Thursday, October 5, 2023

A new day

Masculine dark with its handsome, callused charms
melting in the arms

of soft, gauzy traces of feminine light,
to conceive a morning twilight,
Give they birth then to a day bright,
Warm sunrays for
the leaves suffering frostbite,
The soft petals that
stood against the icy might
during the night,
The stars all out of sight,
Now the morning sun arrives 
for a dewy delight.
I also come down from some lonely height
and open my senses
to what is their natural right.
It's lovely to see
and just be
with all that was lost
when darkness was the host,
It's an assurance to find
the same world behind
the night's curtain blind,
Walk, hop, jog and run,
Fatherly smiles the sun,
Dance on the stage till you're done,
Draw all the sweet pun
and ensure grudges are left none. 





Sunday, October 1, 2023

The mighty puppeteer

Love makes
then breaks,

From the pleasure pool
goes into a teary sea the fool,
Love, the tireless fiction writer seeking glory,
Writes it then another story,
The stage shifts,
The protagonists drift,
The characters move
in full groove
with the new stage,
And pain in hearts rage
of those who are left out,
Give they nostalgic shout.
It's now a new drama and fresh game,
But the story's moral stays the same,
Love is the puppeteer,
Juggles and shuffles
various characters from different stories,
Old ones pushed away,
New dreams hold sway
for the fresh arrivals,
They excitedly brush against each other,
Spins it out more stories,
They look all different and fresh,
But are essentially the same
boosted by the new crush.
All this while,
love shapes
then reshapes
the same clay 
for its titillating play,
Some tears of pain
to pay for someone's pleasure and gain,
A teary rain
goes in vain
in the eyes now turned a stranger's,
A sad, resigned smile
to pay for someone's new guile,
A cry
for someone's heart gone dry,
Some pieces broken
for someone's completion.
Love, the master, is never short of carriers,--
the vast effulgent sea of emotions
seething, boiling in many a heart,
So many volunteers to bear the burden
on their shoulders with glory and glee,
It's a sadistic delight to be its prisoner,
Privileged feels the carrier,
the poor bearer
of the royal palanquin.
And the show goes on
amidst joyful shouts and many a painful moan,
Some eyes lose their stars
that shoot off and find new
fresh dew
on the flowers in fresher eyes,
The old one just sadly sighs,
Thus, the show of love goes on,
The same old story
but the characters heartlessly ruffled 
and mindlessly shuffled. 
 

A full moon night in a forest

The full moon
smiles through a canopied, leafy screen
of the chir-pine forest

to light a tiny lamp
for some soul caught in depressing swamp,
To light a heart gone all dark and damp.

The crickets jingle
to mingle
with a broken dream's notes stale,
And compose songs to fill up the little dale.

The mountain wind drums,
Silence hums
a song using hardly pine needles,
An owl mischievously twiddles
the brooding shadows with its hoot,
Unconcerned the wind plays its song,
Unbothered of the mysterious shadows
that throng
the looming swabs of darkness
around the moony raylets
filtering through the canopy,
It's a tune of mother nature's
unbound hilarity
unmatched in parity.

The dew-crowned wilderness,
The music fragrant,
Intoxicating,
A natural brew against dark fate's bite,
A soft, fragrant heart's culinary delight,
The bushy growths looking up at the trees' height
to become a stalwart tree
and kiss someday the air all free.

There are corners where 
no sunrays come kissing earth,
They miss the morning mists of the valley,
Life and living longing to bloom up
with joy and energetic girth,
The secluded corners look at the moon
for some solace and soul's boon,
The sun is too shiny and still shuns them,
The moon they can cajole and caress.

The peaks around
looming with a pride unbound,
Then the moony beauty caresses
their hard edges,
They melt and abandon their arrogance's badges,
The highest of the high
surrender their arrogance 
with a palpable sigh.

The play of the moon on the darkness,
A mystical combo of white and dark,
Light gently creeps into
the folds of darkness,
Not trying to annihilate it,
Just zestfully temper with it a bit,
So that it melts somewhat
to pleasant shades of gray.

A lovely transformation in a mountain forest
on this full moon night,
There are hearts that can delight
in these subtle shades,
The day hides so many things
which now come out for freedom and liberation,
Free from all prying eyes
and dry, dreadful sighs. 

  


Friday, September 29, 2023

Ode to an autumnal full moon

A full moon,
shining like the sun on a joyful noon,
on this autumnal night,

What a wonderous sight!
The milky rays,
Whispers through them divinity and says,
'Sleep thou my child
after the daylong hankering wild!'
The darkness is lit,
The milky rays even sneak a bit
into my tired, resting heart,
and stroke to life some sleeping art,
creating a smile on my dreamy face,
A glow, a hope, a new dream's trace,
Its lovey, soft fingers brace
with a caring lover's grace,
The pain gone,
after a soft mumbling and sleepy moan,
The full moon just for me shone.

The milky, translucent nectar
filtering through a veil of dewy mist,
It assuages, alleviates the pain
born of dreams broken
still tightly held in my fist, 
The shattered love pieces
held in my grasp like gems,
The glassy shattered pieces
still cut the flesh on my grasping palm,
and the heart finding this sweet pain a balm.

The night jasmine is all abloom,
all fragrant with a seductive smile,
And darkness hiding in little corners
with a predatory guile,
All and everything relaxed
after crossing another mile,
With dreams of repeating the same
with the coming new sun's fame.

Some lone lark,
fighting its sorrowful dark,
lets loose a pining song
finding its loneliness too long,
The sadly sweet notes awaken me
and ask me to be
a witness of their melodious litigation
in the final court for some mitigation.

The full moon on a misty night,
and the lark's song of sorrowful delight. 


Shy, scared verses

Where does my poetry surface the best?
Where do my emotions aren't shy to come out?
Where does my poetry feel safest?
It seeks disposable scraps of paper,

Ruffled, frayed, crumpled chits of paper,--
An old bill of no use now;
some shopkeeper's calculating scrawl;
some time-worn receipts;
some redundant acknowledgments,
Anything that has no value anymore
to lay claim to something higher 
than some defeated verses.
My poems, my emotions' offsprings
seek these dustbinned items
and cling to them 
like autumnal dew clings to fresh roses,
Both are unrequired expressions
beyond monetary valuation,--
One of a petty task done,
The other just lost pieces 
of a necklace broken by time and people,
Both are floating around to cling 
to some similar worthless fragments.
The scraps and chits of paper look
eager to voluntarily enter their grave,
The verses avoid shiny, sleek pages
and well-bound diaries,
or a flower-bordered, fragrant paper,
or the shiny screen of a notepad,
or costly computer,
or a precious smartphone,
They are afraid of them, these verses mine,
Like a beggar scared of a palatial bungalow,
They seek poor quarters,
where they won't feel 
the shame of their nakedness,
where they can merge 
with the filth, squalor and misery,
They just need a poor quarter 
to hide and feel safe and alive,
They just need poor, soiled clothes
to hide their poor, pathetic body,
They merely seek something
that's of no use to humans,
Maybe they want to hide
even from their own self,
They are looking for things
that are even more valueless 
than the paper scraps in a dustbin.  

Monday, September 25, 2023

New

You came
and became
a part of me,
Became my own eyes to see
more of living and life
among all this painful strife,
Part of an enlarged me
became thee.

Time's tidings swept away
by the new ray,
Alas, set then the new sun
after its daylong fun,
Joys finished after the sweet run.

Some new heart now you light,
Leaving me in darkness to fight,
sweetest memories out of sight.

With my broken self,
I wander with a piteous yelp,
Still, it's sweet pain,
Memories drizzle sometimes as fine rain,
Nothing goes in vain,
In first adding and then cutting me,
A new version at least I be,
Remodeled, resized reshaped,−
Hidden scars beneath the worldly drape,
Anyway, I'm something new,
Hold my heaven in a drop of teary dew.

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

Broken toy

You broke me beyond repair, 
each piece lying scattered in despair,
You, a child playing with a toy,
full of joy,
Then on a childish whim 
suddenly went for the bud's beheading trim,
Giving it sorrows full to the brim,
Kicked it away
and moved with swagger and sway,
To make a fresh heart’s hay,
Away, away!
Here the broken toy lies,
Its each broken part separately dies,
Multiple deaths these are,
While you play again far, far,
With another toy,
With marvellous ease and joy,
While the broken toys aren't fit for love again,
Catch they no child's fancy chain,
They just keep the memories and the past
through sad nostalgic blast
lynching their broken parts,
Gain some unprofitable arts,
And then crumble 
with silent rumble
and die finally with a sigh 
and a sadly smiling bye
to the child far away 
playing with full heart's sway
with another toy,
All joy, all joy!