mercy
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Love, Nature

Doe Eyed Mercy

The doe-eyed mercy

paid a visit last night,

the heavenly, at times

a wretched appearance

of bleak pathos…

It coiled round and

round my sunken heart

hissing gradually stealthily

like giant headless

serpents seeking forgiveness

of misdeed long done

an act went wrong

decades back…

A deserving reparation

by throttling my fragile

heart to suck out all

the clemencies I must

offer, forgiveness I must

bid, as the porous

vapors of pity rose

from the sinful flesh

of burning carnal desires

morphing into the

tears of empathy

cascading on my hollow 

cheeks pouring from

the doe-eyed mercy

 

 

(Painting: Heer Ranjha, Shobha Singh)

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Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Love, Nature, Spirtual

The Loveliest Soul Of All!

One fine day, the prophet of love summoned his four apostles to bring forth,

the most lovable soul, the emissaries laughed for bestowing upon the task so

basal” how difficult it would be?” Grinned the one with an air of disdain but

with the task in hand and the urgency of the prophet, the four proponents glided

in opposite directions to search for the soul  loveliest of all!

 

First encountered a lover embracing his beloved vowing to lay his humble life

for love, the apostle heavy-hearted flew back after making a note, the second

apostle came upon a man of who held an expensive banquet in the name of immortal

love, having made a note too he soared back on his winged clouds to the prophet.

 

The third prophet had a rare rendezvous with a blind poet, writing love ballads on

dry leaves, the apostle had tears in his eyes and feeling assured  he met the most

lovable soul in the world, went back to the prophet. The last apostle wandering whole

day in vain discovered a farmer delicately burying a little pomegranate in moist soil

 

Bewildered for the apostle has never seen such sight went close and heard “my poor

baby pomegranate couldn’t breathe onslaught of storm anymore,” the apostle went

back to prophet disappointed for not meeting the lovable soul he bet. Each emissary

narrated shares of their soul’s glory, after a patient hearing, the prophet proclaimed

the humble farmer burying his pomegranate fruit of having the soul loveliest of all!

 

 

 

 

love
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Love, Nature, poetry

Love

Love is in the sigh of an aching lover

It is at the feet of an aging mother

Love is in the petals of a beautiful rose,

It  is in the farewell of a soldier who goes

Love is in the act of a divine consummation 

It  is in a pleasure of an orgasmic elation 

Love is in first showers of awaited rains

It is never done for any mundane gains 

Love is in everything that God reserve

It is what you and me rightfully deserve

 

 

 

 

wild flowers
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Literature, Love, Nature

I Am A Wildflower

I may not be the exquisite rose of your French orchids,

or the fragrant Jasmine of your manicured lawns.

A wildflower of some unknown species, yes I am of a wild tribe!

The type that grows on the sides of your very dirty roads and

muddy paths, the kind whose seeds are never sowed

and fruits shall never be reaped.

 

Do you know that in my womb, I too carry a fragrance?

A pungent smell which never made it to the bottle of any perfume.

No lover ever came knocking on my humble door. No never!                      

Such abhorrent is my appearance that my beauty is never a joy to any.

My petals are never given a chance to kneel at the altar of any shrine,

for the pundits prophesied, it would have been blasphemy of some kind!

 

But I continued to sway when the cold winds would blow and

bloom whenever the benevolent Sun would shine.

I flourished, even when the florists at my site continued to whine

I thrived when the rains were scarce at an hour when suddenly the eclipse

took over all the Suns, and the Moon simply refused to show up.

 

So you ask me why?  For I possess a zeal, a yearning to live, so strong that even

when I am trampled on your dirty roads, I never cease to grow….

and continue to grow and like a phoenix rise from the ashes.

I am a wildflower, the kind that grows on the sides of muddy paths.

prophet
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, poetry, Self-Help, Spirtual

The Prophet

Met a wise man once,
Not a chiseled, silver beard monk,

But a weathered limping man.
A prophet he started to narrate a tale,

Not a saga of god and ablutions
Nor sordid scripture of poverty around

Standing majestic on the banks of holy river
He whispered softly in my ears

listen to the melody of the flowing water
Touch the humility of the trees

Feel the burden of the Mother Earth
Enjoy the seven colors of rainbow above

Tell me about God, if you a saint?
Mischievous he started to laugh,

So he spoke the words of wisdom,
A hypnotizing  look and calm demeanor,

God painted on the canvas of nature
A beautiful portrait of you my child

The first word of God is Adam,
The last word of Adam is God

God can not exist without man,
For creation is the master of creator my lord.

Stupefied I stood on the holy bank,
As prophet knelt and kissed my hands.
 

 

 

 

Lunacy
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, Self-Help, woman

But I Am Happy

In all my innocence, I thought you will listen gently to

the beats of my heart, I cried and howled as I was

alone and scared I knew we both spoke different

languages but still put my trust because I yearned to

speak and liberate myself from the fear and the million

different voices in my head but you mocked and tried

putting few words of your choice in my mouth and shut

it forever while I suffocated and cried but silently because

you didn’t like the sounds of sobbing I made and now

you claim I am mad because,I only talk to winds and trees

and never seek your company, For the allegations of

lunacy, I’ve been accused so many times and stripped

of any shame and dignity, but I am happy , yes you

heard it right as  happy as one can be and that’s my

only vengeance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Open Kitchen
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Literature, Nature, poetry, Self-Help

An Open Kitchen

The majestic oak trees just shed some woods

the lush baby spinach leaves oozing out of hoods.

In the large pristine green pastures equally growing,

the youthful wild umbrella mushrooms wooing 

and with the raw Ramona tomatoes in my sight 

I am sure that my stew is going to be really bright. 

While preparing stew in a pot it started to slowly rain,

but my mom told me no hard-work ever goes in vain.

The ever benevolent Mother-Earth as my open kitchen

and while stew simmered,the humble deer also pitched in.