Proposals!

Man chase many an aspiration
And God decrees as He wishes;
Ivory towers build in the mind
Are shattered to smithereens;
Sweetest dreams diffuse in the tears.

When we get a flower,
We desire for a garden,
Full of dazzling blossoms.
When we accomplish that garden,
We aspire to have the whole
Of spring for us.
Thus blossoms thousands of
Dreams in the mind, that finally
Wither, in the desolate forest of death.

Is it feasible that gold can
Blot out tears from the heart?
Can it drive away the agony in the soul?
Could any treasure, earned
With out the sweat of the brow,
And blood, last permanently
In life with anyone?
Man proposes and God disposes.

Bleeding rose...

You standing at the grave of dreams,
In the gloom of the moon light!
Do you reckon the sea of your grief
Will calm down, by shedding a drop of tear?
Even when your inset was bleeding
You were dancing and singing, repressing
Your pain, like the nightingale who sang
While its wings were on fire.

You concealed your woeful sighs
Under the heavenly, enchanting melodies,
And camouflaged your tears in the veil
Of angelic smiles, adorning your lips.
The spectators who relished in the
Delightful performance, you showed,
Were never aware of the anguish
Inundating your doleful heart;
And they could not wipe your tears
With their clapping hands, applauding you.

The image adored and embraced by the heart
Has faded and lost its lustre by
Gnawing prejudices and disinformation…
Obliterating, the sunshine with black clouds
Of despair and obscurity of frustration.

A robot...

Will the thirst in the heart be quenched,
By merely looking into each other’s eyes?
Is it possible to suppress all the longing
Of the youth, and contain them
Only in the hungry looks, which are exchanged?

What is the use of the pollen in a flower,
If the butterflies and the flower remain aloof?
Why is the honey kept in the flower,
If it is not around with its proboscis?

Life is the branch of a tree, where
Small dreams roost to rest in the night.
You came in my life like the soft ripples
Of a brook silently , but with quaint whispers
And smile and a song cheerfully;
Caressed the scorching shores of my dreams
Moistened it with your life and embraced it.
Inebriated like an earthen pot drenched
With the wine of your passion, kept inside;
Gave me handful flowers of dreams, but all
Made with papier-mâché, that could not
Share even a speck of pollen from it!
What ever I saw in the chariot of my dreams
Were images made of clay and were not real,
But replicas of House of Wax idols.
My sweetest imaginations hovered around that figure.
Flattered, she drifted from me smiling treacherously.
I discerned that those sculptures lacked
The heart and soul and was a robot, then.

My angel in my dreams!

Unseen dreams and fantasies
Are magnificent and awe inspiring,
Like unheard music that titillates the senses.
You sleep, my blossom of eyelids,
I no longer wish to unfurl that flower.

I offer you nights where lies beds of flowers,
Bedecked by buds of unquenched passions.
I can fondle you, like a breeze trying
To comb your hair, and caress you with my love.
I will become a dewdrop falling on your
Sweet lips that diffuses in your soul.
I will keep a scented kerchief on your eyelids,
To keep away the light disturbing your sleep.
I will cover your body softly with my breath,
Like the moon light stroking the flora.
I will tap a musical note on your inset.
While smothering your feet, in your slumber.
The lode star is lowering its wick, and fading
To infuse somnifacient light for you.
And I am becoming a silent melody,
Watching over your angelic sleep.

The final act…

What made us to call a flower, love that withers
When it is only half unfurled?
Why did we call the breath taking magnificence
Of a rainbow, that can always melt
In the tears, a maiden?
Why do we a call a hornbill, which is always thirsty,
The desire or passion or lust, in the human mind?
Why do we call that butterfly hoping around
Pretty flowers, an alluring dream?
Why that crystal platter that shatters, when dropped
In the earth, is called the human mind?
Why do you call an uninvited guest
Coming into our life, the destiny?
Why do we call a comedian who arrives
At the most inopportune moment into the play,
Unannounced and unexciting, DEATH?

Of promises and resolutions...

31st December, AD> (any year)
“Thanks a thousand times.. Thank you once again;
For years you were roosting in my bosom with your love;
In your desolate hours and the intervals in your offline hours
You were always with me as, my exhaled breath.
Sharing your warmth on my body and soul,
With the fragrance of vibrant lasciviousness.
Thus far, and no further from now on!
From to-morrow we are becoming strangers.
You are alienated. estranged, and no more in my life.”

They stood in the shade of the lonely rain tree;
His lips were quivering in the vicissitudinous emotion,
Her eyes were gloomy and teardrops hesitated to fall down.
He took the last puff from the smoldering cigarette.
That was ready to cinder its filter in the next moment.
He threw out the filter of the fag.
No more smoking from to-morrow!

Time stopped!. The traffic screeched to a halt!
Earth stopped its rotation on its axis!
There was no airin the atmosphere to breathe.
Everything at a standstill!
None of these happened….
No thunderstorms and lightning!
Even the merciful gods did not
Shower flowers from heaven, as a markof appreciation!

Everyone knew that tomorrow will witness
Him scrambling for discarded butts of
Those cigarette stubs for another long puff.
And she will again stand in the shade of the rain tree
Awaiting the sound of his treads on the sand.
One more year is chugging out...

I am drowning in dreams…

Could you tell him about the love in my heart,
When you see him next, my dearest breeze?
Whatever my heart speaks you can
Whisper into his ears, softly,
And I am sure, your tinkling bangles
Will laugh out loud, at my stupid words,
Looking in the mirror of the placid river.
When the blue sky spread its peacock plumes,
A blossom starts smiling from the top of a tree.
My quivering desires became a ruby
In my heart yearning to hear his coquetry,
And to chatter my replies, garnished with love.


When I stand reticently near him
And my desires fuming inside like a volcano;
When I flee away playfully without answering
Him, and mutter my reproaches for being late.
As I desire with passion to see him again,
And to close my eyes, lest I see his trembling
Lips seeking to close on mine lustfully,
I am covered with a sweet bashfulness
And turn numb, stupefied and shudder.
But my dear friend, don’t tell him those things.