Genesis of a Poem
inside warm blanket
on a winter evening
another--
in reddened skin
under a torn jacket
A poem is born
for the ivory skin
over vicious heart
another--
for the ugly faces
of beautiful souls
A poem is born
in the brains pregnant
with worldly wisdom
another--
in ignorance
of quotidian lives
A poem is born
amidst the gardens
of herbs of fruits
another--
in empty stomachs
observing them afar
A poem was born
in the being you shattered
another--
in the soul
about to reborn.
A Play with the Sun
We played the ball yellow-red
When sunbeams came to rest,
Beckoning us with crimson glories
On hillock’s brownish breast.
The daylight gave up mighty throne
Defeated by the night
And western ghats walked in dream
With ghosts of murky height.
Then came the starry thieves above
Winking at our being
So, self confessed dreamer in me
Vanquished the hours fleeing.
The Trail to You
The trail to you is a lone trail
It passes through the fences
Of traditions and customs
And meets the shattered
Tombs of the rebels
It passes through the walls
Of speculations and considerations
And discovers the ruins
Of logic and reason
It passes through the doors
Of darkness and despair
To find the windows
To wisdom closed
Remember?
The trail to you is a lone trail
Conquering the ignorance of moments
Only to see
The epiphany of life
Dead.
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