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.

Lunacy
life, Literature, Nature, poetry

Innocent

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

dormant demigod.

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.

Fear of woman in window
life, Love, Nature

I’ll Not

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.

wind's tale
life, Nature, poetry

Myopia

Once again spiraling down

the bottomless pits of

all-consuming thoughts.

Is it the high tides in the sea

or simply a patch of dark clouds?

May be it’s the Northern winds

curled up by silent thoughts.

May be the dystopic reality or

my aging myopia from whose

prism , I can faintly view the

blurring horizon at whose

mid-point, saffron daylight

ceases into the kohl

darkness of night.