Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Crimson Dusk

The dusk no more golden now
is coated with a crimson tinge
and a sanguine stink prevails.

The petals have withered away
and shriveled stalks remain
pointing in an accusing demeanor
towards the sky.

The hearts are cloistered in gloom
and tongues wrapped in silence
yet eyes in their lachrymose outbursts
write in saline crusts
memoirs of untold grief.

Oh sleeping ones! Blessed are you
here living ones little better than dead
die a thousand living deaths…..
…… should I pray for life
or crave for death?

The Plastic Petal

The crooked by lanes whereby
Contorted concrete jungles mingle
In an unbroken jigsaw along the skyline
Silhouetted in the dusky sun whose orange
Bathes, somewhere else,
The beautiful jungle
Where its gold fuses with the green
And a symphony of hues is born.
…here the cacophonous din clangors
in the screeches of machines which duplicate
Men in their actions
Unerringly yet unmanly.
The race long ago started
Hasn’t ended yet.
A bunch of plastic petals plants adorns
The flower pots while some blocks chopped….
The butterfly flapping wings beats its breast
Against a window pane
Trying to touch a plastic petal!