Tuesday, August 16, 2022

The Nature in Love

 The singing vales and flowery dales,

Away, somewhere in nature’s cradles,

Dreams open arms, with all charms,

Come here, come here! Worry not falls and waddles!

 

The place in isolation, with Godly intuition,

Too excited to meet someone!

Come dear! Come dear! Don’t thou hear

And remember that fun.

 

The musical rivulet, and thy hut,

By fullest heart they call,

And the air awaits with thy breath’s share,

While the clouds still remember that playing pal.

 

Trees sway with breeze,

It whispers patience in their ears,

‘Come he will, on this hill,

In dreams, thy call he hears.’

 

Little pathway, companion on that day,

Embraces those footsteps still,

Hums that song, sung in shadows long,

Where is he? Asks a cloud passing the hill.

 

Wild beauty of yore; opens heart’s door,

Remained I loveless for too long,

Then thou came, with thy love’s tame,

Resonates here now always the love song.

 

Thus the lovely vale, falls in love’s dale,

The love-lorn lady; silent beauties moan,

Dreams moments those, blossomed when love’s rose,

Come, come! What purpose serves the beauty alone?

 

Sunday, August 14, 2022

Night Song

 

O Cuckoo, thrown destitute,

Singst thou now in nigritude:

The beautiful rhymed song,—

For whom? Wait who hung

In adopted nest and parents deceived;

Mistook as nestlings conceived.

O singer of conceited bravery,

On this night dreary,

Drive they competitors out

To eat whole food; become stout.

 

O foolish singing mother,

I blame thee not; migratory, wind flown,

Spring abandoned thou either,

Summer gusts left thee alone,

Now, like nightingale thou singst

A long song for the night:

Feel I thy Florence nurst;

The rhymed heal over destruct,—

A day's war we swampt,

Thou now wander with the lyrical lamp.

 

How unmotherly thou art!

Not to pour ditty whole

Upon thy eggs waiting hatch,

Like black Goddess, thou dart

Across the blackness as the mother sole,

Lulling lolly thine match,

The life song over night's camp,

Thou keep life's lamp

Burning with thy awake,

Please, keep singing for our sake.

Friday, August 12, 2022

Sea’s Home-coming

 

Waves sway in the rocky bay,

Sea in this small playground plays,

Such vastness engulfed amidst rising rays!

Father comes to the daughter from far away,

While, scattered, toyed, rocks lay

Numb to 'father-child' who gyrates,

And daughter’s lullaby exhilarates,

Sky, meanwhile, claps its cloudy array.

 

O visitor waves,

Existence-lorn, thou come

Here for a homely swash,

Peep playfully inside coastal caves,

Bring aquatic gifts for some,

Along with gusts of air fresh.

Wednesday, August 10, 2022

Lady on the Canvas

 

When a painter paints his lady,

Even the colours seem ready

To sacrifice theirs and turn hers,

Vow, colours ebriated form a painted verse!

 

The brush too gyrates,

Softly, softly it narrates

His love tale,

Blossomed how a flower in a dale.

 

He, the love’s portrayer,

His soul immersed in a deep prayer,

Her features emerging,

Aha, love through his hands oozing!

 

Those eyes now ogle at him,

Deep, deep to the soul’s dim,

And his eyes at hers,

Goes on painting the verse!

 

When the love is fully faced,

Brush suddenly stopped and fingers braced

The pretty face eager for a praise,

Fallen sage got the colour erase.

 

The funny lady on the canvas,

Stared at him with extreme alas,

And furiously said,

Dear, have you gone mad!

Thursday, August 4, 2022

Encroachers

 

This thunderous beat of waves on the beach

tries to reach

the hardest core of the rocks standing

mute and sullen on the coast.

The sea and its maddening waves;

uproarious, stormy, and boastful most.

For years, its stormy passion kissed the rocky face,

The fury of its infatuation caught the unsoliciting

lover in a grasping embrace,

The rocks mellowed and crumbled as beach sand,

Once where there was land

now becomes the soft love bed

for the waves to shed

their gnashing fury on its soft grains,

where love sighs in gay abandon

and soft showers turn into torrential drains.

In this land—sea love pit—

a new passion gets lit,

Surrendered to excited storms

we forget all norms

and let loose waves

that break false rigidities and forced facades

build inside us for decades.

Waves to waves!

Rocks to rocks!

The sea just watches meekly

this sensuous storm on its bed:

The encroachers with all shame shed,

Its warning shouts ebbing away in distance,

as if afraid of this rival stormy surge

on the beach,

It recedes to save itself from this

huffing, puffing , grunting, tempestuous game.

Wednesday, August 3, 2022

The Prisoner

 

I’m ragged old,

I was once the youth icon

of the fauna around me,

Delhi was far and nonthreatening then,

We just enjoyed its lights from a safe distance,

The city didn’t seem at war with us,

But then it just spilled over,

Its bridges, roads, cemented pavements

ate into our innards,

I witnessed massacre of my near and dear ones,

I’m now caged in a high rise residential complex,

I’m just a poor banyan tree now,

Standing as an archaic symbol

in my cramped corner of this little park.

I go out of my way to give shade and cool air,

But I’m horrified and scared.

Even a kid picking a tiny pebble

to playfully hit my canopy

sounds like a terrorist hurling a deadly grenade.

So, against my nature

I’m always on guard,

crying for peace and mercy,

But it is too noisy around,

My mercy petitions fall on the deaf ears

of the stony facades standing haughty and proud,

I’m afraid any day the judgment

will arrive against me!

Tuesday, August 2, 2022

Iron Lady

 

It is noisy chaos,

Delhi at its best,

Impatient horns, smoky guffaws,

tired engines, shouts, dust,…

The lotus, but, shines in the mud.

Pulling the carrier rickshaw she is unfazed,

Two kids, a goat, a bundle of poor provisions

safely in tow,

Like a valiant captain at the best row.

Clad in a dirty saree

she shines like a queen,

I don’t think femininity had ever been

so illustrious in its sheen.

Meanwhile, madly mechanized world hisses,

But its lolloping tongue meekly kisses

the dirt on her hardened feet,

She pulls the rickshaw with pride

in full maternal heat,

Cramped for space she turns the tide,

The goat and the kids though panicked,

but the mother carries on the fight

in the traffic jam,

Fights for space with utmost grace,

and clears like a swiftest deer’s brace.