Friday, 25 April 2008

Mother, Me and My Daughter!

With whom shall i compare thee virtuous lady?
From the shadow of God you are born,
Having the heart huge like well,
Which holds the Poetries of life and Poems of love.
Sword of endurance, Guns of bravery.
Fools are those who dare to meddle into your conscience.

Bestowed by the composed soul of heavens you are,
Where every breeze is like a balm,
And every edge is calm.

Nine months pain she bore,
For that eternal smile,
Which sprinkled on the day of delivery,
And so she gave birth
To a Bard,
A Writer,
A Son.

Whose every word praises this holy woman,
Every act honours her persona.

Born from that womb was I,
Living the life of slave(for my mother) , I Love,
And a wish to die in that womb, I Hold.

Now with whom shall i compare thee vigorous lady?
Today a mother gave birth to another mother,
My Daughter.
Who, tomorrow will continue this eternal cycle of production.

Then with whom i am going to compare these mothers?
When they are incomparable!

Wrote on 14th May 2007 for a competition.

Saturday, 12 January 2008

Me, Moths & Flame.

In the light of candle,

i was reading a book.
My thick spectacles hanging loose over the tip of my nose.
I saw moths marching towards me from a distance
and suddenly all started laughing.
A mocking laughter.
I placed my glasses parallel to my eyes,
and noticed the throng lurking over the candle with an eternal desire to burn.

In the silence of the night,
one of the moths asked in a derisive tone,
"What does this heap of trash teach you?"
I felt my lips stretch and my eyes twinkle.I answered,
"To Value You LITTLE Creatures."
A silence crept in and their lurking come to an end.
Every moth then peered directly into my eyes and the flame stood still; waited.
I observed a bundle of feelings arising in them
A desire to know,
to live,
to be valued
and respected.
A feeling arose in me as well.
I fell in love with them.

In the ongoing silence, with their pride at stake, they inquired,
"What else does it teach you?"
It teaches you
To live without burns,
To fly without wings,
To think without limits, and
To act without power.

Another from the swarm posed a question,
"What possession does it own?
"My lips curved and bowed"
It possesses unlimited wisdom and knowledge.
It possesses Power,
And God....In Self.

And suddenly the Flame Died.

Wednesday, 9 January 2008

Writer's Feelings..

I brought my pen to my lips,
And started inhaling,
Sucked in,
and in.
My lungs became barren of breath,
My flesh in exasperation, grasped the bones tightly.
But not a single drop of ink, coloured my throat.
Thats Writer's Agony.

In the Buddha Posture i sat,
With pen and paper in hands.
I Thought,
and thought.
My mind
my soul
my senses
All got numb.
Pen and paper departed
And my head fell down.
Thats Writer's Pain.

An idea crept into my mind,
and smile swept over my lips.
Pen was dancing,
Paper was fluttering.
Both were dying for union.
Time came and kiss was the only distance,
but the nib broke.
That's Writers Cry.