August

Remnant of Love

pexels-photo-320266Someday, the flowers will wither

They’ll lose their colour and charm

They’ll close their eyes in defeat

And mourn the dearth of affection

Someday, every grain of happiness will disappear

There’ll be nothing left to cheer about

Future wishes and hope will fall asleep

And nothing will remain of good spirit

Someday, the door will stop being wide open

The wind and cold chill will shut it out

They’ll force it to cease being ajar

And there’ll no longer be entry

Someday, apologies will win no victories

Sincerity will be deceit in disguise

Truth will lose all value and price

And good intentions will be misconstrued

Someday, the eager bride will change her mind

She’ll choose instead to travel alone

She’ll turn away to tour the world

And leave behind all dreams of motherhood

Someday, there’ll be no remnant of love

There’ll be no sweet kisses or cuddling

There’ll be no playing under the sheets

There’ll be just a book, paper and pen.

 

 

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August

IF WE FAIL TO ASK QUESTIONS…

pexels-photo-196667How do you celebrate life

And mourn death at the same time?

 

How do you rejoice for a new day

When a loved one goes away?

 

How do you tell an infant

That he no longer has a mother?

 

How do you keep loving

When your heart feels so empty?

 

How do you answer these endless questions

When your mind is stuck in confusion?

July

LOST AND FOUND

IMG_20170717_073100We move in the middle, not confident

Wondering when life will begin

As if today was not yesterday’s future

We keep waiting and watching

Hoping for a tomorrow that’s unheard of

And looking for meaning in nothing.

 

Are we not lost and found

Trying to get through the storms

That once drowned us mercilessly

Are we not lost and found

Hiding from our faulty fast lanes

And working around the clock?

 

There’s something nobody talks about

That one topic that’s not a secret

But it’s too real to be spoken of

And so we act like all is figured out

We think of ourselves as friends

But in truth, we’ve never met.

July

PLUCK AFTER SUNSET

IMG-20170626-WA0052

Who hasn’t known sorrow or the failings of tomorrow

Who hasn’t seen sadness in all shades of white and black

Who hasn’t fought fear or the most fickle reasons

If you stand strong even in the sunset, I adore your pluck.

 

 

Our folks suffer on the journey to fulfillment

The nonchalant rulers remain tyrants still

They toss them to and fro like a ball on a field

They ignore the sand grains falling in the hourglass

With voices screaming, shouting and sullen

Our people try to find salve for their swollen sores.

 

But in the end, the sheep is just like the wolf

Scaring the defenseless to flight

Stealing our days and nights

And leaving us doubtful that we made a right choice.

June

UNSPOKEN RULES OF OUR PORTION

Often too quickly the new becomes old
A beautiful story is no longer told
The crawling toddler is now a limping aged
The sunrise has soon returned to bed.
By days or moments, we stay locked out
Shielded by something raw and round.

Like a tyrant wielding a rod
Ready to whip one that runs
These rules bend us, break us, belittle us
They tell us the things we can’t want
They remind us of our disabilities
As if humanity shares not one disease.

They are codes, invisible symbols
Crafted into people standing by walls
Staring at you with the corner of their eyes
Ready to drill you till you pay the price
We soon cower under their gaze
Too frightened to try to win the race
So we accept in simple resignation
Our million doses of painful portion.

May

A BUFF OF LIVING

As this day fades like dust long sprayed
As the moments of the twenty four hours complete their course
As the moon overlays the skies
And the stars appear in their graceful apparels
I think to myself of the minutes saved
The moments lost, the times poorly used
Perhaps brooding over misfortunes gone
Or wishing for future fortunes.

Many like me archived today
Storing it in a briefcase without codes
Hoping that we may repair yesterday
In our ideal sketch of the morrows to come
We keep tiny bits of our breakfast till nightfall
Often too panicked that our bowels will scream
And cry pitiably for want of satisfaction
Or dearth of seas in our intestines.

What if we became buffs of the present
Living a day at a time, one step in the line
What if we turn off yester woes and future fears
To live in the present and just dance in today.