Tuesday, October 10, 2023

A morning walk in a misty vale

I feel reborn,
After a dark night all forlorn,
When the sunrays come, 
embracing me as a chum,
kissing the early morning mist,
opening the darkness' fist,
The beads of dew
lying like scattered bridal jewellery
after the conjugal night,
The remnants of mischievous bite,
Now they shine under light,
Glittering diamond is the dew,
Real gems left so few,
The air fresh and cool,
Refreshing pool,
There I go,
Birdy songs in tow,
Walk on the little path,
Feeling freshest after the bath,
Silence, peace embracing me,
Softly whispering, 'Dear, just be!
Everything is yours to see, 
Walk your journey,
Sing your song,
Own your feelings,
Accept your wrongs,
Forgive those who hurt you,
Own the choice that went wrong,
See then how light you feel,
As light as this sunlit, misty veil,
Then you will just flow,
with a beautiful glow,
Walk slow
and shake hands with this little flower
beautifully burdened under dewy shower,
Smile, greet as they line up
by your almost untrodden path,
They are the loving, lauding audience
as you reach home
after that puzzling, tiring roam.' 


Thursday, October 5, 2023

A deal

Why do most of the
relationships fall apart?
Because a fake buyer
met a simple but eager seller.

When two people meet,
a man and a woman,
and woo each other 
to win their respective favours,--
Some body's delight,
Some balm for the heart in plight.

They tease and bait
testing their fate,
To catch the coveted fish of pleasure,
or gems from heart's hidden treasure,
But baiting naturally involves attraction,
A cute hypnotism and some innocent distraction,
The hook needs a tasty worm,
It's a claw disguised as food
waiting in the stream of varying mood.
It's a sweet tussle of flesh and spirit,
One catches
and the other gets caught
after a nice extravagantly battle fought,
It's a complete play
involving dialogues, drama and plot,
The pursuit should be hot.

For her, the ignition of initial chemistry needs 
a handsome knight in shiny armour
capable of carrying all the colors of her dreams,
While she has to be a beautiful princess
full of promises 
carrying fidelity, pleasure, care and share,
The expectations are high
as both vie 
to fit in the other's eye,

So both adorn a nice costume
befitting the other's brightest dreams.

The man comes with more fakery
than the woman
because he has to catch the huge whale 
of her expectations of a complete man,
He thus dons a glittering costume
to match the stars in her eyes,
While a woman need not fake at all
beyond faint brushing of her physical charms,
as that is all that swarms
the infatuated man's brain and brawn,
Her beauty is all that is there to see,
The man is eying only that with a glee.

Thus a fake customer meets
a simple, coquettish seller,
Promising to buy the entirety of her dream,
Leaves that her in an ecstatic stream,
The deal thus gets done,
Proceeds then all fun,
Sadly, after the pleasure-run
his costumes come off gradually,
She is now surrounded by her broken dreams,
The naked stranger stands affront,
Now she can hardly recognise 
the purchaser of her dreams,
Her soul screams
as she realises that
she'd sold herself on fake promissory notes.

The strangers then fight,
The love-flower bugged with blight,
Darkness where it was all bright,
Hopes now out of sight,
They now bargain a separation,
Guilt, anger, accusations, justifications fly
not leaving any space even for a smiling bye. 




The broken boulder

The promises were all rosy
to make my dreamy world all cosy,
And I believed you,
Believed the blushing hue
on your face
whispered as 'love you' in my embrace.
Believed the honesty of light
in those eyes, big, dark and deep,
They looked a clam, balmy sea
for me
to swim, sunbathe and reach home
to that island bearing the love-dome.
Believed the purity of that kiss
purred with a seductive soft hiss
on my lips
with ecstatic coquettish drips.

Promises are made to be broken,
I should have known,
You think you just broke a little vow,
A tiny promise,
A dewy fragile word,
Or just the brittle assurance of a kiss,
Or a few stars in the eyes,
You think these are small cuts,
not amounting to a big sin or murder,
Dear let me tell you,
These are the major cleavages
in the dam,
Every stone has a brittle seam,
Hit it there with the tiny chisels of
unkept promises, fake stars in the eyes,
lying kisses and feigned whispers
caressing the earlobes,
Hit the mightiest stone with them,
And its stoniness lays bare,
There it lies broken,
It'll withstand a strike
by the head-on strike of a bull,
But it will fall apart 
by the strike of a tiny chisel
that knows where to strike the softest spot.

Clever are the feminine strikes,
They hit deep,
The masculine blind force hits
just the surface to give a skin-bruise,
But yours lays bare the entire structure loose.

All done 
and moving ahead for more fun, 
And clever enough to put all blame on me,
Using the male's kitty of stereotyped blames,
Judged yourself to be the victim
and me the culprit 
in your own court
using your own laws
your own arguments
shouted by your own lawyers 
and the smart verdict by your own judge.

Confidently you broke the stone
and left it scattered with its painful moan. 


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.