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.