The fear is not of drowning in your eyes,
nor sinking in those pools of translucent dews but
of being abandoned at the sides of your lips
by the myriad tear-drops.
Category: Nature
Life a struggle
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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)
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.
Travel
Trudging on untrodden paths
in quest of mythical cities and
ancient tombs, leaving behind
familiar wounds and some questions
all under the gaze of azure Skies.
THE WEDDING CARPET
In the dark corner of the house adorned a crimson hued Tabrizi rug,
gifted to me as the wedding present, imported from the mountains;
of Hindu-Kush, embellished with poppy flowers and lovers’ passionate hugs
Violet borders bejeweled with a fine needlework of embroidered springs.
Especially handcrafted from the hands of a virgin maid with lofty desires
Intricately woven with the woolly knits and exquisite twisted golden wires
So how it became a constant companion in my otherwise blissful nuptial voyage
taking the shape and creases of my body in its crimson folds, so clairvoyant
We both grew to confide and embrace each other on moonless nights
During the dark nights I would hear vague cries and faint sighs
And would awoke by the silent sobbing and consistent choking sounds
The tormenting shrills one makes when inflicted with a fresh wound
After long desperate searches in the eerie neighborhoods in vain
I decided to hunt down the sniveling offender on a night when it rain
As I searched and rifled, discovered it came from the joints of the rug
Deep with in the sews of silverfish anklets and bangles, felt as if on high drug
Veiled and shackled a gaunt silhouette appeared in the woolen cracks
Thickened clots of cherry blood from bruised hands left its tracks
The sobbing sounds grew louder and a known voice pierced through
“My virgin hands intricately weaved the wires of gold and silver to woe
I dared to dance with my heart’s desire with men of different tribe
A misconduct for which I was to be buried-alive in sews and imbibe
Frozen embalmed in the embroidered joints I came back from death
When your warm saline tear cascaded in my mouth I finally took a breath”
We became lovers of sorts, embracing on moonless nights,
Fasted and prayed on our Tabrizi rug, shed tears, took gentle sighs
It became a seminary a refuge when her or mine master was around!
Until the inauspicious day of a long lunar month when we both were found
Castrated for our naked sins, she was burnt while I was forever hound!