From The Bard's Pen
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—
nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
when all I ever wanted
was to break out of these walls
To go out
and let my senses feel
To take in a big gulp of air
and exclaim with joy,
“This is LIFE!!”
My nails became brittle
and knees grazed..
The walls stared back at me
Even my tears held
And now all I want
is to curl down like an unborn
This is a womb.
I want no birth.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
In mountains high and grey
Happily grazing, playing together
Thus they passed their days
One morning the lamb woke up
And found empty place beside
He searched and searched every hill and nook
But his mother he could not find
A kind, old shepherd looked at him
In soft pity he cried,
“Be brave little one, be brave my son,
Your mother died last night.
She wept and wept out of love for you
Which was so strong and pure
It gave her all she needed
For the pain she endured…”
“Where went she?” asked the little one,
Alone, sad and terrified.
“Oh!! She went to God’s heavenly abode…
Where good souls go when they die..”
The little one clueless and alone
Set out to search the vale
To find heaven, to find god,
To find where his mother dwelt.
Tired, helpless, hurt, small..
He roamed the entire plain
At last he sat and wept and wept
“My search has gone in vain…..”
“Oh mother! Where are you?” cried he,
“I need you here beside
My breath is short, my eyes dim,
Am I going to die?”
The doors of heaven blew apart
By a mother’s love and unrest
She reached the side of the little one
And held him close to her breast
His eyes were shut yet he smiled
His mother had come at last
The parting, torment, suffering, pain
Were memories of a distant past
She held him close and kissed him twice
And again when he asked for more
And then the little one along with his mother
Knocked at the heaven’s door……
Thursday, June 9, 2011
i no longer rhyme
Don’t even try to.
Pages are meant to be scribbled upon
And i’m still clueless
How a scribble becomes a poem.
Joining alphabets does not come easily
Words are mere inky feelings
And the jotting down is a permanence they shrink away from.
After a time you stop writing about love.
And the “I” disappears slowly..
Hundreds of pages filled with “I’s”
Too many dots of assurance
Covering a towering me.
Now i just bow, kneel occasionally
My “I’s” still unavoidable
Yet a move beyond “me”.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
I lost too much that winter...
a few strands of hair
a pair of mismatched socks
................. some precious grains of love
When summers came
and the covers went off the dusty couches
in unused rooms,
I found here and there
traces of a winter sun,
little pieces of love,
discarded peanut shells
and a few moth balls....
was a journey back
through the cobwebs of memories
and my blurred vision
would get a clear view
My hibernating soul
refuses to leave
the warmth of that winter
A winter of broken pencils,
and fingers stained with regrets...
A winter where
I lost it all...