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.

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.

Lost

I curse that fateful night
When I was hit on the head
By some psychopaths spreading fright
And looted me to make the bread.

I woke at a place in a wondering fold
Asking what I was and how that pain.
A mortal cool in white coat told
That for mere span short the memory can I regain.

Ever since then I feel the escape from mind
Of the thoughts, the people, the memories and the rhyme
And the rove for a better mind if they find
To leave me as the one lost in time.

I am a lost bird with a wing
Having flight hedged by a fence.
I can sense the knowledge deserting
But I hope at home the wisdom remains.

Here now, dears, I bid farewell
And allow me to be across.
For now I retrieved without fail
To pen a poem that recites my loss.

The Deserted Block

On sunny sunday morning in hostel
Absent was water and all unwell.
I cursed whole world as I woke from bed
With some livid, lorn faces made.

So as to complete the inevitable morning chores
A friend and I searched other blocks
For the traces if any we get
And landed at a block where search did abate.

The block was indeed water laden
And mere thought of bath made us insane.
Unfortunately but we had only one bucket
So I looked around another if I get.

To abutting room I went and knocked,
The door flung open as was unlocked.
The room was dark with only a candle lit
Where I saw a boy scribbling on a paper sheet.

I asked, 'May I borrow your bucket?';
'Yes sure', he said, 'but to return don't you forget.'
He looked not back whilst he talked,
Silently then closing the door out I walked.

I finished the bath while the friend kept on,
Waterless period was then long gone.
'Finish it off', I said, 'till I return the pail
'To the same boy who looked frail.'

'What pail, what boy?', he asked coming out
With his face evincing grave doubt.
'I got this pail', I replied, 'in the next room
'From the boy writing in the gloom.'

'My goodness! So what I hear is true', said friend,
'The story thus has no end.
'Many years ago the boy you saw was stabbed in lone
'By the reasons and culprits unknown.'

'The boy was seen a year later.
'So to desert the block they predicted better.
'Hitherto, I disbelieved them
'For the stories made were idle and lame.'

My body shuddered and numb went the mind,
Unknowingly I prayed God to be kind.
The friend then hastily did trail
As I hied out alongwith the pail.

A Journey

Look how Sun and dark clouds play for realm
How the soft moist breeze kisses the cheek.
Look how pleasance does whelm.
Come, let us bathe in the drizzle sleek.

Let us get to a place where
Valleys are lost in the mist,
From where the echoes of mountains blare,
Where the winds roar and trees brandish.

Let us adorn our ears
With the tinkles of the gentle water flowing.
Let us fill our minds with fears
Of the rush of mighty water falling.

Let us get lost in thick deep haze
To let birds' whistles pave the way.
Let us then climb more to hold dark clouds in an embrace.
Then on that peak insouciantly we'll lay.

Let the rain slap our face,
Let in it drenched our hearts be,
Let in us the cold incur with all it's grace.
Then we'll sip in some hot tea.

Far from our daily mundanity

Let us make a journey,
The joy of which lies in the arrival
To hear the taps of same rain on our roofs.