The exiled darkness

The developmental lark
with its growth songs and financial hark
waging a fight against the dark,
Billions of bulbs in fight
against the night
to cast away shadows out of sight,
Now every nook corner has light.

We just want to have a day
with 24-hour ray
with our manipulative say,
But dark is the womb,
Flashes in which all this boom,
zoom
and the materialistic bloom,
Prevail it will
against all this human-centric hoot shrill,
It--the dark--transforms with a trill,
Wow what an amazing skill!
Dives it into the human heart
playing too smart,
The exiled darkness of night
keeps its fight
and throws a tart
ensnaring dart,
It stabs the human heart
with its shadowy, selfish art.

So into humans sneaks the gloom,
as they fornicate in full light and bloom,
Outside light, light and more light,
While inside us the ghosts dark fight,
Outside we turn rich,
Inside we carry a beggary itch,
Outside we seem to brightly smile,
Inside we frown with a dark guile.

The dying leaf

A dry leaf rustles
as a youthful gust of breeze hustles,
Says the leaf
full of wisdom untainted with grief:

"Dear don't feel proud

of this young, stormy shroud,

You feel that you move the world,

Thy stormy vanity funnily curled,

Drunk with age and passion whirled,

Jesting with someone like me

blown away and crumpled.

I too was once luscious green,

An exuberant teen

with new-age glean,

A prince lost in his sheen,

Realities buried under the screen,

and pride prancing with haughty preen,--

Someone like me

nowhere to be seen.

Thought I was the entire forest

and me the dearest.

Meanwhile, chuckled time

at my childish chime,

Blew it away the flowery spring ray,

And here I lay,

having spent--or wasted?--my day,

The pride and boast tossed away,

All dusted, crumbling on the way,

With whom you now play,

But listen mate,

Everyone has a date

with the inevitable fate,

So as you celebrate

with youthful gusto great,

Walk chest out, spine straight,

Look at me crumpled

and trampled,

Remember you should always

as you sashay through the maze

that a mighty storm you are not

which will burn forever hot,

You too will trip

and slip,

And helplessly lie

to die,

And look at the sky

with a remorseful sigh

for having run

with fruitless fun,

Too vain and lost

without looking at the host,--

The ever-welcoming 'Now'

always fruitlessly waiting with a kind bow. 

The juice of life

Dry branches just fretfully shake and bow

to the wind's playful shove,

Leafy green branches gyrate and sway

even to the pulls of stormy winds.

The juice of life.

It's playful,

mischievous,

swaying.

Her query

She asked me,
How thou be? 
And I had to flash a smile 
and hide the pain's guile,
Then I reply,
I'm fine,
Drunk with life's liberating wine,
Enjoying the summer's shine.

My own love

My very own is my love,
It has nothing to do
with yours my dove,
And now when I realize this,

there is a gentle surge of bliss,

I own, accept and embrace

the soft brace

of my own love,

and welcome it,

without a bit

of expectations from the interest of my love,

my determined dove.

The beauty of a new day,

a fresh ray

makes me forget my pain

beyond expectations and gain

and makes me smile,

above jealousy and guile,

A cool morning opens,

A fresh day of karma beckons,

I take full responsibility for my love

without bothering what does my dove.

I see and be with the now

with an accepting bow,

And the world changes for the better,

The clods of pain shatter,--

A lovely bird in my little garden,

A white-browed fan-tail flycatcher,

It sallies like a butterfly

to catch the irksome house fleas,

A beautiful bird,

Friendly, flirtatious hoops and loops.

Comes then a sound

above the human hound,

A solitary sarus crane

comes sailing through the air

with its trumpeting call sharp but fair,

I hope it hasn't got a love-fall,

It's amazing to see a sarus crane,

It's a symbol of love and fidelity,

The traits getting lost among we humans,

But the big bird holds it aloft,

The emotions soft

in a world hard

gets a smile the bard. 

 
 

Unripe for love

You spurn love
and its soft, supportive shove,
You think in love you are,

but maybe you are just at war

within yourself,

And instead of love

you are looking for pain;

through habitual suffering want to attain

the same painful past and addictive gain;

just a repetition of the past,-- 

cries, separation suffering.

Maybe you aren't yet

prepared to receive love,

rather you are scared of it,

The deep, habituated pain in you

is uncomfortable with fresh, new day's dew,

You are scared that

the love's warm rays

will reach where the suffering brays,

and melt it

with its divine hit.

Is it just about 

the partners being wrong?

Maybe you are unripe

and take another swipe

to clean and declutter the past,

Maybe you are just 

running away from your bitterness,

So how can you embrace

with full grace

love's sweet grasp?

Maybe you aren't yet ready to receive love

with grace, humility and dignity,

I just pray for you

and feel your pain,

Travel you well and ripen,

then receive and welcome love

at your doorstep o my dove. 

    

Hope

There is always hope,
As long as nature holds the rope
through its smile pure, 
Survive we will for sure!