Duality

[There are always two sides to a coin, pros and cons of being what you are. On the one end you are strong confident and people like you, yet you are scared, lonely and lost.]


I am blissful, confident and so serenely strong
I follow people and they, in numbers, throng


I fear God and that’s how I am taught we’re pious
Some faith is my soul, never a thought- ambiguous


And yet for years did I hide an insipidity?
Few lies, a true self- that never approached my vicinity

Love never sustained me, but a sympathetic crowd disillusioned
I drowned in my own heart, its depth never to be measured

To God I turned for an only sole average life
I cried out, unheard yet a hope of a skeptical strife

I need to be heard and free; buoyant yet loud and big
This is me, my thoughts on living is never a gold-dig

Reality and truth had to but coalesce and conspire
An “acceptable” persona masks all the insecurity and despair

The Healing Heart

They met they chitchat
Compassion covered all like a giant hat

The talk and the silence
Not of love yet of benevolence

Suddenly, hard it was to talk
Life took me thru a walk

Have you ever revisited a grave?
Old wounds and feelings that you crave

Wounds which age couldn’t bury
Feelings that spilled out never in a hurry


Lost in a passing saga lone
A sting remains if the wound gone

Imperfections shaped me
While august spirituality adopted thee

A lost and wild turn in spirit
Character with none a merit

A deep plunge in a euphoria unbound
A bite instilled by a poison hound

For a kind touch my fingers tremble
In futile hopes those fate lines feeble

If only god and love had a say
And not destiny and life vaguely play

Unused lane, incomplete dreams and an unfulfilled wish
Time vapourises all in its sedate burning Petri dish

Healing a heart is my life-time
Unhealed wounds yet none their crime

The Illusionist

[Synopsis: Ever noticed those little girls and boys by the roadside? They might not have eaten from last night yet they seem so care free. In this poem I just cant help wondering what are they made of! What keeps them alive and kicking or for that matter what hopes they sustain! ]


The Illusionist

Of our world she knew so immensely less
Yet those eyes strived, none tactless

Besides her hurried a traffic and its populace
No care for them in her did ever surface

A tangled mass her hair, all battered
Those rags her outfit, old and tattered

An enigma that hunger is none could reject
Outwits attempts to emulate her misery abject

Tiny fingers clasped tight in the sweat of the sun
A little something, remnants of the last luncheon

With better things to worry, undaunted and at peace
To see better days any living moments she did seize


Quick were her steps, as so to chase a wild dream
In those sparkling eyes, innocent hopes did still beam

Dearth with riches, for God is a perfectionist
Calm was her smile, for she is an illusionist!

The Conflict

[Competitions are funny if not healthy! This poem brings out a weird comparision between man made beauty and natural beauty. In no way they can be compared! Nature is supreme. This poem goes on to tell why…]


The conflict


The lamp gave the moon a quizzical glance
To a lawn it lent a brilliant instance

Blending arrogance to man made pretention
The lamp of the lawn was no planetary illusion

Not shrouded by any ominous cloud
None borrowed just its sparkling power aloud

Triumphant it stood illuminating every sight
Boasting no myth to its extreme delight

Hatred! Thou shalt condemn thyself!
The moon smiled, every ray a hope in itself

Darkness seeks her to cordon the sky
Hidden my clouds for she is mysteriously shy

For a blessed earth she selflessly strived
Lives of the night just by her survived

A beauty she lent to infinite darkness
She lent to love, eternity in all its firmness

A world she lit, the earth she guided
The sun rays evolved, she slowly subsided!

The Portrait

[Synopsis: To some, art is to be expressed, admired, worshipped but never misinterpretated and sold with a price!This poem traces a sad possibility of a few unfortunate who have to contemplate art to earn a living!
]



The Portrait

In an “art house” besides the butcher
In a dark corner, antics and all clutter
A portrait beheld a tale, unexplored and bitter

Depicting an aged taboo fraternity
Or a crowd seeking a euphoric mentality
Almost obscene, art with no solidarity

Had it depicted art as a musical
Or as a phrase, profound and sceptical
Or portrait love,life or the immortal

Rather was the silhouette all nude
Fancy to the eyes a shabby delude
An era of art crumbling or its prelude

Art is worship yet chastity clueless
The artist’s theme, weak and baseless
Pleasing to the senses yet still senseless

Should the artist be living hand to mouth?
No success or livelihood anytime about
In a dilemma his sore soul did shout

A shout! To voice himself against a question
For living is a risk with no stable solution
And hunger met him at a rational junction

Time rewarded the portrait a vulgar boast
While patrons of passion are but lost
Striving all means to live and art all lost!

I am missing

[Synposis: Childhood! The memories sweet and mesmerising! This poem
does compareour present day lives with our growing up. That phase when
we were loved and cared.Close to home and close to nature. As we grow
mature, we lost all of them. Well I find that the differences are not good!]


            I
           am
           missing


Innocent were my young dreams
Pitched were my happy screams
Golden were the sun’s vivid beams

The dark crust masking the gold at night
Home coming birds from the day’s flight
Sheltered cozy over the branches in sight

Hastily evolving seasons, the sun, the rain
The cold water drops still tingle my brain
Tingling my feet is still every pebble every grain

The farm, the field and trees all emerald green
Haunting me a distant dream never to be seen
Nature, my shrine, without her I have been.

Lucky was my childhood, I cherished, I lived
Seeking no green diamonds, I believed
I grew up mature none to be relieved!

A burning city surrogates that breeze old
Without any warmth, today I am sold
Isolated and alone, in winters fiercely cold

Calling out to the rain, seasons and the sun
Pacing heart and teary eyes, directionless I run
Embrace me! And not so callously shun!

Memories! Waves on sand imprints splashing!
A simile or a plead, yet none surviving!
I survived, post my life went missing.

Token of Humanity

[SYNOPSIS: Many a times we notice- a dying cow, hurt birds, street dogs being beaten. I cant but help taking 
sympathy for them. None seem to care for them. This poem 
ventures to explore the basic question of why they are being 
treated this way. And that they deserve a little care and 
concern, least a descent death.]

Token of Humanity

A bird, a fledgling with broken wings,
happened to disturb my heart strings.

Hurt by the hell bent hands of a cannibal
sending out cries of pain in excrutiating decibels.

Dust mocking the blood oozing from its fleshy orifice
A scene that could make the hunter suffice

A  small crowd gathered in its lassitude
Just  to pull me out of my solitude

Sorry, they felt with faces intense
Which to me seemed a fretful pretense

The lone survivor of humanity, my soul in my being
couldn't tolerate any more seeing the forbidden thing

The value of life tried I to describe
to a crowd unwilling to anything humane imbibe

The thinking part in me ceased comparision
And I quickly passed by, but for the daparted soul
          said a secret orison ...