Going Away

Desolation of emptiness
Riding with us while the city
Clad in a translucent blanket of dust
Lay behind. On the archway through the stream,
Old and dying, we stopped, looking back
The town seemed gloomy, dark and sad.
Up ahead still half of the setting sun
Could be seen peeping through the blushing clouds.
There a while we stood in the wind
Gazing down at the murky stream,
Once a mighty river but now no more.
Four centuries ago she seduced men
With varied skins to settle down along
Her fertile banks, to multiply
By leaps and bounds. She has shrunk from our growth
Since then, being raped in various ways by men
With varied skins. Her tales of woe
Moved us and we could stand no more.
On the ride once again through the dark road
Glowing from the light of a waning moon,
There were brown grasses on the fields
Swiftly passing by in a blur.
We saw them lush and green a month ago
Sporting feathery flowers, soft and white
But not any more. Riding by
Shadows cast from those yellow lamps
Twinkling far, inside those tiny shades
And the sweet aroma of burning woods
Growing in the air. The cool night
Was wet with the evening mist.
Although in the end to sadness we must return
For a while at least we were free and life was fun.

Blind Rage

A blind rage seething in your eyes
Boiling in the blood that flowed through your veins
And the haze of too many thoughts
Fading from the sky of your heart.
Your vision seems like the sun shining through
A thick magnifier, all the heat
And light intensified on a dot
Tiny but good enough to burn.
That same rage makes you keep your fingers
Tightly curled and your breaths shallow
Exhaled in rapid bursts, silent
With adamant lips firmly shut.
Your vision glows like water in the noon
After a hundred miles of thirst
And parching sand, like a mirage
Not far and good enough to make a run.

The World

The world is changing all around,
Too fast, the Spring wind bringing down
Leaders in barren winters of the past
And many places where people used to live
Now lay submerged beneath the rising sea.
Seems with it we are changing too
Growing shallow, intolerant and rude.
In every thousand years, history
Keeps changing too with new winners
And their tales. The old ones become
New stories, one half legend and half truth.
On forests and rivers of yesterdays
And almost on nature too it would seem
That we, humans, hold the absolute reign
But the seasons are in a cycle,
Indifferent to laughter and our pain.

Time To Fly

At last the time has come, to fly
And leave this arid cage of life,
Time to say goodbye to each other
With one last look and a mute sigh.

Through those empty days together
Through these ugly nights, left alone
After some groping and a groan,
Life has come to this, in the end.

The time has come, to fly and live
For the open sky is waiting
With freedom amid the flying clouds
And peace across the stretch of blue.

After all those twisted nights and days
The time has come, to say, ‘Adieu’.

Life And Death

“It is said that one should never hurt a poet for then with their pen they would write such verses that would make the rest of the world cry and bleed for them their silent tears…”

Ain’t life a short yet tedious wait for death?
No matter how grand a name one has earned
And no matter the fame along, when dead
Every bit of charm would go in flame
Or left alone beneath the ground to rot
And become delicacies for maggots,
Helping lives to return back to earth,
The same fate lies for all of us alive.

Happy is the time when the sun would shine
Through the hazy cloud, the world clear and bright
Like a crystal ball with a happy glow,
The trees laden with leaves lush and green
And the happy flocks of birds twittering
In chorus to each other a joyous song.
Happy is the place where two lovers nest
On the easy slope of a forest hill
Face to face with the blue sparkling waves
Gently splashing upon the shore below.

But the happy time and the happy place
Are even shorter in existence than
This transitory life. The happy sun
Goes down when the evening star is born.
The time of lush and green too would be gone
With the onslaught of winter, bleak and cold.
Soon the birds will grow too weary to sing
And the nest too old for remembering
Two lovers, dead. Then someone else will come,
Live in happiness for a time and go
Back to earth or in flame, dust back to dust.
For a short time life gets born and then dies.

So my love, shed no tears when I am dead
And no white roses on my empty bed.