Ashes

When all the wars will be over
and nothing left to fight for,
The few remaining people
will seek each other,
looking for the long-lost human love,
and humanity's touch and smell
which long ago fell
into the dust
lost in civilizational rust,
They'd recall words kind
inhumanly left behind
in the mad race
to acquire a superhuman face,
Stories they'd share
and go for a solacing soul's bare,
They'd seek music in some bird still alive,
They'd hunt for beauty in some lone flower's thrive,
They would sit under a still intact tree
to spend some moments free
from wars and hate,
and try to rewrite their fate,
They'd drink water from some little stream,
and would dream
of all that the mankind lost,
which mother nature had given 
for free as a kind host,
They'd then sow,
after that typical humans' row,
faith, trust, brotherhood and love
in the barren burnt wastes 
to savior again the long dead tastes,
They'd drop the seeds of love
among the ashes of war,
And nourish the saplings 
with their repentant tears,
They'd hope that the ash bears
some saplings of humanity,
They'd till their little field
with an affectionate shield,
They'd celebrate fistfuls of yield,
It'd be a very small world again,
A tiny flicker of life
among death, destruction and strife,
They'd share the stories
how they unmade
all that had'n made
under a lone tree's shade.  

The question

These questions are yours all,
And the answers that somehow fall
in your knowledge zone
are also your own explanatory moan,
The questions go out
with a seeking shout,
The answers that come home,
These're your own queries reshaped after a roam,
Your query is your mind's eye
wandering with a searching sigh,
It goes on a prowl
carrying its reaping scythe for a meaningful sprawl,
And after many an argumentative brawl,
Comes it home
after a restless roam,
Transformed now
after debates and discussions
ending in an agreeing bow,
It now fills up the space
left out when it went out to embrace
an iota of meaning for you,
The same vapors now turned dew
carrying a solacing hue,
The question was all yours,
The answer too is all yours,
Just some medium carried it on,
And simply a medium took it home,
Yours it was,
Yours it's now,
Just a subtle change,--
The puzzling cloud turns crystal clear dew,
Just a shape new,
Receive it as your own,
The missing child that was once gone,
Hold it,
Cherish it
and smile
for it has travelled many a mile. 

Momentary kiss of bliss

Don't ye seek permanent bliss,
for then you miss
its softest touch
on your soul bruised much,
Permanence is too big a load,
Leave it for the God,
Soft, soothing is the transient brace
with full grace
on your restless self,
A gentle song to calm down suffering yelp.
So journeyman,
soak the tiny gentle instalment of bliss,
Allow it to kiss
your fatigued nerve,
Feel a bird's verve;
a stream's ripply wave

so beautifully brave;
a vale's beauty
performing its natural duty;
a dewdrop's pride 

shining like a new bride;
a bird's free flight;
a child's unconditional delight;
the silence singing a song
in hilly seclusion for long;
godliness in a forest pristine and pure
where truth pervades all sure;
hope in someone's eyes;
a lover's sweet sighs.
These are little dollops of bliss
that arrive with a momentary kiss,
Grab them,
Soak them,
Imbibe their essence in you,
Then you won't rue
the absence of permanent bliss,
Allow its little representatives to kiss
your tired self
crying for help. 
 

Loss

Oh, if not for this chatter in the mind,
I won't have been blind
to softly caressing greeting by a flower;
autumnal breeze's cool shower;
a flowery branch's tipsy sway;
a dew glinting in the sun's ray;
a bird's chirpy pun;
another's flight for fun;
slight shift of a cloud in the sky;
a lonely heart's sad sigh;
the unsaid behind someone's words;
the silence enveloping the noisy birds;
pain hiding behind a smile;
tears lurking behind a joyous pile;
the pause shadowed by the mad race;
suffering behind an angry grimace;
the light hidden under the dust;
the imperishable under the surface rust.
Oh, if not for the chatter of this mind,
so many things won't have'n left behind,
unsaid, unseen, unfelt, unheard, untouched, unsmelt,
Oh, if not for this chattering mind
a treasure won't have'n left behind. 

A dawn

On a vintage autumn night
tremulous dewy stars
kiss the seasonless silence
spread over the lips of darkness,

A mysterious hand caresses

the tousled tresses of the night,

Whimsical swirls and ripples

of the passing seconds

in the vast, silent pools of darkness.
Someone's exhausted sobs 

and ceaseless moans
now dive forever into the
measureless serenity 
of the slumbering eternity.
The high tide of darkness
swallowed the star,
And the gloom
added to its
invisible shades to the far.
Then keen and warm light filters from
the eastern horizon,
Flits across the misty, dewy curtains.
I feel a benevolent new sun,
a new fireball
with warm blessing rays.
  

The mountain eagle

The mountain eagle--

a hunting, humming sophistication--
unabashedly flying in splendor and ecstasy,
Its unquenchable, well-mapped tempests
creating an airy, overwhelming firmament,
But does this fraction of neatly ordered reality
possess anything good
for the prey as well?

A little place

In the hills there is a corner little,
Peaceful, silent and still,
Motherly protects the hill
the daughterly shrine pearly,
The sun cometh early
and kisses the dew-jewelled cobwebs,
Shines upon the watery beads,
Fatherly the sun reads
all that was mysteriously written at night,
Away from all light,
With its softly reading touch
stars shine much,
The dew shines and smiles,
away-away from all guiles,
like the jewellery of bushes and grass.

Herein I walk in sometimes,
Gently seeking permission to be let in,
Away from the noisy din,
And like a smiling host
it feels my weary roast,
And without boast,
the kindest host,
opens her gates
to this little soothing place
set-up by the
free-flowing spontaneity 
of the existential force.