The Millennium Bath

 

A bath I am to have today,

The ‘after death’ ritual

for the mortals left behind;

The old millennium will die today.

 

The certainty of its death,

And the certainty of timing as well!

I want to be certain myself;

Wash I will, the mortal remains.

 

The remains of the millennium last,

Quantified efforts to measure eternity,

A part of me will also die today,

Fragmented death to live fully another day.

 

Die with the millennium,

A thousand years old man,

Wash I will myself,

Midnight is the hour to depart.

 

We will go hand in hand,

The remains will be left behind—

All washed out and infants;

Millennium new, and the new man.

 

That is why I will bathe

for the new man, millennium new,

We know, the new may loath the old;

Two thousand-year-olds.

 

Try I will to oblate the sins,

And all the sewage and garbage,

Layered which over both of us,

I will bathe for both today.

Let the Change Prevail Inside

 

This chilly gentle breeze of a defined era

blankets us for the last,

This sun struggling in the fog,

Tries to see us for the last.

 

From a long slumber we arise,

On this millennium’s last dawn,

The moon in its last phase

still gracing the western sky,

And through its bloated,

Obscured shape in the west,

Stubbornly watches the hoopla,

The millennium eve’s noise.

God! Amidst such fire-cracking ‘lasts’,

About the matter and externalities,

Will the ‘lasts’ extend

to the dark corners in us?

The patches where

greed, selfishness, war

and all man-made disasters

vying with the nature’s,

Will they also pack off

to follow the trend around.

 

O night, when you arrive today,

Please chuck away all the dirt

in thy nocturnal folds:

O sun, cast your ochre rays

oblique upon the wrong facets,

Make them glow like jewels;

O breeze, enter the souls,

Soothe the passion inside,

Blow up which like volcano;

O man, let the series culminating around,

enter your deeper self and make you realise,

the futility of sticking to old follies

even in the new era.

The Dying Day, Unwanted

 

Day! You now prepare to go,

Exactly one thousand years ago

brother your did the same,

Repeat thou now history,

For man’s sake, the millennium new!

 

The ageing process of humanity—

The new millennium,

New hopes and aspirations,

Grew we up by a thousand years,

Thus historically old,

Pretend now to be kids,

And get jumpy-grumpy in pell-mell celebrations.

 

You, who will carry the billions

laden on your chariot,

While they will rejoice,

Unmindful of the old, greying carrier.

 

You, ready to die a universal death

without ageing anyone,

As they pluck off you from

the reach of the biological clock,

Or infinite pendulum’s swing,

Billions of aspirations and load,

Like ant swarms,

they queue up to the holes next—

The looming unknown and dark millennium,

And you who proudly hold

the baton for the last time,

Stand here alone,

watching the mob trudging forward,

You, who like thousand brothers yours

bore the brunt of thousand years’ flurry,

Obeyed the command of God—

‘Falter never or choke!

Let them go!’

One Special Speciality

 

Thou are all speciality;

Standing above the ordinary,

You pleasantly cuddle my psyche,

Everlasting is the image,

Such is rarity yours.

 

Eureka! Ethereal evasiveness yours,

Exalted is the examinee,

As the human self aspires always

exemption from the commonness around,

Thou make me feel special.

 

Speciality, fragrance distinct,

Aspire which humans all;

Asphodel singled out in orchard,

Smiles which like the rarest blossom,

And I become privileged more.

 

Emotions about you perfect me,

Assuage the beast inside,

Attar sweetest you are,

By which austere is not

the world abounding in trivialities.

 

Need humans an aurora new,

Subdued in the race mad,

I like you as an axiom of beauty,

But not just for my sake,

Rather for the humanity whole.

 

All should aspire for

one lyrical lyre special,

Last hope it is for

the defeating self in a world ghoulish,

Salvager, aspire I always thou.

Falling in a Pit

 

Too far and deep

I have gone into the pit of gloom,
And lost in the cavernous folds

of the impending doom,
Even the brightest big suns

now appear too far and take puns,
Faint stars these now

and just flash their inspiring rays,
Feeble rays reaching me cannot take out

the ship caught in treacherous bays,
I know the futility of the beckoning light,
Even in its brightest folds outside,

hope was always out of sight,
Now I go deep into my night, 
With nobody as a witness to my plight,
All cherished dreams out of sight,
A wingless bird that tried to fly

but then crashed from its struggled height,
Now I just silently walk into

the dark hold of my night,
Alone
and forlorn,
The musicality of my soft moan,
Carrying me into hitherto unreachable zone.

Last Death

 

Dirty song is life, peeled off

throats of those who sing this grisly verse,

It is a curse,

we get it due to past births’ misdeeds.

 

Why was I born? Only to

continue breathing like a statue,

every cycle pinches; why all

live to be murdered at each step?

 

I aspire to live, but always

lynched to death, which comes never,

Leaves me tossing and bleeding,

I pray for the divine death only.

 

Skinny dog paddling for life,

With a mute look in the waters dangerous,

Alas, destined to be drowned!

A bird with chipped wings I am.

 

So much takes out every breath,

Appears this nature feeding on me—

The soul escapes nostrils every second,

I hate all, drink they my soul’s blood.

 

Cursed never to act or imagine,

As these always fall on me;

Strike like a thunderbolt,

And there I lay tossing in pain.

 

The time will come when I will

become passive to the hunter’s arrows,

Nothing will remain to make Him happy;

Die when will I for the last time.

 

Alas, it’s a dream, not to be true,

I know, I won’t meet the death last,

as long as I wish for it,

As I’m destined to fail even in this wish.

The Eulogy, Vanished

Frowned upon he was,

As failed he all expectations,

Own was fault,

Lived he on others’ dreams.

 

Like a slave he was,

Wasted life whole;

Did as the master wanted,

Died then empty all.

 

Always he cried hoarsely,

Sand song theirs,

Bleeding were his own

deep inside the imprisoned self.

 

Eulogized he was then,

Renowned became the grave,

Rot inside which the flesh

of the dead heart’s unsung song.

 

Fame he took it to

crush his own heart’s freedom,

Played they with it,

While his soul cried.

 

Expected they still more

from the slavish being,

Crumpled which under the demand,

A living grave he turned.

 

Now uncouth history he was,

Same was the grave,

Alas, eulogy had vanished

like his powdered bones in the grave.