Tiny little droplets of desires,
evaporating on the
wings of bluish helium;
like morning dew.
Life a struggle, to extract honey
out of sacks of wild weed.
The regal parade continues to march on.
Many who exist in silent, will reach the end.
Few Spirited ones will depart near the next turn.
Corpses will be shoved by the strapping boots.
Blood stains will rust up on the parched land.
The glorious spectacle is a site to behold.
The regal parade continues to march on.
Disguised in the
hollow curves of
your eloquent words,
do I hear a vicious
hissing ; whispers of
a conniving heart?
Why do I visualize
a serpentine on the rock?
I’m not beguiled by
your deceptive talks.
By the tinkering of your
For I’ve on my hump back
burden of enough winters
to mark a
Devil in a sea of Men.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
“ The ceremony of innocence is drowned.”
W. B Yeats
Out of ceremonial fires emerged,
tiny amber sparks of soot.
Fires were lit to please the
Saintly priest offered one thousand
ablutions to the mighty
demagogue , enthroned
on a regal Peacock Throne.
A neck was twisted, a cord broken,
out of hollow spine;
gushed ruby coloured brooks of blood.
A spectacle of blood-bath assembled
to sacrifice an Innocent at the
altar of a strapping few.
The sinister spell is
finally breaking. I sensed
It’s days are numbered.
I offered my ablutions,
burnt an incense and
first in million tiny
moments paused and
gazed at the serene
smoke rising, I saw
the icy ghost of
gloom , staring one
I’ll not let the raven clouds shroud the
pitch darkness of my heart.
I’ll will not give in to the mighty rains to
wash away the salinity of my tears.
Few whispers of amorous love might never
mend my broken heart,
My tears won’t evaporate to the lofty cycles
of the Earths and Sun.
For I’ll not part with my share of pains in
pursuit of temporary gains.
An autumn leaf
you slowly withered
Carried on the chariot
of the cruel winds,
the pigment of life
Stretched on the pyre
of sandalwood clouds,
you looked peaceful!
Wish could keep a
you a leaf, in a glass jar,
a souvenir forever.
With my hands clasped
in yours, we will
laugh together at
the frivolities of
RIP my beautiful
The sacred sounds of thousand conch shells
piercing through the eerie silences of deafening
decades, a mammoth Himalayan cloud bursted
in the Northern horizons over the legendary
kingdom of Ayodhya on the banks of
fabled Sarayu River.
The thundering clouds wrestled, the wombs
of giant Earth quivered, the regal blue-eyed
peahens ruffled their gilded
The sunken plants sprouted, oozing out their
heads to catch a glimpse of the exquisite face
of Sita with a silken complexion of molten-lava
daughter of king Janka of Mithila whose
whose beauty launched thousand
Adorned in the victory lap of the majestic
embellished golden elephants, swimming
across the seas far-far away from the
ghostly dark dungeons of decadent
Ravana’s sinful Lanka.
After slaying Ravana’s ten monstrous
heads for the atrocious sins of holding,
his young queen captive.
Crowned prince Rama step a foot on the lush
lands of Ayodhya, where gilded golden domes
erected bowed to salute his triumphant
arrivals, after the exiles of the fourteen
extensive summers and winters.
Ancient gulmohar trees lowered their laden
branches and fluttered leaves like bells of
mythical sun temples;
A tear swelled up in the eyes of Rama
looking at the solar dynasty of his fore-fathers
banished by his own kin, reduced to
dwell in sinister dense woods chosen
for menial chores.
Rama knew the challenges that lie ahead,
sufferings he must withstand, answers he
must offer, the paths he must trod while
keeping his ideals supreme.
( congrats to all the devotees of Sri Ram, on the laying of foundation stone in Ayodhya, what a great day)