Sometimes company enrages me,
Desperate for solitude,
I go miles, pushing myself,
Thinking about my own absent poems.
I recall those winter fairs,
Christmas roses, Radio carols,
I write of winter in my mind,
I go miles, smiling at the sun.
Forehead smeared with the sun,
Keeps me warm and young,
From those cold twenty minutes,
That I walk every winter morning.
As light falls tranquilly,
Air clings to me, to warm itself,
From my own withering warmth,
I go miles in thought.
Look from the high window, with the eye of wonder,
Where the sun roars over, and the moon dips under,
An aspiring creature stands, silhouetted with a tree,
With scant leaves, and still as a statue of a running man,
They hung against each swipe of a storm, branches bent,
Today is brushed with sun. The leaves are warm.
As I picked one that had earlier skimmed the air,
It lay, with borrowed shining on my winter hand,
When will the pride of these leaves end?
Persistence is their nature, even as they are undone,
From their branches, they fall with pride.
It is a part of eternity, for its end and beginning,
Belong to the end and beginning of all things,
Yesterday, they swayed in chorus, to the windy rhythm,
And today, ease into the sight of no one, yet add a touch,
So natural, so beautiful, to the ground that is strangled,
By their own brotherly roots, who fed them once,
I expect nothing, remember nothing, and come to them,
Brotherhood of eye and leaf, inspires me,
Leaving me unafraid in the sight of others,
To set my mind free, and seek the light of pride,
That is my own, not mocked by this world,
Lords of pride! I now know that I am worthy,
No rival’s air shall choke me further, no more broken times,
I’ve seen my strength, I smile,
Good times come in small proportions.
And in short measures, life may perfect be.
A tree that stood tall, across a silent street,
Season by season, he lived every year,
A canopy in spring, which stood till summer,
Leaves, enough to carpet the golden piercing,
Which fell like feathers, from a dying bird…
Children ran around, hugging their brother,
Who was always there, in rain and sun,
Serenading creepers, which cringed to survive,
As they grew up, to seek the light of life,
He stood, nurturing all love that rained on…
Far from a loner, yet none with water,
He grew, with grand Christmas blooms,
Riches taken, and no mercy given,
He didn’t mind, for they knew not,
The wrongs that aren’t forgiven…
Miles down the line, wrinkled and weary,
Memories vague, like the faded greens,
When lords and lads sighed with a frown,
‘Off with him’, they said, all of them,
Will a dog ever face this? He laughed…
When axes of fate, touched upon him,
His spines in brown, gave their way,
And down came a glorious green,
That heaped up, a demonic dust of death,
As an eternal sleep crept upon his eyes…
As he closed his eyes, came a boy,
Small as six, he came about slowly,
Pressing the dead ruins of his brother,
Soft with his feet, that left his imprints,
As he sensed an inevitable departure…
A branch that stood high, with one leaf,
As it hung on the verge of its end,
As its node weakened, pushing it further,
Pain that lingered as it thrust the air,
It fell, knowing well its end…
As it reluctantly searched for death,
A soft hand came, to save a dying soul,
He held it, as he looked and smiled,
A savior, innocent as he came,
To catch a falling leaf…..
As stars flock with an element of grace,
They glide past earthly objects,
With a panoramic pride. Affordable from a hilltop,
Is the roll of the earth eastward, a palpable movement,
The sovereign brilliance of twinkling spots,
On the dark expanse, and below bundles of snowdrop,
Hyacinth and carnations in pink, violet and yellow,
When mankind is dream rapt, and disregardful,
Of such proceedings, what a nocturnal fest!
It’s then hard to leave this majestic consciousness,
And return to the tiny human frame.
With nightly attendance, the stars twinkle in unison,
A common pulse that governs,
Their seemingly throbbing twinkle,
Not the irregularities in the seasons, or the collapse,
Of the fungi, or embrowning by frost, or the chill,
Of the wind that rubbed and raked, and brushed
The grassy blades; none would stop.
Furious pulsations of the wind, feminine and fierce,
Breezed through the earthly curves,
A close juxtaposition with an infuriated universe,
One could feel every part of the sky, breaking,
Heaven opens up, with a bright luster that reflects,
A novel, and strangely dangerous nature,
Of twilight, it could scare as well,
Twigs clashed in strife, with no human sounds,
This surreal world is but a history by itself
There is nothing more irritating than making the same entry twice. WordPress sometimes is hardpressed for time. It doesn’t update at all times.!
Here goes… Okay..this one was written when I had nothing better to do about three years back, and it rained one night. (I was out of school, not yet into the 4 year drill of engineering my brains).
One rainy night, when stars hid their light,
Mortals gone, to dream till dawn,
Clouds up, some grey, some white,
Wet the soil in their fight,
I saw this little dog, who didn’t mind the fog,
I watched him dance, he fell into a trance,
He’s sweep you away, from the souls at bay,
Moved with skill, no adherence to rain’s will,
Under the dark cloaks of deities, all irks,
This little fella made DreamWorks!
