feminine, life, Love, Obituary

Golden Hope

The glittering words of hope are mere,

a few letters arched with a tip of pen.

Forced to live the relativity of a temporal life,

itched with the redundant barbed memories.

This throbbing pain is real while the golden

hope exists in a realm of a dream.

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.

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.”

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.

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.