MANY, BUT NOT EVEN ONE…

Before my eyes stood the vastness of the sea,

With a hundred boats lining the shore;

I got into all at different times,

But couldn’t complete any journey.

The time now is too late,

When I am flung

To the gauntlet of regret—

A regret arising from the batons of apathy.

Everything touched my tongue,

But nothing went down.

The tomb of learning had been built,

A worn-out shroud covering it,

While the Clock of skill didn’t stop.

The terrain of life is very rugged,

With cliffs and ridges,

With chances and sudden deaths.

But the terrain is verdant,

Lush green meadows deck the boughs,

Some bovine graze and some birds chirp.

But the house of cards lay by the river:

A river with few floating logs,

Holding onto which, many struggle

And reach land.

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Sitting on a bed of thorny roses,

The pitied soul looks at the window,

And thinks what to think.

Myriad thoughts occupy him

While he shares none.

He laughs at what wasn’t meant for him:

Sometimes snubbed and sometimes used,

He knows his day will come one day.

He flocks to where his mind takes him

And the thorn pricks him,

He isn’t called when he leaves—

Silently.

He saw the sky roaring and the leaves quivering,

And the incessant drops seeming like dew—

Petty and trifling.

When the sun came up,

No one could see the dew,

Since it had already dried.

The vicious tentacles of competition

Are too strong to be broken:

Sometimes so strong that it does not remain

Competition at all.

And sometimes, a bit of his past

Knocks him at his heart’s door—

And that is when he strengthens himself.

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TO LIVE WITH THE HEAD HELD HIGH......

Sometimes I want to stomp the overwhelming grasses,

Thinking that I also have a boot.

Sometimes I like to crush their ambitions,

With feelings tough;

And dwell amongst the planets,

Like a star.

I want to be the heavy rain,

Wetting the ambitious;

And become the rainbow after,

Drying the wretched.

I look up to the sun,

Only its heat melts me,

Not its sight.

Sometimes I feel like sweeping away

All opposition, building

A staunch place for myself—

In this deathly world.

To feel ambitious is to attack myself,

And to feel meek, is to be defeated.

To maintain the line should be the aim;

Blurring the line sometimes, but never

Forgetting that it shall always remain.

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HALE AND HEARTY.....

               The melancholy statues exploited their tireless feet sulkily through the streets; some, with the head held high and jaunty; and some, with bowed vertebrae, trying to caress the fond memories of the past, when the present held no meaning to them. Those, enjoying a propensity towards simplicity, haunted the streets of their taste, maybe behind the colossal Mall, or rather in the small, dingy lanes vis-à-vis. And those, who shuffled their lives amongst the wonders of glamour and extravagance, rather impudently chose to elbow their way into the likes of the aristocrats; irrespective of a degree of defame (if any).

                The day rambled on with its own gust when, at night, the beautiful white sphere rose to accompany the luminous orbs decking the sky. Some of the same breathers appeared once again on the streets, but this time with a more ambitious figure; perhaps with a sudden vivacious desire to revive what had been lost and regain Life, in its true sense. And also a new passel of mortals appeared altogether now, among which maybe all were lacking in their presence under the sun. They seemed to be in a sui generis type of rush, some rapidity that can stun any common onlooker like you or me. Once they reached the main street, in a trice, they broke into myriad individuals; some darted to board a bus, some for a taxi and some for an auto-rickshaw or a rickshaw; while the others chose to traipse their way, either in the ecstasies of prospect, or in the fathoms of tension or pensiveness. Many opted to dally around the shops lining the footpath: the voyeur enjoyers embarking on extravagant purchases while their counterparts either staring agape at such “mismanagement” or fleeting their time observing the goods without victimizing themselves to the claws of profligacy.

                When the darkness seemed to wrap the city more and more, the native dwellers could be seen pressing the doorbell—some with the case of exhaustion due to work, and some, overwhelmingly inebriated, dying to find a place in the mattress, until the tenacious hypercritical comments from his spouse seem to compound his condition more and more.

                So days go on as such, and man moves on; and the static change makes life dynamic, with every new day seeming better than yesterday.

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ONE MORE DREAM AND I'M THERE.....

As the blinds were drawn across the window that night, they were not folded anymore since the night never ended. The owl kept hooting, the birds were sleeping in their nests and I kept myself immersed in the depths of my dreams. The dream never ended; the trance never seemed to give me out. A thought kept recurring, the vision kept flickering. I was lost in the vagueness of the past, outdone maybe by the weapons of reminiscence. My head was turned toward the hill, the hill that seemed to be very close until you reached it.

                Even in the dead of the night, the peak had a luminous lining: I wondered from where the light had come. I kept wondering and wondering, until the arms of the present defeated future, and the hill disappeared from before me and only the dead of the night came to grasp the ambience altogether. I journeyed through the woods in a lonely road, with only a light to guide me. I neither knew from where the light came nor my destination. I went on and on until I saw the hill reappearing once again. I stopped momentarily and resumed my wonder. I looked towards the night sky, miles above me, but saw only Mars glowing brightly. Stars were markedly absent. While wondering, I thought of reaching the light at the hill-top; but for that, I had to journey there. The night never ended, and so didn’t my passion. I tried for months, for years until I just reached the bottom of the hill. Now when I looked up, I couldn’t see that same light at the top; but I knew it was still there: I just had to scale.

When I dreamt of a dream in my dream, a huge rock from the hill-top tumbled and fell upon my head, knocking me senseless. You can still see me there, at the bottom of the hill: my soul has escaped and my body lies there: senseless, but not dead. It shall wake up once again; once again, when the dream arrives to take me, once again.  

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