Like The Flowing River

Like the flowing river which knows no barriers

Or, swirls no tide

For it keeps flowing far and into the wide;

Like the flowing river which knows no penance

Or, holds no shame

For it keeps enriching without seeking fame;

Like the flowing river which knows no boundaries

Or, deprives no clan

For the Niles and Ganges serves the same man;

Like the flowing river which knows no pain

Or, breeds no dearth

For with all His creation shares an equal mirth.

Like the flowing river, conceived to quench thy thirst

Yet, not thy desire

For the despondence soars, last breath into the pyre;

Like the flowing river, cleansed thy deed of sins

Yet, not in itself sinful

For her inception chastity, thy conscience remorseful.

Like the flowing river, thus my vision of Man,

For seeds of both sown in Kingdom – all His plan.

On Summer Nights

I still see the tides turn,

Blowing kisses on a Grecian urn,

Walking through those moonlit sand,

The first blossom of spring, hand in hand;

Lucy had something to say,

But her master finds she’s gone away...

With the wind, and with the tide,

The ring was ready for the bride.

I still remember the careless whispers,

Down the lane of mischief and subtle gestures;

The twinkling stars of midnight,

Overseeing many a tryst of scented delight;
A sudden disappearance into the fading gold,

In the blue horizon, the mystery beholds,

Endless ushering of wave after wave,

Memories afresh... I take to my grave.

On summer nights, thus

I still see the tides turn,

Blowing kisses on a Grecian urn,

But, my Lucy would never return,

But, my Lucy would never return.

Unfinished...

I know this will pass,

Only memories will remain at last,

Of some worthwhile moments shared,

A few little emotions spared,

As some stories untold remain,

Some feelings ... Like teardrops in the rain;

We fly high with our wings spread,

Like the stories we’ve once read;

At life’s crossroad, making choices of our own,

Settling into other worlds unknown.

Will the common space ever nurture?

Or, the unspoken make a mark?

Only time shall unravel its course for future,

As I stand a silent observer to the dark.

 Its Time...

Its time I sing my own song,

May be I’ve heard others a bit too long,

Or never seen a vision so strong,

For metaphor takes time to dawn,

I thought I was only a mere pawn,

Where only The Supreme has a way of His own,

Though lays ahead a path unknown,

Conceived are we even least but known?

Pies of faith and a rucksack of blessings

I take with me along,

For a journey that’s quite my own,

It’s my time to make a mark strong,

A call to my destiny, a battle redrawn.

I heed – I begin voicing a song of my own,

Into a journey quite unknown...

I  Know Two Little Boys

I know two little boys,

Little as they are to me,

But growing up every time,

 Through my scattered visits;

I see them shape with visions chaste,

As they embrace me,

With a delightful haste;

Pa! They tell me,

“Where have you been?”

I fathom those dark eyes,

Their spring to me – almost unseen;

Solitary yearning with occasional retreat,

Have formed the bygone years,

But with a warrior’s might,

I still pursue my own fight;

Dreaming of a tender future,

With togetherness and repose,

For now in their sublime shoulders,

I place my paternal faith;

A strange enthusiasm ignites me within,

I know they indentify it too;

Inspire my strong arms still to them,

For they realise, they need me,

As I need them,

They know, I identify it too,

For I live in them,

As they live in me,

I know two little boys,

Little as they are, till today to me.

Irony of Creation

Clutching onto the firm wrists,
Taking the gentle steps with his fair and bare legs,
He learns to walk the paths of life--
Taking his creators as his guide.

Sharing his cries of infant years,
Overcoming the initial fears,
He learns to succeed, yard by yard, heart by heart,
Taking his creators as his greatest support.

Ushering unto his spring,
Life unravels into a realm of unseen world,
Ideals and morals confront the gloom,
As peers, acquaintances loom the scene,
Heart rejoices in early love of early spring,
Perceptions thus, shed their influence,
As parental connection begins to lose the earlier affluence.

Graduating into levels paramount,
Accolades and kudos of success galore,
But relevance of creator's takes a diminishing stride,
Yet, the unconditional heart takes a sigh of pride.

Life rejuvenates, as a new venture bears a new life,
He now stands awestruck at time's reflective nature,
But finds creator's of his long lost,
Thus, staring at the mirror of future with only realisation,
Realisation of lost shelter, guidance, reliance...
Of presence earlier not responded to.

Clutching onto his staff,
He treads the mortal paths,
When the inevitable overpowers--
Creators are long lost,
But thoughts ruminate of lost souls,
And the last breath only respires--
Oh! Ma!

                                                                                                                        

Roots – An Ode

In the misty hills, I had my childhood days;

Obser’d the ever growing change in a thousand ways;

Seen the dawn and the dusk,

Amidst the evergreen pines and the musk;

The falls and the rills do rhythm aloud,

Hidden amidst the enchanting clouds;

With serene lakes and silent caves,

The Orchid city does strike a chord –

Every faithful man to this mistress,

Thus, echoes its charm, in just one accord.

No doubt! Divine mercy crafted thy beauty –

Making every creation reflect its own bounty;

Such tailored composure entwines an odd mystery,

With folklore and vivid culture ceasing soul’s poverty;

Far away from the maddening clang,

Thou do share its own strives and pang;

As well, filth and deceit might taint thee,

But, thy blessings of grandeur and amity,

Sluices the dross, cleanses thy spirit of every grime –

Thus, thy existence chastened and manifestations benign.

Ethereal is thy aura with stirring devotion,

Gifted with richness and fruits of compassion;

All Lord’s seasons grace my abode,

To my roots – this is an ode.