Belated Dreams

[Dreams and aspirations would sure take their own time to come around. When I am not over with my fulfillment over my own lifetime, what do I do with the bits and remnants? I would be silly to not gather courage and enough trust to pass it on to another person who aspires the same!]

Far from habitation’s latent shield
Across a dry after-harvest paddy field

Few dying miles left, the old steps hurried
Empty grains and husks the cracked earth buried

The old man had a young boy for a rendezvous
Reminding him of a spirit he had bid adieu

Stood he against a future improvised
Enthusiasm and hard work, resources marginalized

Soiled books on his rug, a technique naive
Young knowledgeable eyes against the twilight alive

The old hands fondled him, cumulating hope
Livelihood and learning is a tightly ended rope

He stated a purpose, those young eyes now even brighter
He must overcome or achieve or such either

A tinge lit to burn living and all its realms
In him, those eyes had realised its belated dreams.

The Dark Depths

[Suicide! This 'word' is worth a debate ( ... because I am unable to come up with any better terms for it). While circumstances and the subsequent thought process leading to it are scary; at times it might seem justified. Or is it plain old madness!]

With an excruciating recital her head burned
The overnight mill near the river, loudly churned

Voices in her head, aghast and far louder
She flung from bed and watched from her shoulder

In the darkness she heard voices of her children wailing
Voices of her better-half, abject and failing

The doors creaked loud as they got shunned terminally
Behind her, the house roared back ballistically

The hunchback moon and the creep darkness devoured
Her quick steps which the draconic voices savored

Her bent heart and mind pitched even higher
The grinding mills and its noises grew nearer

The mills, the river and the faces within the voices
Silence resurfaced as she plunged into the deeper darkness