Tag Archives: poetry

The Ache of Azure

Chaos is in order

The string has broken its chord

As insanity dances freely

the truth is over awed

As rain washes itself in the sea

Mountains dissolve in the sand

Humanity chases itself

While Hand demands a hand

From the last death comes the first cry

Living becomes a panorama of sorrow

If such be the plight today

What comes of ringing tomorrow ?

Eclectic Evening

There is an acquainting emptiness on the ground

Absolute filling in the sky

As I sit as if in a

And time elapses by….

For once the world and I are apart

The walk of age has arrested

Silence clenches the throbs of a heart

The moment for a breath has rested

Up and up this feeling goes

As down and down goes height

I would be silent, with silent toes

Stay elated all night…

Dimming eyes and airs deep

I wait to live my eternal sleep…

Tonight I Cannot Write….

Writing – An intriguing word with a complex meaning, describing an act that involves the momentary trance of the human brain during which the mind takes over the body. Such a faithful and comfortable exercise….

Sitting by a blank page and letting the mind color its veins has always been such a natural task. Never have the pages run out of their spree, nor has the ink controlled their flow. Writing should always be so energetic…

Lest when I cannot write….

I fearfully wander the pavements of my mind to search for a lost key. Seldom was it to be found. However, in search of a new abode I lost the path of my sanctuary. So there I stood with a blank page and a mindful of translated colors that transformed into white. Unless the white could turn grey, I resorted to wander in the featureless space…

Since tonight I cannot write….

I do not feel so because my brain objects to leaving its supremacy – as a huge number of people would have me to believe – or my hands feel constricted with chains. Neither has my pen run out of ink. But, I feel so since the world around me has failed my purpose of searching for a text in itself.

So, tonight I cannot write…..

And that is why I struggle my feet to the terrace of my house and coldly stare at the stars. “How meaningless is their twinkle. How unattractive is the moon that lingers in their company and floats by the clouds since it doesn’t inspire my pen.” I think it is very depressing that the world has forgotten to love itself. Yet, I cannot let it be known.

As, tonight I cannot write….

Sighing I sit by my towers of gloom for my words have lost their signs. And this is why I detest the world for it erased the rhythm of my lines. As the night grows darker and stiller still becomes the world, I would have to read the unwritten texts…..

While tonight I cannot write…

 

What a pity I should say

For isn’t it tonight that I cannot write?

Pyre of the Broken Winds

What a rarity is it to find nature living and taking its life’s breath right in the middle of the concrete jungle! And it comes as no surprise that whenever the senses strike the powerful natural breath they stand amazed to its astounding capabilities. Today as a dust storm shook the poor as well as the richer sections of Delhi I had the opportunity of looking on to the battle that the giant human constructions held against the winds. How illustriously did the two clash with their bodily armor!

The God-made frame of mankind stood at odds with the sand laden sword of the winds that engulfed anything which held human essence. With the swaying trees and blinding skies Nature held the best of its weapons to plaster the human spirit which interferes in its play – yet, the triumph was never to its due….

The aching eyes of humanity soon recovered from the shelter of its armory and walked through the raining arrows of water. As I stood by the window of my room I watched the resistance of nature slowly fade away from the disregarding defense of the other. And it wasn’t too late before the battle was conquered.

As my fellows rejoiced at the effortless victory of their form, I receded from their center to the corner where I looked up to find the sky burning in the soft coal it had produced as its own weapon.

How unfortunate could the circumstance be?

To be killed by one’s own weaponry….

I pitied the fading sky who destructed itself as his other half rose to new heights of self esteem. It puzzled me to think:

“What a splendid funeral has Nature performed,

Death lies with those who are utterly wronged.”

 

This is my dramatic interpretation of the dust storm that hit Delhi today. Let me how do you like it 😉

Infirmity

Life through a dire frame

Captures an image grey,

None so weak to pangs of pain,

As a voluntarily captured prey.

He sits under a dripping shed,

With lost and wanton eyes,

He hears hope drift away,

Through the cold hides.

 

Drops of rain awake the soul,

The defeated spirit laments,

For a glory not achieved,

For the loss of a flower’s scent.

 

Crawling nights and escaping days,

The fragile frame rests,

The darkest skies of the world

Can now his mind behest.

 

Clinging chains and unheard cries,

A thirst which does never suffice,

For he is now only left to see,

Glimpses of life in moments’ spree.

For there is none so taken to ire,

Than he who burns in desire.

A ghastly grasp, an unthinkable fire,

The sunken valley near a mountain pyre.

The Elegy of a Man and Stray

Even though I have never been blessed with a four-legged friend, I felt like dedicating a word to their companionship.

In the cold, all light and grey,

The story of a man and stray.

No thing can give the warm bed

To the one left alone at birth,

Than what he gets from crumbs of bread

And a wooden, shiny hearth.

Owning just a tea shop

The Man himself is not unbound,

Family of four lovely lives

Comfort, though is not profound.

In the world all large and held,

Two lives that strangely dwelled.

Give life to each other at dawn,

And meet daily in a phantom lawn.

Thus, the bodies of godly love,

Chat under the sunshine dove.

Complement each other’s new start,

And all these talks are just in hearts.

Yet the two solitary loons

Tired of life, meet at noons.

Eat food and share with each

In a language no one can teach.

Dawn of the day soon ends,

And as dark, the moon sends

The Man begins to leave for home

His humble place, his only dome.

Funny though how he waits

In the cold that kills and shakes.

To farewell his four-legged friend

As he comes from the farther end.

Giving the crumbs the man proclaims,

“We’ll meet again” to whom he tames.

After dinner they leave again,

To end their life’s new begin.

Thus this way the two stay,

And ponder my pen as dawn’s gay.

For is it only life that lays,

The love between man and strays?

Or is it in the times of need

That men can find stray friends indeed…..

The Roadside Stand (Revisited)

My earnest dedication to my favorite poet, Robert Frost from whom I have borrowed the title of this poem.

Of all the amazing places I see

The roadside stand is just for me!

Girls and boys and poles that stand,

And a crawling marriage band.

Of all the noise and laugh and glee,

The roadside stand is just for me!

Numerous memories made and shared,

With friends and foes and all that cared.

Oh! I also get to see with grace,

Some exquisite, foreign face.

But they can’t seem to fulfill my plight,

More than a roadside gentlemen’s fight.

While riding home I get to see,

Why the roadside stand is just for me!

Life moves on that’s all we know,

But when I’m bad and can’t let go,

The only thing that makes me right,

Is a roadside stand in sight.

Various relations made and torn,

Various voices of glee and groan.

Where all the world’s happiness does gather,

In a soothing pleasant weather.

Just like Robert Frost once said,

To see an adventure, get out of bed.

So that’s when I fold my feet and hand,

And lookout for a roadside stand.

To pass my window pane that’s all

And leave me curious till my Conductor’s Call.

 

Do let me know how you interpret the roadside stand in the Comments Section!