autumn, Legend, life, Literature, poetry

Parade

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.

History, Legend, life, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, Self-Help, Spirtual

Devil in a Sea of Men

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

silver coins.

For I’ve on my hump back

burden of enough winters

to mark a

Devil in a sea of Men.

Legend, Literature, Nature

Ozymandias

PB Shelley

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.”

Ram's arrival
Legend, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry

Ram’s Arrival (Ramayan)

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

ruby feathers;

 

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

battle-ships…

 

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)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inspiration, Legend, Literature, poetry

The Second Coming By W.B Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

night
Legend, life, Love, poetry

Destiny

A sorcerer once looked

at my palm and held my

arm to enthrone destiny

in the deep criss-cross lines.

For I was young with crimson

blood , momentary bubble

bursted at my insolence.

The sneaky destiny flew out

of my palm and sat on a

very high wall.

“ Now what?” I asked

The sorcerer took my

destiny in his shack.

Resolute I never showed

a palm or counted stars

for Mars or Venus,

nothing is ever sealed

in gold.

Great Land
History, Inspiration, Legend, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry

The Great Land

Standing in the land of the great Apaches

Midst blooming wild poppies

and the mammoth elephant grasses,

thinking of the dream that once Martin Luther had.

May be the days of  chivalric Camelot are over,

as I heaved reclining on the grand arm chair;

vicious winds from the North gushed 

echoing footsteps of a massive feet

opening a narrow pass for the

grim shadow of Lincoln to flicker by,

leaving behind trails of the Fallen Soldiers

on the path once trodden by the

fierce Indian Tribes.

Christmas, Legend, Love, satire

The First Coming

Adorning the scarlet crown of thorns

he graced the parched sands of 

ancient Bethlehem with legendary 

bounties of those infinite compassions.

A messiah took birth in the shanty

dwellings of the humblest shepherds,

A shooting star sighted somewhere,

It was the first tremors,those calm

                whispers and silent tears.

 He silently trudged on those impotent

lands leaving in every-footprint a gushing

fountain brimming with divine mercy

Brought down the mighty

Roman Empire  not with a saddle or sword 

but with a single drop of his blood

And when the lighting struck  

the barren lands, he humbly took upon

himself the sins of all those around,

resurrecting from his humanly abode 

It was the first coming, the most

anticipated one.

 

(Merry Christmas to all my Christian Friends, it’s my humble take on the spirit of Christmas and the legendary story Of Christ) 

wind's tale
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Legend, Nature, poetry, Spirtual

A Wind’s Tale

Started at 3 pm to look for morality,
Hours minutes pass by,
Walking waiting sleeping
But road to morality seemed long
On the curvy path few are busy,
Some in slumber, some don’t 
really care…

My guardian angel texted ” do not disturb”
Keep on marching, keep on trudging 
Perhaps one must ask what is the way
Met a wasted drunkard 
Stretching on the cracked pavement

Taste this nectar from the gods
You will find what you seek
I too was once like you
Follow the direction of the wandering wind
Swaying, dancing, howling 
It knows what you look.

Seven days and seven nights,
Chased the promiscuous wind from coast to coast.
Shrieking, screeching it leap up to me
With a licentious laughter…
Here you come finally like many,
Did you know ,I was cursed long ago.

To screech and sing in darkness,
For my promiscuity banished long ,
To consummate with hollow vacuums
To make love to woods in the dark,
For my crime, as she said
Two casual tears trickled down her gaunt cheeks
I dared to love thunder under the nose of clouds.
For which exiled to perpetual nothingness,
Fornication is a blasphemy in the book of creator.

While I yell, cry in empty voids,
Thunder is gracing the blue sky.
Morality is the privilege of very few
It’s the luxury of those who dwell in sky
As final words were said, thunder growled in the sky ,
Lighting struck on the nearby tree,
Scared and naked she vanished into woods.

Tanya Shukla

Misfortune
Legend, Love, Nature, poetry

Deliquesced

In the murkiest corner of my

house, behind vintage armarium

lingers shadowy smoke of a

lone candle lite once.

 

The flame long extinguished

leaving behind a sooty smog

that hovers an abandoned cloud

 

Reminiscence of days when

arrogant flicker competed

with the mighty rays of Sun.

 

Callously it turned its head

towards the scorching beam

In exhilaration of youth before

time melted away.

 

The satin wax of exotic bees

deliquesced and fell apart like

the fall of Icarus leaving a dark

cloud on the walls…