at times,
I wish to unspin the sun’s thread—
to weave again the days I’ve torn,
perfect each flaw, unmake each thorn,
and paint life’s griefs in golden stead.
but maybe, the sky must bruise to bloom,
the rain must fall to birth perfume;
perhaps the soul learns more by breaking,
and beauty sleeps in hearts still aching.
so let it be—
this endless sea of rise and rest,
of grief and gain, of trial and test;
for life, in all its flawed design,
remains a miracle—divine.
Your tresses fickle by my eyes
Every dusk,
And they start a procession
Of your remembrance.
My heart sings your melodies,
and my ears listen your laughter.
But my eyes crave to see your smile,
(Which in the whole worldwide
were only yours
whose no image I hold,
but only the feelings.)
In each and every breath I take,
there's your fragrance.
My dear,
You live by mine heart, always.
Even if you don't.
Hiding in plain sight
Ready to shoot him
Dark side of human
The sounds of gunfire
Bullets killing Kumaar
Horrible bloody scene
Red Red and Red
Gulshan Kumar is dead..
Vijay you are such an
Inspiring character possessing extreme
talents and capable of:
Jovially handling sensitive people,
Aiding weak souls
Youthfully —which is truly good.
Keep going little chap
Understanding you to the core is
Mesmerizing, enriching and pleasing and
i am
Awe-struck at your sense of humour that
you seamlessly flourish,also
Radiantly spreading smile everywhere.
8-4-2020
~DEEPA~
7th place in "Your fave poem 2020 not written for a contest"
Sponsored by John Hamilton.
18-6-2020
When I goggle at the screen
Of wild black yonder,
O Stars! I feel a blazing avidity
In my vital limbs
Elan eyes of the angels,
Invested in with thousand finesses,
Show your cloudless sparkle to
the ignorant world
The magnetic star adjacent the Moon
to guide the sailor way out,
My heart responds to
thy flickering with life,
You ignites my bituminous soul,
With an immortal spark
When my hollow present blows
The dying embers in the heart grate
A fond childish Cinders glows up
The frozen black memory melts past colours,
A sparkle of rainbow recollections,
As I walk up on our trodden pavement
I saw a slash of sea between houses
Thy red dress like a bright red boat
Sink in golden sand, blue fishing nets
Brown fort walls, green lichen beach,
My soul speaks, my lips moves
A frequency of meetings, a wave of hugs
As I net to catch these moments
Like A street urchin’s yellow fists
Holding the rainbow in his tiny grasp
I SALUTE BABU KUNWAR SINGH
Let me tell you the story of a true warrior king,
‘Ran Bankura’, grand old Babu Kunwar Singh;
Who was a land lord
But wielded the sword!
Remember the rebellion of 1857, when India had a first shout
Babu Kunwar led it in Bihar and did it without any doubt.
Imagine the wonderful forests, ground and ‘the cave’, who witnessed the gorilla warfare
In a fight of pride and honor when everything was not fair.
The neighing horses, the collision of swords and a command of old man
He will not get defeated, that is the best he can!
He was old yet brave, he died a master and not a slave.
It tells us there is no age to fight,
What matters is the spirit and the feel for right.
We all know of Jack n Jill but
Shouldn’t we know the old man’s will!
The force was grounded, his hand was wounded.
He went ahead and cut his hand,
To protect his people and to free his land.
Why are we shocked
with the space we owe?
Conveys with it a specific frustration
With not a single companion to have,
But how little we need to bring
The main exhilaration that exists,
Is the exhilaration we've carried with us
Frangipanis outside needs thy steady acclaim,
The inflated shafts, once a primary fascination
Looks fit for somebody other than me
Still it’s mine
Now I think It
Will be known by the art we hang
May be that is the reason
Wherever we go nowadays
Vanity has tailed us like a pet
When we believe in anecdotes
Than worldly companions can never be ours
I feel that with a house this way,
I should set up a major gathering
That would please with vulnerabilities of night,
And simply attempt to settle in
As everybody, even in his own space, is a vexed visitor
My Gallery
In upper part of my body
A cognitive bell rings
From a dial-up connection
of live wires
The modem is working just
To repeatedly provide
the facsimile of
Barren and bald paths
Inner lumbering of daily freight
Coiling, clutching upward
There is no vivacity
The vital force has parasited
How I inhale life?
My days and nights are bolted
Inside a brain cell,
My voice has held back
It lays a plan to brawl my soul
Residing in my own skull
Dictates notes imitating my tone
I couldn’t disintegrate my recall
As my shadow has left me
There remains Just I, me and myself,
Why is my brain a black hole?
Could it not be a universe?
Of a constellation of migraine, tablets
Syringe, backache and insomnia
Dream has become a dead pattern
As worn out as fossil led glow
Everything has become identical
Except the weight of consequence
That has variations of endurance
As I go through perdition
My imbalance will be rectified
Hang my art on the wall
As after allotted time
My gallery will end
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