Thoughts in a Graveyard

Shrouded in some fear
Of a latent claustrophobia
Oh! The grave dark and deep
While some in some merriment
Think of having a long sleep
Yet Grim in his dreadful grin
Smiles…. may be!

The leaves fall with the autumn breeze
And petals drop one by one
Shriveled by the coming winter’s frost
Oh the times steps, slow, at ease
Yet with a pace always at a run
Unending and at what cost!

Slow and steady
Like in some eternal hourglass
The sand empties itself
Into some hillock of a past
To be there for ever.

The Play

I peep with fear through the window
To see the comedy of life
Lest I be a clown myself
I laugh the most untoward laugh
At myself in the mirror; I think
I don’t have time to think
I laugh at the tragedy
An ever going one, this life
Ah, we mere spectators
Of the play where we are the cast
Cast in a pitied cast
To play not by our will
To laugh, to weep, to cry, to die
The way we are wanted, to be
Or not to be; I think
Why do I think?

Death

The candle light flickers,
shadows oscillate like thoughts
of past, present, future; unending.
The breaths heave,
up the chest and down,
the heart beats pump life,
systole, diastole……
The life’s equation,
plus, minus, multiples, divisions
and a predestined solution!
And a buffet
blows the flame off.

The Waves of Time

Floating in an engulfing ether
Drifting in a sea where
Yesterdays mingle with an ever present today
With waves helplessly dashing
Against tomorrows cliffs; spraying a mist
Of hopes that pervades long in the air
Like aftereffects of all this conundrum
Slowly the waves retreat, silently like past
And today’s waves throw them back
Like recollections remembered…..
A face, a moment of joy or pain
The souls just being tossed now and then
Here and there in this eternal confrontation
Of yesterdays and tomorrows
Here on the shores of today.

12th December 2007

The sun hasn’t stopped rising and setting
Stars twinkling, the moon waxing and waning
Ever since you left, Dad
Nothing has changed
Except everything.

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….
Antiquity…….
The butterfly flapping wings beats its breast
Against a window pane
Trying to touch a plastic petal!