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Raunak Baral Poem
Mother, I have seen, where the world has been...
Mother, I have I have seen it clean.
The dirt and muck,
Of those who monger war.
The broken arms of Justice,
In the realm of the nether and underworlds.
The Earth has broken, and monsters,
Have crept out of Her heart.
Fear and infamy,
Famine, greed and gluttony...
Mother, why are we good people made to suffer such?
Mother says,
Darling, I know, you are a little flower,
You came to this Earth to make it beautiful.
Now, you have grown a mind and can question,
Do you know, that this has such a power,
That the right question can mobilise a thousand people,
To action,
Against all that is not right and unjust.
This suffering, is the suffering of our land and people,
Infact, we are not the only ones who are suffering,
Our friends in other lands are suffering too...
Everyday, they take time out of their schedules to look up the news on us,
They pray for us,
They send us their love and protection.
They care for us,
They build up money and send to us.
Darling, not everyone is bad,
And a lot many people would say we are privileged,
You and I...
We don't have to face any atrocities of this Taliban,
Because your Dad is close to them.
That is it, Mummy,
I fear I have become an offspring of a vile, cruel man...
I wish to end his life so,
If not his then mine...
She said and cried,
Her mother held her in her arms and cried as well...
Copyright © Raunak Baral | Year Posted 2021
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Raunak Baral Poem
His fingers crashed on the Piano notes,
Like a defiant wave in the Heart of the Ocean…
An Ocean of Music, Rebellion and Symphony.
For where there is Symphony,
There is Harmony…
And where there is Harmony,
There is Beauty and Love.
The intricate melody,
Cried like a Woman Obsessed,
Like her Husband had died,
And now she shrieks for his return…
Music maybe the plaintiff,
But Never the Judge,
Never the Judge…
It sings to us the Story of Tragedies,
Blooming in the Pregnant Bellies
Of Divine Dahlias…
It adds notes and keys,
It adds emotions and memories,
It is the Plaintiff Divine,
But Never the Judge…
True Art cannot Judge,
And the Art that does,
Is Law…Not creativity.
If a boy called Kartik got lost,
The music will say,
Oh, Kartik!
Alas, Kartik!
You are dragging me away from
My happiness and True love.
The music will cry and the music will
Plaint.
But the Music will never find Kartik,
Kartik has moved from the Realm
Of the Heart,
To the realm of the Divine…
Copyright © Raunak Baral | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Raunak Baral Poem
I am running,
But the clock isn’t moving.
The world is slipping beneath my feet,
But the body is still.
My life runs in kaleidoscopes
Of colour, pleasure and pain.
The timeline, however,
Remains the same.
I am rushing to reach a glorified
Carrot.
Sometimes whipping up the deck,
And brandishing my Tarot…
As my mighty answer,
To the stuck wheel of creation.
I am Powerful, now,
But devoid within.
I have collected all the cups
And pieces, of my happiness,
And being…
But there was no food to be had,
In the first place!
I am running,
And the clock is moving,
But not for me.
My timeline remains stolid,
And silent…
That which seems so afar,
Seems only like a mirage,
Or a memory I haven’t made peace with…
I know, I know,
I will be well…
But what will time tell?
Time will tell a dastan of a person
Equipped with all the machines of war,
Ready to destroy…
But the War is in the future,
Infact the warring sides, themselves,
Are unaware of the War.
What does that make me?
A Sage, A seer?
That is the paradox and the travesty,
Of a Man ready to be a King,
To be called His Majesty,
Is waiting for his throne to be created…
Now that is not such bad a thing!
But I would rather be King…
Copyright © Raunak Baral | Year Posted 2025
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