain, grace bravo!
Jewel amongst jewels,
Diamond outside, or inside dwells,
Alone and aloof thou adorn the crown!
Ramp they call it there,
Thou walk thy rise;
Bodies theirs as man’s prize,
Thine becomes our pride,
Answers theirs only worldwide,
Vow! Thine art from where?
Reveal they physique outside,
Thou bringst the unseen,
Invisible; O smiling queen!
The Indian fairy on the stage,
Million dreams brightly gaze
At the dreamy pair where the crowns ride.
Salute thee O conqueror!
Ye breakst bondage physical:
Realise the man historical,–
Beauty not only in curves,
Oozes also through deep nerves,
Thank thee O smiling mirror!
O solace to the billions
Amongst poverty, toil without rest,
Aastha thou come at last;–
The new daughter of India,
Burning as the only diya;
As if moon brighter by a trillion!
World now at thy feet,
Proud anklets jingle,
While the noise around mingle
In thy success cry;
Eyes thy never too dry,
And so many defeated; more to beat!
Ye people, who speak of love,
Long after the first one is done,
Ye only fool some dove:
Numerical love is but a fun.
Fun from the side one, or both,
Befooling for marriage or lust,
Justified by taking an oath,
Alas! First one was the pure most.
Cometh which by itself,
Others are but dragged,
First one fools itself,
Others befool to be begged.
The former one nothing knowst,
Later ones almost spy the host.
