poetry

Letter I

When your story

begins on a letter I

and ends on letter I,

You begin to lose out on

others letters of this

alphabetical life.

All those As, Bs and Cs

which in synchrony

would have lend some

meaning to your otherwise

empty plot.

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.”

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?

poetry

Sailing to Byzantium by W. B Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

( My favorite poet, W.B Yeats )

Misfortune
Inspiration, life, Love, Uncategorized

RESURRECTION

In the darkest pits

of soul lingers a

little flame kept alive by

the rays of purity.

A perpetual fire,

illuminating the grim

core, burning the

edges of stale

misfortunes…..

A lone flame standing

its ground against

cruel winds of fate…..

Assuring that heaven

is right there with-in us,

surrounded by our own hells,

and in the end resurrection 

will take place out of the

ashes of that tiny

inferno….

 

 

 

 

 

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.

cacophony
Inspiration, life

Move On !!

For few dimes less in our pockets  

don’t fret ,let’s just move on….

Around you are bigger mansions than 

the squalor you dwell in don’t think

let’s just move on… 

Watching your only child play with

herself again, simply smile and

let’s  just move on…

The neighbour got a sparkling new

car, one that you will never own let be

and let’s  just move on….

Once again the boss didn’t bother  to

shack your hand, let it be and 

just move on….

The famed little black dress deceived 

you once more, it never fit you right?

Don’t sink ,just move on…

You waited enough for that kiss whose 

taste you never had …

Move on for there are no penance or

redemption yet, not everything in the

world  has a reason nor everything

meant to make any sense!