And so life will kiss

December 20, 2008 § 12 Comments

Yet a curse to be borne,
and even as we parade
through attachments,
we feel the sense of
magic and divine incarnations.
Not a God,it is,but
a sense of belonging
to something bigger,
as wide as the universe
more profound than the curse.
Yet a boon in bane,
there is no need to refrain.
With a panache,
we can move on,
yet so is the earthly mood,
that the universe is not
great enough,for our dreams
to be filled with those illiterate
verses,which are sung,
by a betwixt soul,
in transmission between
a mortal heaven and a mortal hell.

For paradise,we have been thought
and so as to that,we bore a mark,
that sin was to break apart,
by the name of some good God.
Yet no salvation was kindled,
nor a state of rest born,
for a sudden silence was worn
by all,as if it was to mourn
one alive,even as the person,
gasped aloud,in pain.
For that is the cause of attachment
albeit the need you feel,
to return a good thought
to the creatures which stung.

A man cannot not talk to an insect
of immortal(in his eyes) heavens,
but can induce it to move in an
order,only utterly mortal,
that it just seems immoral.
And so too cannot this sense
be thought,to those who
decide not to evolve,even
if by an unconscious moratorium.
And so ignorance stings,
if not the ignorant,
but those who know
the light.For shadow
needs light,to hide,
and ignorance needs knowledge
to say that it has a right.

The night sky,shines with so
many a star,whose energy
is past anything close by.
Yet to us,they seem but a dot,
on a canvas,one to be painted over,
by ignorance,so that in bliss,
we can say that as a majority
we have eliminated the probability
of a greater state
and that this is our fate.
With such a obscure and misfit
proposition,even as our hands
pray to itself to build a better
one,we within,discriminate
the better for the worse,
lest,we feel greater than
what we are.

Yet when the within flickers
and a ubiquitous leap we make,
into the light,the world
throws its darkness onto,
so that it can sleep a bit more.
This is like a winter-stops
growth and delays the next.
But what of the one who
was striped? Bare and
let to face the cold,
life within seems to draw to a close.
And for one who has decided to live,
the world chooses death,
majority are never wrong
and at the mercy of the merciless
throng,almost buried alive,
the light within then grows
alive and makes the universe see
and so the sunshine seeks
to kill the earthy darkness
and let the soul of the ignorance
see that it is belittle
and that greatness is of one,
who punishes not that which can’t see,
though it means taking a worse.

That is the kind which is alive.
The one who will choose death
instead of the ignorant be hurt
so fondly-lest he be woken
from his awakened sleep
earlier than he deemed be.
And so life will kiss
and wish to be blessed
by the divine,who not
one the speck,but the world,
for they belong to themselves
and no other.

the light shines the brightest

worry

December 17, 2008 § 15 Comments

Worry works from within,
spoiling happiness with prickly questions.
A million ways to spoil our being-
a silent killer called worry,
affects our mind with
a hundreds of gray propositions.
deathly and hopeless
it tries to make you feel,
dejected and worthless,
it tries to chain your heel.

Hour and after you feel lost,
hour after hour the past,
just keeps coming apart.
Future it tries to steal
and life it tries to make
a ghost of,for real.
yet you know these are illusions,
which are your perception’s delusions,
you know that it is bound to get better,
life is much more livelier.

Kill worry,
make your life your own.
When times passes
and people are gone,
what remains will be ,
what you have borne
and undergone
and finally how you survived
and how much you have revived
from the soil,
back into a tree, of time and age
and strength to strength,
the storms of the past
would be your memory,
but bright days of water
and sunshine will be
your gift ,to yourself,
forever,you can shine,
even if pests try to hurt,
you can be firm and curt
and stick to what is yours,
for life is to lived
and not spent hour after hour
behind blank gray masks.

Don’t let worry,
have its way.
Be yourself
don’t be afraid.
Be yourself,
don’t think you will fail.
Just,be yourself,
not others or fake,
for your own sake.

the light shines the brightest

Self belief

December 15, 2008 § 11 Comments

A wish,a wish,
just say I will.

Even as the clouds gather
and the sky turns darker,
a sense of belonging,
a pride in living,
creates a prayer.

As a flower blooms on a Monday,
in December,it will never see May,
yet all it has is to hope,
for it is possible for it’s will to elope
the chains,the times’ ropes.

In the song of the world,
every note,is in order,
and the larger picture,
has a balance,
on so gallant and dynamic,
that it ushers everything
from the beyond to the twig,
to its place,in an illusion
of catacombs and many a maze.

And when a note is struck
or when something goes muck,
the song does not die,
but resides down a while-it lies
at the level of each,
as per the need and reach.

At a pace,each of its own it seems,
yet whose hand can paint the tree
or heat the sun,one violent and
the other so piquant a green?

But within each of us,is a note,
in the song of the world,
it is the same spirit,
which makes us the same
as different from others.
And by the strength of being a note,
which together we all wrote
and will write,there is a need
to move,to keep upright
and walk past,those,
who spend their life,
in demeaning the value of the light.

Forgives is not the coveted fruit,
as it is not right to be mute.
Yet squeezed not be too,
as the inner will is greater
than that urge to kill-
except in an bit to protect
the truth from the mystic.

In the tales ever so fond told,
there is always a hero and a lady-
between the mundane there is truth,
which is too stuck,that it seems to escape,
those who either forgave or gape.

As the night takes over the skies,
we known this is a passing.
And even if the world be dark,
there is light in the park,
the azure is always lit,
for even if we were to turn around
a while,the true belief will always
be there alive.

In a question of survival and to live,
it is not possible to keep things still.
And so as the world moves,
in circles,we too run around
the bushes and make and create
and destroy walls ,
which satisfy our inner call.

yet all that matters is you
and life is truly lived by the few,
who know,though the earth
seems a trap,that they may
be bound a while,
if they sing as they should
into the night,
the world will revive,
their highs and thus
they can fly high
and far away from the sonorous
melee of earth and the myopic kind.

So be ready to be lit,
and see your self,where you fit.
The true strength of life-the grit
to walk the last mile,
the trust in your self,
that you are right,
comes from the voice,
so sing aloud,
you are not one in the crowd.

To everyone,each is special
and things seem all too well,
until,illusions take over
and turn the voices into
something which shoves,
and make them the harbinger
of a brutish drawl.Yet that too
is nature and once we see it,
we can make it better-
by searching the right tune,
by making us immune,
to the ways of the infidel,
who has no belief,
not in God or other such,
but in himself.

Truth is not the end,
but means to an end.
Illusion hurt-
the world may seem curt,
yet what matters,
is yourself
and what you do and
where you dwell.
So forget,not forgive,
those folly handed
fools,who claim
that something else rules.
The world is of lazies faire,
and forces might dare,
but as long as you care,
don’t let them mar
your life,you kind,
which is the way of divine.

the light shines the brightest

A thought

December 9, 2008 § 6 Comments

A translucent light,
filters through without any fight.
As the world outside,
moves into night,
the world within sees dawn away.
Being bound is a state,
but not the ultimate fate.
The power to change,
to look past any blame,
straight into the problems eyes,
is what can give you the right,
to hold on steadfast to your
virtues and still move
across the stage,
not as a transparent ghost,
but the one who creates the toast.

A dream a day,
within,still keeps the
sunshine of may-
the bright and golden ray.
The orange of spring,
is never far away,
as like the early
sunset is the only way
to know,that it is a sleepy
throne,now we are aboard.

Yet seasons are fickle,
and man too,so.
So in a fickle world
of fickle ways,
all the hope that lasts,
is to be happy and not sore.
Albeit the hours under
the illusive darkness,
where for company
there is no one but the
self-the moment of truth
where in we all really know
we are good and that evil
resides and spreads
only when we eat its food.

When all is so mixed
and so stuck in unison,
which is the shadow,
when the light is away.
And so,something tries
to consume,
and eaten by it,
we fret and fume,
at the gloom
and still try to be breath
fresh air,when in fact,
we are covered by a cloud
of dusty mist.

Yet from within,
the belief will lead
you away,from the haze
and mystic rays.
The sun shall shine again
and in its warmth shall grow,
that which shall provide
shade for your shadow.

the light shines the brightest

Cut the ropes

December 7, 2008 § 13 Comments

pull the noose so tight,
that to kill,it feels it has no right.
cut the ropes which bind
and take it away from the fiend.

No one can own
and for our sake we have borne
many an insult and hapless innuendo
but now this our life our crescendo.

The world shall be the world
and it can say it wants about us,herald
people can,passing on gossip,
but this our path,our trip.

Never drop the courage,
it is the best among the ripe vintage.
In you ,you know you are the strongest
and the light shines the brightest!

Poetic justice

December 3, 2008 § 3 Comments

A myriad being,
Life’s zest of seeing.
Spread across a venerated sky,
the mask which hides those which pass by.

Hour after hour,
as days flow by,
the river of life,
decides to still strive.
Though those alive,
sometimes abide
by a negation,
nothing can match life’s passion.
And so as many lives come
and many a fewer go,
a piquant balance,
shall keep this abode.

Under the blue sky,
under the dark night stars,
we are born to be knights
of secretive missions,
so secretive that only
our sleep tells those tales,
in between who are embedded
ways ,where we progress as a race.

In a mirage of soliloquy,
in a battle of intuition and arbitrary
tidbits,the capricious senses try
to hail,all that will lead us to fail.
Yet some unknown instinct
keeps us alive,for we are born to thrive.

The layers of illusions that time
decides to sketch,are but for the mind
to think and break.
So for your sake,stop being
struck by foolish penury,
for you are no sinner who
shall witter and wan
under the gray,before dawn!

As humans,our survival,
is made up of fulfilling want,
yet when something goes wrong,
in our minds ,we blow against the throng.

yet whose fault is such,
the one who is affected
or the one whose starts the chain?
Gods and castes and religions and colour
no more matter-
for the game is beyond all that,
it is a question of who can make the other shut.

Justice ,justice,we all can shout,
but our efforts are like those of a lout.
The only justice that remains,
is poetic,everything else,
even if rhythmic is
plain blasphemy ,like the faceless,
for in pain we cry,hopeless.

yet those who seek the fire
of life,know what to burn
and what to light.But the true
light will never arise,
from the hands of those,
who try to prove with might.

The poetic shall stand above all,
for the rime of the universe,
is within us all.
for no where is any action at fault,
the devil is an angle too,
the demons say their prayers too.
And in such a balance we move
in circles,yet displaced in many axes
we move, the dimensions unknown
to me and you.And in such a maze,
to life and survive,
what we need to do is abide-
the voice within which guides,
which shows sense as well
as the vice and lets you know
that what you did is right.

And so for fire ,fire
for what are we but
influenced by the tree?
And yet it is for those,
who see the other,
that living is easier.
Though the struggle faced
by those is tougher,
the integrity is such
that there are no riders.

Within, the strength shall put a head,
which knows when rage is best.
For influence is not just contact,
but energy given through fact.

And so for the poetic we will fight
and we do know we are right.
Drop your weapons and live
no more on what we created
and spread against your mindless
fight.for technology is creation
and physiology is evolution.

So we do know from within the society
you all arose.But now stop the chain
and try to understand the pain
of the man,whose head was hurt by an apple
or that sleepless night spent on the universe’s riddle.

Pain is essential,
it is the sine-qua-non of life.
For without it,
illusions shall just reproduce five.
So not strike in pain,
put a knot,
and understand the effects within
and then you will not go wrong.

Under the sky we all live,
so while we stare at the stars,
let us think of those ancient
and medieval wars,
which left earth crass with blood
of those who could have done better.

But if your duty call is such,
then we have no other choice,
for ours is such.If friction be so,
then let this go on and on,
till one of us finally realizes we are wrong.

the light shines the brightest

A pleasurable moment

November 26, 2008 § 3 Comments

A pleasurable moment.
As the winds swayed the trees
longer and longer, as the roots
strained,the clouds circled
and smeared into a blindingĀ 
rage of continuous cold rain.
From all directions
they culred and merged,
uniting and parting,
with feathery fierce
and lovable verse-
unification and ramification
of one in meloncany depression.

Water hallows life
and the raw substance
of purity, pertains
the presence within
to wonder fill the
mind-in awe,
in the superiority
of an ancient cycle,
one still so tenacious
and routine adhering,
as if it was its prayer
to expose the mindlessness
of humans and their
predicament and folly
in their creation.

At the top of the world,
at the vertex of a triangle
at the peak of a mountain,
within lies a joy
of profound silence,
lest the evil smile
of destruction ever bear
resilience.Neither place
not time matter,
as the rain incessant
ponders the earth
forever gullible ,
not solidified,even
by human imagination.
And on that ledge
open and exposed,
if one were to stand,
the belonging,
the attachment,
between earth and humans
can be felt,
where man can let the minds
flow through and listen
to the tunes of natures
way of beginning a new
chain of causing culvert
conjugation-the
beating down of the vary
and fueling the life of
the within mighty.

Yet all we see is
a blanket of destruction,
which moves in from
the high seas
and rides on winds,
bound in one horizontal
direction.The clouds
seem to be forces of mayhem,
the death God’s coveted
tool of justice.But
the only justice we forget
is poetic and that shall
preserve the truth
as much as the clouds their
swaying fruit-
as the drizzle breezes
on to the face and we
rush for cover
from the torrent that
shall follow.

For such is the nature-
for the sun might be hid
and earth might face a gloomy fit,
yet the gray darkness
is a reminder that none
is superior than the whole,
that the instrument’s
sound can be played,
only if the artist is so made
and the climate ready to hear
the beauty of the untold,
yet known,repeated in
just another way.

from a guarded place,
in between a populous race,
the rain still never fails to amaze.
Even as i face none of the worse
implications of the storm
which by some grace got made,
I can never but be at ease
that such forces exist,
which makes it worth being it.
Never can a joy be higher
than when in oneness with
something greater,yet such claims
are just sinister-for nothing
can be felt which isn’t.

The light shines the brightest

Alone,alone,loneliness

November 24, 2008 § 17 Comments

From mobile photos!

Alone.

Alone.

Loneliness.

People.

Chatter.

Noise.

Belonging.

Attachment.

Detachment.

Care.

Trust.

Emotions.

Love.

Joy.

Break.

Shattered.

Revival.

Flow.

Loneliness.

Alone.

Alone.

From photoshopped

His curse

November 20, 2008 § 9 Comments

My 250th poem.

Fire calmed the curse,
and now nothing seems adverse.
short and sweet,
its true nature,was the beat.

A few strokes painted it neat,
the clarity insulted the bleak.
And as the hands went through,
the surface was spread with hue.

The impression of the curse was felt,
yet in its beauty his hands met.
The clap,produced a sound,
it awoke life all around.

Creation was his joy,
The curse and paint his toy.
Yet attachment with it grew
and he tried to hold the dew.

The curse it was,it disappeared,
And his heart was with rage smeared.
His strength prevailed,
and in glory he hailed.

Though it was all gone,
the reminisces still earthed, the wrong.
Yet as his pen flew across renewed,
his hands doodled the old ones painted.

And as he came to another shore,
he knew what was his true abode.
And many a girl he still adored,
yet his heart could no more afford.

Yet for the sake of his breath,
he jumped into the depth.
And there he hopes to find,
her pure and kind.

As the verse ends,
he is at another cross road bend.
Another one to cross,
he would then look across.

And his mind wandered on the skies,
his heart took the flight with wings
high and ready to abide,
he knew he needed her at his side.

He walked,he took a step,
the first one of the many he met.
And as the curse cooled,
his art,serene and tranquil renewed.

I live on forever.

November 17, 2008 § 9 Comments

Note:-The first stanza is inspired by the poem “the brook“.

And people may comeĀ 
and people may go,
but in my eyes,
i live on forever.

For the world is nothing
but what i perceive
and a coloured chart
which has my blood
and my thoughts
as the hues which
lend it,its meaning.
Nothing is bigger than what i see
and nothing is smaller than what i see,
all are as free as i see them free.
Everything to me revolves around me
and imagination is a world where in
everything has its own capable need.
from nowhere descends thoughts,
except by instinct
and in it i will dwell till i go extinct.
Words are mere forms of expression
thinking the base to factual actualization.
Yet behind art lives a thought
which captivates and helps cultivate
a sense of belonging to fulfill
the aesthetic longing.
In a world of azure skies
and pretty ornaments
who skid along the vast screen-
as if my thoughts from somewhere
wanted to know the way to heaven’s street,
walk across me-the belief that though
tangential might be the senses hold,
it is what helps us tell and be told.
At that point we see and try to be
and belong to this nether land
under the sky which holds the universe
and so the horizon dream.

History in yards and yards of cloth
and palm and paper and what not,
yet nothing can be learned
unless within them they have a yearn.
Tomorrow’s life is today’s dream
and yet today we see ourselves
the harbinger of our doom tomorrow.
Every step we take
and every action we commit and help make,
we induce and refuse the forces
within which act as the futures prefaces.
In grandeur and beauty we might fall,
yet their magic lasts as long as we a part.
And when the haze disperses,
we find in our mind’s purses
that we have been spell bound
by something that was built with a pound
of flesh and ounce of blood
and beyond that the thoughts on which
the lusty past fed.
Yet in pitiable reverence we seek to praise
those who moved the stones
and covered a scar with a tattoo
instead of the thinker who
decided that it shall be made beautiful.

Want is creed essential
as belonging is vesper real.
for if not a faith be there
and if not a God to, we plead,
the only want which shall live
is that to live alone
and not the wish of some
glittering crown
nor the heart of rustic brown.
And to live we shall think
for survival is the base
and life the face,
and that face shall be clean
and serene just like
it should be-not with a hung
heart and a formless love,
but one which goes higher than the clouds.

Misery is not what your friend has
and you don’t,but what you have
and that your friend doesn’t.
Yet for the one who truly owes
there is no misery
as he is enough profound
to know what is the right sound
and in what he is bound.
Happiness is a spark
of madness ,where in the touch,
if sustained leads to joy-
wet paint
that can either portray a beggar,a saint
or a maid or a triad or natures marvelous
mysteries and life’s magnanimity.

And in joy lies my eye
past misery and history
beyond the forest of trees
and gardens of vegetables and weeds,
where all that i see,
is a sensation which transforms
into me and my hands speak for me.
For never can the eye or hand lie,
the one who is controlled self
is all but his given his soul for theft.
Freedom is not buying wings
nor is it living in poverty
but seeking the pinnacle
which within you,you see.
And for humans and life, life
will flow on and things
might never end from here on
and since my life is all
but worth a vociferous bubble’s
being,it is delight to be alive
albeit the grey illusions
that make neither day nor night.
There is only one fight
that is surely not for might is right.
Forever from the edge of a ocean
within me i travel with devotion-
to me and my proposition.

And people may come
and people may go
but in my eyes
i live on forever.

the light shines the brightest

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