The Shooting Star

Credits : relativityonline.com

A grimaced star shoots forth light,
In the enchanting shades of the night,
It traced a path of unconquerable might,
Yet alone it is meant to fight.

I pitied her as I looked up at her flight,

It slowly drifted away from sight,
Unknown worlds are caressed more,
A regime of enveloping darkness

Which gets calmly devoured.

I laid my head close to the ground,
Shooting forth is my home too,
Unknown, unseen and uninterrupted,
In the euphoria

Of painful lives and painless deaths.

Life is miniscule in the infinity,
Darkness is the law that nature built,
For light to reach and stars to shoot.

Seconds shift
To take light to the dark,
To take flight along the tide,
To take might in leading the fight,
To take my thoughts in this wintry night.

Childhood

Photograph : Lost Childhood by Enko on Devaint Art

Broken bangles, a half crushed toy,

A childhood lost,
Yet carefully preserved.

A spell of thought of moments begone,
Heartfelt laughs, truthful tears,
All a part of distant past.

Songs sung years back,
Words lost somewhere in time,
The tunes etched in the mind sustains my life

Days of daunting quests,
Climbing stairs, riding bikes,
And ending up on mother’s lap.

A tale of being with the Earth,
Feeding birds, poking cats,
And pawing the Earth to end up with dusty hands.

The clock on the Wall did turn fast,
All I do is look back,
With eyes wet and sad.

Oh those broken bangles, that half crushed toy,
A childhood lost,
But preserved forever.

Vagabond Dogs

Artwork : ‘A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society’ by Sir Edwin Landseer

It rained last night too,
Streets drenched, air cool,
Her fur kept me warm,
Tired, wet, but she was calm.

I awoke to her failing beats,
Beautiful she, like a poem by Keats,
I stroked her head,
She never budged.

Thirteen days she stood by,
She still had enough heat last night,
To keep me by,
And maybe change my life.

I am a thief,
Hungry and running,
The only good I ever did?
I fed her once,
A vagabond dog’s gift to another!

A Burning Poem

Google Images

One hand of his held firm,

While the other was let loose,

With which he glided

A moving pen.

Like every drop of life

Pouring out,

Ink from his pen caressed

His paper.

It held his life,

It held the pain,

It held the strife,

It held the little joys.

A pitied paper held

The beatings of his heart,

He took a match, lit a flame

And buried it in his

New found claim.

He felt the fire burning,

He felt his pains fading,

He felt the mind healing,

And another poem flaming.

Assassin

The ache of subdued dreams
Disrupted my walks,
Nights spent amidst fears and tears
Drove me in paths of insanity,
There I lost the sense of life,
And gained the pleasure of torpidity.

A guide in the path was a silhouette
Figure of a man who seemed dominant,
Between the trivial drama,
He gave me a gun
And told me to shoot.

The head he asked for was colossal,
It carried the weight of torrid ideals,
My hands were dirtied before,
He swore he would make it clean.

The bullet from my gun never missed,
Target was found on the first shot,
The feeling of meaning was slowly felt,
Though the dirt in my hands remained
Even after.

The assassin inside me was free,
Free from pain, free from tears,
He was free, even from numbness,
He could feel the rope on my neck
As I choked!

A Jailed Insect

Seconds pass, destined to make me numb,

Coldness swipe through,

A drenched cotton cloth, separates the cold air from my skin,

A narcissus in the yard leaves me in spells of rue,

Delicately, he hides his face from my lifeless smiles.

A worthless insect roams in and out of my cell,

Upon a world of freedom he remarkably fell,

Free he is, clean and graceful,

In a place stinking and suffocating amidst all.

I saw for a second a younger me,

I saw the spotless smile, that with her, you see,

I found a wedding car replaced by a funeral pyre,

I saw the spots that night when I looked up at the moon,

And a gun dropped down stained with blood,

I heard the cry of a hunter, for lust he was born.

The insect in my cell was crushed underneath my hand,

Blood, sans the stink of iron, spilled along my protruding nerves,

I licked it, in the light of the rising Sun,

As it passed through my bleeding tongue,

I felt the taste of crushed freedom,

All for the second time.

The Den of The Snow Lion

The Snow Lion : Unofficial Flag of Tibet
Courtesy : freetibet.org

The valley remains enveloped in snow,

Cold and dark as always,

A mountain; high, large and powerful

Stood erect between them and the Sun.

Rivers which ebbed on never held fish,

Fruits from the mountain never came,

The valley rotted on and on,

Though the people survived,

As if by a miracle.

A saint foresaw a better day,

He besought them to relinquish the mountains,

And reach out for the skies up high,

So they did one day, so they soured.

The mountain’s grip was never crippled,

It held the valley from kissing the air,

A valley beneath the mountains

Was forever meant to rot.

The elite beyond the seas pitied,

‘What absurd notion of flight’, they satirized,

The saint was tried for treason,

For shouting out lies, and radiating false hope,

So the story ended it seemed.

But he was deported

Into a land where his religion was born,

He found light and his spirit remained unworn,

He held the Sun and rays emanated,

From there he laid plans for another flight,

To lead a valley onto light.

The rays poured hope to the people,

The mountain was strong, but they could fight,

The rocks that blocked the lion’s den

Were taken out and destroyed,

And a bright white snow lion roared out in freedom.

NOTES
The poem is about Tibet’s ongoing struggle for freedom. Here the valley is an image used for Tibet, mountains represent Chinese supremacy over Tibet, the saint is Dalai Lama who was deported to India, and finally the Snow Lion is the unofficial flag of Tibet used as an image of freedom.

A Lost Love

Artwork: Google Images

The calm of morphine kept fading,

By little I found the pain brewing,

While the untamed heart kept pounding

Much like a blanched pigeon

Freshly caged.

Days were lost in hours of pain,

Weeks passed as I couched

Sans the strength to speak out,

I gave a whisper one day

As lightly as a fading song,

I asked the doctors about her health.

Spells of hallucination always struck,

I remained in a hospital bed

Looking at the monitor echoing my beats,

But a moment after, I am in a car,

Racing at knots at the rage of opium.

In a moment my life became white,

Her hands were clutched onto mine,

I looked into her eyes and a paranoia rose,

Is it the morphine that flows through me,

Or is it the opium that makes me high?

The doctors claimed she had died,

But then who sat beside me last night?

Drops of tears concerned my vision

I felt her as real as the flagitious doctors

Who raced around me like wild hyenas.

A white veil separated me from life,

The car drifted on wildly,

My veins were clogging with opium,

I stared blankly at her eyes

Which appeared cold in fright,

I loved her, I assumed she knew,

I would have said it too,

But the screech of breaks

Blocked my speech.

I woke up once again,

I never felt motion,

Nurses rushed to pick my state,

In a touch of visible distaste,

I asked again about her health.

They spent a few seconds in tumult,

And assured she is safe and great,

I breathed, I saw light,

I saw her hands reaching out for mine,

I saw the monitor going blank.