Trust

Our friendship, my friend,
Is a faithful relationshi.
The sceptics may ponder
To their hearts content
On how long it would last
For they for certain know
Their own breathing span
And meanwhile an only
Amusement,
A sift in a string;
A string of cordiality,
Knitted in mutual trust;
For one stitched can loosen
To spoil the gross.
But the string
Wrought on rock
Is tiny, yet firm
Which no vile can winnow.

A name is a name

There must be something in a name!
Even after wedlock by the altar,
I chose not to alter my nomenclature
Lest I metamorphose into something
I'd rather not want to be.
If you call me by a different name
It might end me confused;
It is not exactly the 'identity crisis'
Sort of thing that I dread,
But I guess I'd miss being 'me'

Each name carries with it a story
Enacting subtle shades of
Meaning, feeling and colour
Which flower bird or beast
Will like to be called a name
Varied from the original?
Won't it be ridiculous
To call the lion, a sheep
Or the mosquito, an ant?

No jasmine will smell that sweet
If it be called another name
Call the rose, a hemlock,
And witness it wilt its fragrance
And hue to simulate poisonous.
The moth might treat more make-up
To face lift into a butterfly.
The nightingale might cease its melody
Oranges would start tasting like grapes.
Feathers and petals in anarchy;
Lets call for a truce!
Don't we secretly love our nuances?
So does a name reveal a world
Unique to suit the owner's niche.
So why put a pseudonym
To reflect my style
If I'd rather be myself
Than anyone else!

Resuscitation

It feels so good to write again.
After a dirge of an year or so
I seek my lost treasure;
Riding on the reins of  fancy,
My soft fingures
Grip my golden weapon;
Like a horse harnessed
I assume the sovereign
To reign my kingdom
Or does it lead me
A cart at the horse's mercy?
I guess any amateur
Would have felt similiar
When his eyes feasted on
Some creative stone
Found by chance
Along the way.
It feels queer to strongly bond
With some trivial again
And it dawned on me
That the urge to write
Was an unfading flower
Of charm and grace
Lending me breath,
Resurrecting my thoughts,
Painting my world,
Polisihing my new found stone
To a gem of my choice

Broken pieces of glass

When thoughts pour hot

Stir them well

Before they hurt

Your lips.

Jot down the familiar

Wrapped in doubt,

Or conceal a smile

To go straight to it.

The laughter of the unknown

May deliriously haunt

And the only rule is

To mask what you are,

To let no one know;

And you’d end up

With something like

Broken pieces of glass.

The voice says it all

My voice always

Drowns in a crowd.

Not that I’m the

Screaming type.

But aren’t there times

When one would like

To speak aloud,

Or think aloud rather;

And some idiot

Would silence me

As they did to ‘her’

This voice is never

An expression of the self;

Just an inner fancy

Wanting to show off for long.

And the mould itself

But a casual spectator.

Automation

Girls don’t survive

Without a shed of tear,

One for love,

And the other

For fear

A life – giving dew

They hold on to;

Embalming and free.

But now she has

Bottled tear-drops

To burst her heart;

And there comes

An automatic arm,

Only to feel the

Smoothness of her hair.

Look straight

Since there is none

To hold her back

Here she goes

Out into the world

To build a future

Of her own

Why must she care

Whether her heart

Is pending/

She has willed her destiny

And shall not sever

From the path she chose

When there is

None to cling on to,

Its best to be a

Butterfly

And find one’s own flower

Why bother

Whether you live

But a day or two!

Quaint

Isn’t it whimsical,

That folks whom

We never slight,

Are ones who have

Given us the bite.

Be it the serpentine tongue

Of  nefarious jealousy,

Or the more soft enfold

Of sophistical pity;

Warped nicety

Have tickled me

Most excruciatingly

Though against will

I was laughing outright.

Camouflage

Fate may come

In different colours

Each one has a

Novel tinge of shade

Added to the muskier hue;

But let us not complain

For there is nothing

We can do

Invite each one

With invincible strength;

Never hostile,

If not pleasant,

And each one leaves

In a similar fashion

Building room for new;

The primary colours

I’ve tried them all;

A wait and behold

The rarest shade

To encounter you

Muddle

Sometimes its hard to think

And make the right decisions

There are times you feel

You’ll reach nowhere

Thoughts can mortify

A timid soul;

And you feel it’s best

Not to think at all

A mind in turmoil

Is worse than fear

In fear there is comfort;

A notion of the terror

To dread or dare

At times you feel

That all is lost;

But does it help

If you cry alone/

Hot coffee

It’s beautiful

To watch the steam

Curling into the

Most ghostly shapes

From a mug of

Hot coffee

Innumerable forms

Soft and fluffy,

Hug the sky

Wanting to merge

Into thin air

From a distance

The scene is lonely

To sniff the aroma

Of crushed brownies

Is to relish every sip

   Drop by drop.

Lonesome

She has learned to live

With her loneliness

As the days go on

Snuggled and warm,

In a cozy bed,

She has never dreamt

To fly.

Sometimes the echo

Of her own voice

Startles her;

As though she were

Speaking to some spirit.

She has got used

To her shadow

As the light dims;

And curious enough

She has never learnt

To cry.

Halcyon tears

Those tears won’t

Taint her face;

They flow freely

Out of joy,

Not meekly;

But with an air

Of its own,

Proclaiming its own beauty.

It caught hold

Of one of them

And brought it

Close to my heart

It gave me an assurance

Of love and beautiful ease

Feeding on lies

Could all the lies

Of a corrupt world

Wipe out a truth/

Would no speck

Lie remnant

For me to touch or feel

And call it truth/

Our universe is such

Where falsehood dons

The shimmer of virtue

Leaving the simpleton

Baffled and appalled,

Feeding on trash,

Mendacity and deceit

Trapped

He locked me inside

And called the others

To brand me a thief

Flurried, but reticent faces

Peer through the glass;

I tried to laugh

As they opened the door,

Each eye pierced

Right into my soul,

And I had done

No wrong at all.

That aura of

Wonder and awe

Would have made me swoon

If not for the sly

Mocks and moans;

They cant share

What I’m going through

So let me tread my road

Tenaciously sole;

Leaning them astern,

For I hardly recognize

Them anymore.

To forgive

Arranging the books

In the library,

I stumbled upon

The forgotten word,

Which was esteemed

Highly in yester years,

And I wondered

Why the word ‘forgive’

Never strikes us now.

Was it locked

In an ancient box

That none came

To know of it

And became a thing lost,

Or a treasure forgotten/

We all have the key

To set it free;

So with fortitude  lets say

  “I’ll forgive you”

Hatred

Would you love

A bowl of orridge

Tinctured with animosity,

Even when staving/

I think not;

For it chokes the throat

Taking hunger along

With it is to a

Distant land of its own;

And no morsel

Would ever relish

That familiar way,

I did before;

When each tongue

Had a bit of craving

Dark light

Why should I fear the darkness

If I don’t fear the light

What my eyes can’t discern

During night fall,

Shall never ascertain

In the gleaming sunrise

So why love one more

And afflict the other/

The colour of your hair

Suits not your face;

Nor can dawn ever touch

The fairy of dusk.

Smile

A smile can bestow

A radiance to your visage;

So unfurl the luminescence

To those around.

I could eternally

Bask in this resplendence,

Chanting the hymns

I cherish the most.

Like the kiss of a ray

That blossoms every rose,

Let’s join hands

To merry and frolic.

If it’s God’s love

That entwines us all,

Let me never

Sever my cord

Give joy and received love,

And every lip would bloom

The purest pearls in the deep

Go to Hell

Let him dig a hole

And lie buried there.

All this blabber of death

Has left him bare.

If he desires to die

Let him furnish the means;

Rather than rave and rant

To alarm my nerves,

Terrifying me whole;

While he mocks the world

And scamper around.

Show me a rope or rock

That would rend

This mortifying roar;

Coercing him to yell no more!

Love

I have loved only once.

But no sooner did

Realization dawn on me,

He vanished from site

Without a word

But should I blame him,

Whose tiny eyes

Barely discerned me as “life”/

“A heap of dust”

That’s what we are.

Yet I am vapour,

Floating about,

Seeking him no more

As I bump straight

To another cloud

That resembles him close.

Crawling on footsteps

The people who dislike me

Go by a minority,

And they outwardly

Show their dislike

For me and I thank

The Heavens for that.

I’d not have endured

A counterfeited smile

And a venomous tongue

Behind my back;

Atleast their blood

Flows free from hypocrisy

With only traces

Of spite and worry;

Which I can easily forgive

Bearing in mind

The distance I’ve crawled

In their footsteps

Being a woman

Are you disgusted

With the way I speak/

Pardon me! For that’s

The only way I know.

My voice is coarse

And my features sharp

One look can snipe

A blade of grass.

I cannot laugh

Like the tingling of bells.

Nor can I match my gait

To the rhythm of poetry;

I gobble what I am offered

With no polite etiquettes;

And can sleep for hours

After a tiring work.

But if these make me

Less of a woman,

Am I pretending

To be someone else/

Boy

Boy, would you ever

Grow up to be a man/

Sympathetic and unselfish;

Caring to those around/

Discard not your “other”

For she keeps you alive.

Or like a sin unconfessed,

Crawling every inch

Of your time,

You would be haunted

By visions,

That make you

Lose your mind.

The choice is yours;

Make up your mind,

And make it fast,

For there is a world

Calling out to you

Would you want

To be left behind/

Redemption

I feel supine

To take a bath

On a bleak rainy eve.

The flash of time

I bare my shape,

The nipping air

Wraps me in a

Chilling swirl;

As I shudder to turn

The shower on.

Each drop from the

Heavens above,

Pricks my flesh

Like a boring tool.

Placidly stung

I rub myself sound;

The cleansing ritual is done

But is it penance enough.

Writing

It’s an impulse

You’ve gifted me,

So let me not

Crush it within.

With enough paper

And ink to befriend me

Time can wait outdoors.

Guide me right;

And I shall plough

My domain

In no time.

Seldom give me flowers  

Though I dream my fields

Rosy and green.

May no seed fall

On stubborn ground,

Where dearth of water

May shrivel its verve.

A dog’s life

They put a chain

Around my neck

And called me love.

My mater comes

Rarely to stroke

Me warm

And I leap

At his sight

When he brings me

Gifts and bones

At night he locks me

Safe in a room,

Letting me enjoy

My dreams alone.

When he is away

I have his name

To entail me by

And I easily cry

As I miss his sight

This waiting is not

Tiresome for me

Leaving me forgotten

Like this to meet my pain

As I wonder the next

To hold my chain.

Goodbye

There was’nt a single star,

In the swarthy heavens,

The night he came

To bid adieu.

The dreamy moon

Seemed drowsy;

And I tried my best

To slake the pang.

With a soulful smile

He held my arm,

Surprisingly warm;

For the wet, bleak,

Hours of June.

I wished him gone

Before I let myself weak.

Like a golden flame

Waltzing at dusk,

I darted high

To contain the sore,

Blurring my eyes

To an envelope of rout;

As I watch him dissolve

To an age of no return

A flower

There is a flower

Reposing on my table,

Kept by some fairy

Who had no want of it.

It is not a rose

As you might have fancied.

This wild beauty

Of the forest green,

Has no name

Neither pellucid nor decorous.

Yet its easy calm

Ruffles my sight

As I ponder why someone

Reckoned me;

For nothing especial

Ushers today;

And I pensively ruminate

Who the fairy could be.