Little houri! When I saw
Thou for the first,—
Morning star in the horizon east,
Fought which night's awe,
To change my morning's law.
And there I was standing wonderstruck,
Pondering, now when sky has been recast,
Dost this new star takes row
To shine for me during the day?
Sun's light I have'd enough,
What dost this new celestial angel creates?
There I was cajoling my new ray,
The lips parted for a laugh;
O my ears, what heaven narrates?
Death, when thou'll come,
I don't know how'd I feel,
O thou destroyer of life's zeal,
Thou keep perfect mum,
So many noises fall upon thy ears dumb,
Thus, nobody knows how to deal
With the deaf host gulping last meal;
Listening not to prayers and Godly hymn.
O thou majestic unknown hunter,
So certain is thy grip on the prey
That lifelong we prepare ourselves as food thine,
And thou quickly saunter
Over the eyes with last ray,
Death, how you'd stamp mortality mine?
Wispy summer bides a hesitating bye,
As nature's law forces exile
To the other hemisphere, along Nile,
Awaits which eagerly hot fairy's sigh,
That tropical ever-greenery doth wry
Over the cool lover gone vile;—
Makest love too much in spring's guile,
Over-bred, she calls thou with a cry.
Thou but autumn-stricken here:
Pine for these dew rainy nights
Over the winter flowers already sown,
Like a mother thou fear
Warmly for children left alone in cold's delights,
And with a fleecy sob thou moan.
Autumn, thou stand betwix
The summer and the winter,
Still, like divinity thou mix
Contradictions: The soul and the matter.
Summer still warms during the day,
As, takes it paddy to its youth,
Winter too sneaks in after the sun's last ray,—
Dew almost rains to water their mouth.
Summer's last ripening and windfall;
Last gift to that lonely little lass,
Looking eagerly into some tree tall,
'What'd I offer', the winter guess.
Autumn, thou save that farmer from weather bite,
Which the two extremities try to force by fight.
Look how the night milks
The whole landscape spread infantly,
Like a mother breastfeeding her child gently,
And everything hazy eyed by winy maternal sips,
Vow! O moony night thy motherly lips
Kiss the sleepy panorama; the mother saintly
Strokes everything lying in her lap faintly,
O sleepless mother thy head never trips!
Look how whitish the love bathes the shadows!
Aura such that even ghosts seem friendly,
What fear has to do near love such,
Thus, every soul opens all its windows,
So that mother's light enter grandly,
And still she never finds it too much!
A sanyasi in the cave,
Where the Himalayas pave
The highest path; stony silence rave
Rhymes musical, as Ganga brave
Boulders, which gave
Into the ascetic wave.
And his beard grows
Like the flora unchecked across
The edgy vale; happy of course:
Who lovest not cravings loss?
And there sits the man; legs cross,
Static they forget dashy furrows.
The rain when drips
Through the roof, perhaps to frisk
The human through trips,
Urvashi but fails in its tricks,
Him, the stone, Ganga's monotony grips,
For billion faiths, prayer only lips.
Comes when the sun,
Or the day at its final run,
He perceives not the job done,
And the fauna making fun
Leaves him as if none,
Who knows? Maybe with some pun!
This child in mighty father's womb,
His soul chants 'Om. Om. Om................'
Delivered once by mom,
Now the second through father's dome
To a world ebriated with Som.
And where souls freely roam.
Aah, the era of hard talk!
Each and everybody vies for
The worldly stretch across the pages,
Depict which paged humanity;
Words, only words, queuing
Along the social misdeeds,
Still, each counts for millions!
Alas! The soft talk;
The words which lit up
Invisible illumination over superficiality,
The language which only
A flower can sense,
So few words!
Still, saying the epic tale
Of humanity's glory,
But, they fetch nothing.
Perhaps, the soft talkers have
The sixth sense,
Enables which the common five
To mix up and come out
As an apostle of reality,
Understands which nobody.
Why then a bard should create a rhyme,
If all dump it as an economic crime?
