Saturday, November 30, 2013

A Quagmire

'I see you sinking
As the earth gulps you in with mercy less,
But none help can I bring
For alone we both seem at this place.
'Eluding me you ran to the mire
Whilst I watched and stood frail.
'You perhaps were appealed by the delusive attire
Or to hold you firm I did fail.'
Lamented more one half, 'This quagmire
Thrilled you amid placid beauty
Which beneath water bears ravaging fire
That drowns all with none pity.'
The other half puled, 'The cold in here chills my blood,
Marching through veins softly annexes my mind
And locks the feet deep in mud,
Further which enfeebles and turns me blind.
'To get off I have will no less;
I push, I try but all in vain.
'Fate alas, whatever I face,
I'll be with you albeit as stain.'

Monday, November 25, 2013

An Unstable Mind

Just a moment ago it was far there
And now, well, it's in the poem here.
It tramped with Tagore for a moment
And now with the onus of Donne is it bent.

Just now it was bathing in the sun,
Then it strolled on mountains at horizon
Where from it dived in river and swimming,
It's back here at window, peeping.

Just a while ago counting stars was  blithe
And now it's slept caring none for sheath.
Ah! it was in dreams of fame,
How then does it wake so lame?

Sometimes it does want relation
And at other it prefers isolation.
Sometimes evil it hosts
And at other the benevolence it boasts.

A moment ago it was gripped by fears
And now look what courage it bears.
Just a while ago did it seem to think
And now it does in vacuum sink.

Then it backed Marx with support grand
And now behind Locke it does stand.
Then it rode on the eagle in sky
And now it flies the dove high.

At a moment it does hound
And at the other it finds around.
But alas, it only appears to have been found,
For to so clusters is it bound.

Just a moment ago it held the reins firmly
And now it is set loose and free.
How can  such unstable mind so simply
Yearn Nirvana, enlightenment and epiphany?

Sound and stable should mind be,
For it wanders even under the Bodhi.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Void Roars

Dark clouds only gather
But they do not pour
For they are afraid rather
Of the deluge that'll fore.

The chatak hovers hoping for drops,
The scorched land longs for a embrace,
The dried trunks ask mortgaged green robes.
None as well wants nothing less.

But Lord Indra stultifies them all
For he ostentatiously holds the anchors
Commanding clouds not to fall
And thus they fear his wrath.

Dark clouds indeed when pour
Have the might to break all wrath
And ouster all with reign no more, 
But perhaps they fear the bitter aftermath.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Sympathizers

Coming to you, your compassion they shake
And spread their lives to beg.
Twitching them but you leave,
Because sympathy is what we can give.
You see her ruled, you see her raped;
You see her weep with fear gaped.
She asks her place where humans live,
But sympathy is what we can give.

You scoff at them as to you they amuse;
You know hijras only upto an abuse.
Hoping equal eyes they look at you,
But sympathy is what we can give.

You look at all with counter disgust,
Bearing lorn despair none you trust.
You hope reform but a step not you heave
Because sympathy is what we can give.

Monday, November 11, 2013

At The Lack Of Words

When I wake on the hands of dawn
And hear the twitters of birds
On the nest gleaming in the golden streaks spread on lawn,
O dear poem, I am at the lack of words.

When the rainbow colours the sky
As the sun peeps through dark clouds,
On the colours seven does this soul fly
Setting the words of you, sweet poem, in bounds.

When I see the rove of butterflies
Borrowing colours from buds
And flying in the noon sun to entice
Then good poem, I am at the lack of words.

When I see the might of flaunty water
And watch all flush in the sabotaging floods.
When I see the plight of all that scatter
My mind sobs leaving me at the lack of words.

Amongst this when my heart leaves
And with voids my mind muds;
When seeking towards ultimacy it heaves,
O dear poem, I am at the lack of words.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The Artist?

How kind must He be
To bestow upon us the passion of art
That occurs so rare and scarce plainly
For all of it burgeons from heart.

My art lets me wear the person,
Bear the emotions that he carry.
It lets many a mind abode in one
All of which beatify me.

Reigning the stage steps fear
Ceases all before a start,
Filling then the soul it does tear
Vehemently and kill my art.

Dreaming I climb up on the stage
And I act caring none the fall.
To the climax we edge
Then I raise the hand and feel the applause.
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