Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Our World

How we call ourselves
of the world
when our pretense is as if
it belongs to us
ours is the whole dominion of earth

The sea opening up
her bosom to us
and calls upon the rains
and we cleave it
our wounded waste
is all we have left
it to offer.

The rains
for themselves
have started being capricious.
Rain is a friend
which needs to be fed
and we only take
the debt is not paid,
and we
still hope,kneel down and pray
for it to visit
but seldom do we realize
it is but a precious nugget.

We still have a way,
be the proteus
befriend the nature
and let it
thrive,prosper and grow
understand that this is
our only chance
before alongwith
the earth we shalt be mowed.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Silent Life,Silent Death

This poem is dedicated to a few people actually a few millions of them who lived and died in certain parts of our planet like


A long list must say and to those too who are waiting for their inevitable deaths there because "We don't care" and even if we do.What can we do? We cannot raise our voice we have no powers and all that.I'll be asked for solutions to this and the truth is I don't have one.

I just want us to be more considerate more thankful for life,More humane.

Sun peeps in
quietly and waits
for the day to begin
as it always has been
the days of darkness,
days of silence.
The sun looks on tacitly
as it has always did
for many decades
and waits on passively
waits for the inevitable bland
as the fires like his
but fires of darkness
would engulf the land.

A place where
life protrudes,
protrudes to a quest
for its end
and awaits death
as death knocks
silently life walks
with it unquestioningly
and through time
a few more silent lives grow.
And each one of them
after a while
learns to be quiesce
untill they are mowed.

Where silence
is the voice
and silence
is an ally too,
of morbid nights
and ghoulish mornings.
A place
where earth
is emblazoned
in a red hue.
Life has never known
its actual rendition has no clue
and is fraternized
with mortuoused yearnings.

The wind blows eyes closed
too afraid
to wake up
the gone,
afraid of itself
as it has been
privy to many mortal ends.
It blows on
through to the
other side with its jitters
and when it passes them
it sings a tune
a coronach and falls on deaf ears.

And I
witness it all
as the meek are oppressed
and a lorn guilt
creeps into me.
So impotent am I
that can't utter
a word
and our world sighs
too engrossed
within itself
to pay heed
when truth dies.

Scorned will be we
for eternity
to let
slaughter prevail
and being myrmidon
to all of it.
in the same
claret hues
hues of blood.
Our apathy
will be written
no matter how much
we sheath it
with our immoral morality.

Thank You.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

What If...?

Have felt the glow of the morning sun
and tried to hold it within my palm
but then unclenched the fist to let it go
it was time for it to be back to its home its sun adobe.

Have seen the rains
and drew the beauteous portrait of them.
And gave it back to the waters
to let them cherish and smile.

Have flown all along
with the flowing breeze
Then came back when they met the horizon.
To let old lovers meet.

Have broken myself many times
and then again redid me,
learned to walk the path of rigors
and on my way to love have learned to let go.

Have acquainted many and let them intrude
into the world of me and then when the path of life's
of them crossed mine.
Learned to forge new bonds with time.

Have learned to carve my words on paper,
scattered all over like the night stars and the misty sky.
What if have to unfurl them someday
and bid them adieu say my byes.
My breaths will come full circle then
A pain so great It wouldn't be survived.

...A pain so great It wouldn't be survived...