Skip to main content

AN ALLEGORY OF MONSOONS

Monsoons bring coolness
And pain
Wakes the poet inside you
Takes you back
To the days of yore
You live as a child
And the raindrops pour...

Monsoons bring pleasure
And fun
Closes your school
You run and run
Along the fields
Raindrops splashing upon your face
Wet soil soaks
More and more drops
Smell of earth puffs and puffs...
The farmer yokes his oxen
Sings the ballad of earthen men
You do not go home
A happiness and peace
You were craving for
Fills your heart...
You tear your notes
Float paper boats...
Monsoon makes them sink
Yet you never do think
You make more and more
Till your heart gets sore
And the raindrops pour...

Monsoons bring happiness
And death...
You sleep on grassy fields
Facing the cloudy skies
And rains wash your eyes...
You see diamonds falling
Pearls dashing down leaves
You remember grannie's fables...
And you close your eyes...
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Pantomimist

He never said a word where None would suffice. And really Words were luxuries, wrongfully Labeled as necessities Freedom who, freedom where Freedom when, he couldn't go Home, which home was it really !! He didn't say, he smiled sad This is your place, this is where You belong, they always said He never used words, he never Raised his voice, he only smiled sad Borders and limits and words Languages, cultures,  Nations Religions, loyalties and societies Freedom from whom ? Freedom when ? The home was long lost among Those borders drawn and the earth Divided, for whom ?? His earth, his love His birthright. He never said a word. Kisses were perversely preferable than wars He made love to the earth in a very profane way Across the borders of the living and the dead Though he got murdered, did the pantomimist die !!!
Post a Comment
Read more

Trystic

Ages of sombre slumber Preserves thy soul not From the sabre o' desire "Far from the folk they meet in the dusk of a shrewd spring glorying in tales of lust trystic ballads they sing " Divine inert eternity rewards thou not warmth of profane audacity " Their willowy hands are wrapped A tale of nails and lips Those softest unkempt grass Serve for the trystic sleeps " O' poet, pretend not and sing Of this tryst of springs Of those small profane things " ... Narrow eyes of heavens then flash Fear grips like a venomous sting promising return they part still trystic ballads they sing... " When those springs are gone On our tryst's doom A sombre monsoon's dusk, some profane buds then bloom... NOTES: In this poem first, third and fifth verses are related to each other and second, forth and sixth ones are related to each other. The last verse is a standalone one. First group of verses convey my thoughts on the imagery that is described through...
1 comment
Read more

SOLITAIRE-1

The lone poet walks  Along that dusty avenue Lined with leafless trees And cold stones of a lonesome hue. Towards his deserted home He walks on and on On cold winter dusks- The hours of a weak dying sun. O' passers by! Stop And behold his lonesome gait, Maybe the lone remnants of His cruel raging fate. With the death of that weak Sun His lonesome day ends. Beneath those soils, warm, A peaceful night he spends. Nights pass o'er his grave A handful of solace they bring, Unkempt mementos; dark And lost remains of a shrewd spring...
1 comment
Read more