In your light, I learn how to love.
In your beauty how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest where no one sees you,
but I do, and that sight becomes
this art.
_Jalal Ud din Rumi
Tag: Love
Let us
Let us leave the hand of misery,
and pledge to never gloat in self-pity.
Life is tough, its hard,
but lets just never judge.
We all are victims of both hate and lust.
And this is life nothing more that that,
it is stiff for those who always doubt.
Whatever happens, happens….
So why fret let us love and hold
hands of those who are left behind.
Smile and for once just be kind.
Miss That Girl
I miss that girl who,
would run wild, and
was always ready to
smile without breaks.
She loved without care
When the things
got tougher simply
cried her heart out.
and life would get
straight again, ideals
were lofty , heels
higher and memories
ran sharper, food
was always warm
and drinks forever
bubbling…
Now many springs
later that girl
seek reasons to
laugh, tears don’t
descend to heart’s
desire, lovers have
gone senile, running
requires plastic knee-
caps and heels are
trimmed to two inches
mark ,forgetfulness is
the way of busy life,
while food requires
a careful watch, the
bubbling drinks be
better left off…
Life might never be
straight again ….
I miss that girl!
No Desire Is Mightier
I know not…
Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?
As I stood on a tortured sea-shore
and cast my eye on the swollen waves
passionately kissing my naked feet
making love to me with a brutish force
taking me in its azure vinyl embrace
slowly grasping my flaming flesh with
a fiery I’ve never known before,
an uproar a stir in my fragile body
exhausted since centuries of decay
the foamy saline waters entering in me
through all nook and corners, fissures and holes
mixing in all the violent blues with the
crimson reds, crawling stealthily like million
serpents, wriggling gushing upwards
Oh! a sensation a loud roar within
a rapture somewhere, an euphoric elation
an electric jolt worth thousands bolts!
My enslaved body in an act of consummation
so strong, my heart-ached, soul-shuddered
at the violation so brutal, like a hapless bird
caught in a nib of a savage Falcon from the
far-east, I let it happen without any contest
Why? Because I possessed it too and let loose
the cinders of ancient fire burning in me
for I didn’t surrender, and let it go on without
a single doubt or shame nor did I curse
the gods above, knowing that no desire is
mightier than the other, for yearnings
have the same frenzy everywhere.
But I know not…
Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?
SENSES
XANADU
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-
dome decree: Where Alph, the
sacred river, ran Through caverns
measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.
–Samuel Taylor Coleridge
As, I count my hours
with the endless jars’s
of poor man’s coffee,
I hallucinated about
Coleridge’s Xanadu.
May be it’s just
one meal a day or
is the opium that
Keats snorted.
As I lay bare
in grim winter
afternoon,
I see around me
a wasteland,
but I am dreaming of
Khan’s Xanadu.
LOVE
I would do anything for love,
but I won’t pick trash,
or cook anything tonight.
An Encounter
( A Narrative Poem based on a true encounter in the Himalayan Mountains)
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
-William Blake
As it happened one cold winter night,
I bleakly remember the air was of fright.
I trudged on a road tired and weary,
watching my steps turn heavy and dreary.
The air transformed into grim and cold,
trilling’s and chirpings came to an end.
Everything was clasped, by an eerie hold; .
A strange rustling, was it a fiend to slay?
Did I see a ghost in sight?
It pounced and perched from a shadowy bark,
as it tapped , I glanced at its speckled back;
A beastly creature, it has no match.
What are thou? I shivered at it’s types,
with speckled yellow and black stripes.
A terror took over my heart, which was beating fast.
As it fixated the gaze with ember eyes,
I knew, the ghostly spell has been cast.
DECAYED
These slanted lines of
the decayed love,
make one final cry
before the final death.
As these crooked lines,
move backwards;
they first wriggle,
and then die a slow death.
Leaving no pain, but mouldy
ashes of unspoken words.
Greenish speckled spots,
imposed on the last
love lines.
.
Ms. Matilda’s Woes
Ms. Matilda woke past the noon,
swooning to the Beethoven’s sad tune.
A mysterious ailment swipes,
over the modern women of her types.
These curious cases of daddys’ princesses,
of colossal estates and multiple mates.
Are inflicted with malady of swinging moods,
making them shudder at matchless boots.
Ms. Matilda sitting still in her bedclothes,
howled remembering how at,
the party last night, enemy women clapped
secretly when her golden heels zapped,
and as her crimson lipstick chapped;
she knew her teddy heart is in for a snap.