Thy will… as in heaven…

We call that span between birth and death,
The life: rugged and mystic; pathetic
And soul stirring; bewitching as well as
Disdainful; frivolous yet ebullient.

Those conscious of the vanity of living
Are isolated and demeaned from the
Mainstream of ‘the faithful’.
Mutterings evaluated and classified
As ramblings of the abnormal intellect.

Prayers are sandwiched between
Desires, dreams, and deeds.
Prophets narrated their dreams
As a relic of their frustrations,
To a recalcitrant world, ever doubtful
About the themes and scenario of future;
And claimed divine sanctions behind it,
As revelations of what lies ahead.

Could the earth ever turn into a heaven?
Could the tiger and the lamb have
Peaceful co-existence or the wiper
Cease to be poisonous any further?
The Saints duped us with their tales
Of their trust, and faith in the Almighty.
Even God deceived us through commandments.

Many are waiting to get on to the
Bandwagon of such an apple cart.
Or is all that they said, a dream only?
What is amusing in that life, which is
Called a dream, without the illusion
And hallucination of such dreams?
The attires worn in this game,
The scenarios comprising it, and
Its enactments are delectable in ‘to-to.’
All attires are adorned by dreams
Of the soul, on our bodies…

Darkness at noon!

Day dreams and milky moonlights;
Meandering brooks and forest shades;
Sylvan hills and golden glades,
Whispering streams and sunny vales;
Billowing beaches and cool coffee bars…
Times were fleeting on swift foot.
Every merry moment has to cease one day...

Far away from the shades of trees,
And chirping voices of fairies around the campus,
Coiled up in the recess of a quiet day;
In solitude, in the company of the sun’s heat.
The monotony carves away the sap of the heart.
The separation creates scorching heat
That of a mid-noon sun, in and around.
Fingers that held fingers have slithered;
Desolate days are like loud moaning in wilderness.
Forlorn, forsaken, abandoned feelings resurrect!
Like the earth’s first love affair...

When was the first desertion?
Who could have made it?
The lover or the loved one?
How many frustrated lovers and for how long
Have out grown the pain?
How many survived?
Frustration and the anguish after
Desertion, is always the other side of the coin.
Both are intoxicating and thrilling;
Both are exhilarating and stupefying.
That is the game of Cupid!

In the bosom, of a dream…

While my whole life,
Wearily sleep incongruously.
Vision of a sweet compassion,
Make a stage show in the mind,
Like a fairy walking, and coming
Out ofthe moonlight,
Vanishing into thin air,
Deep inside the infinite blue yonder.

The gorgeous moon sleeping in
The ether, became her companion,
She disappeared like a star,
from my eyes.
Entrancing reveries of hopes,
Withered and fell dead,
Into the empty wilderness,
Of disappointments,
On the vistas of the isolated paths,
of gruesome life.
Those dots of stains of strains are
Still stirring up untold grief.

As inspiring festivities of the spring,
Commence with its flowers,
Desires enter the mind as an uninvited caller.
Do you overhear the tales of my
Thousand and One nights,
Immersed in the chaos of stricken heart;
While sitting in your abode, in the sky
With it’s, scores of stores of stories.

Mislaid heavens!

Mislaid heavens! You have given me
A throne of plaintive domain, a broken one,
Where groans are whisking from all sides.
The smiling sky with the rainbow of love
Has disintegrated and wandered away from me…

She dried up my tears with her heart-touch
Writing radiant dreams in my eyes;
Thrusting ravishing poesy in my lips,
Transformed as a withered flower under my treads,
In the lonely path, of my poignant sentiments…

Sleep! Shattered dreams, and dissipated desires.
Do not kindle insipid cloying passions any more.
Do not uncork my enthralling philter.
Sleep now; fall down and sleep; efface your memory.
In the cloister of this forlorn life
Mute feelings are effusive, but useless.
Days of blooming laughter and amusement are prologues,
And foreshadows in the journey to desolation!
Don’t cry, my heart! Do not saunter seeking dreams.
For dreams are meaningless; urges and desires
Are only nuances of the self obsessed greed, in the mind!

Waiting for someone…

I am sure; there is no one,
Ever to come through this path;
I know. even so, I intensely hanker,
Someone,Dear to my heart,
Will come, one day near me,
Through this way.

Though I hope in vain,
Still hopes and dreams, may one day
Become a reality, and fulfilled...
The spring has, many a time wandered away
With its sweet blossoms, and could not bestow
The tree with its gifts, of floweres
And fruits, for many a year.
It may happen once, when the changing seasons,
In its aberration, may bring around the flowers,
Per chance.
These, are my aspirations,
And hope against all hopes!

I am sure; there won’t be a soul,
Who may chance to come,
Through this forlorn path, to my house.
Yet, I go up to the gate house, stand,
Fumble around, and stare in dismay,
All the distance through the winding road,
To make sure, my destiny is not changing!

I yearn to hear a rustle of a tread
On the cobble stones. familiar one;
Hearken it through the lowest
Decibels of sound, even a whisper, or a murmur.
The footsteps, of someone so close
To my heart, but in vain.

Though no one has promised to return,
While parting, and I reminisce it always;
Despite that, I keep my gate
Ajar, usually for him to enter,
Undemanding, if he chooses so.


Now when I hear an earshot of footsteps,
Near the gate I think for a moment,
My sweet spring has arrived at last,
Quite unexpected.
And hurries to accost him, with all the longing,
Conserved in the heart, for so long.
Standing at the gate, setting my eyes
Across the path and at last find a stranger
Turning back, half way, realizing
He has lost his way;
Even without looking back.