Isolation

Isolation,
With its clinching cold fingers
Clench your heart as not to move
Like a classic fairy tale bee,
Caught in a fictitious spider’s net.

Isolation,
Is like the suffering under a tyrant,
A blend of monotony and inhibition,
Some sort of separation, hurtful, and,
A barrier that blocks your maturity.

A college classroom,
An ordinary one that is set in a peaceful young ambiance,
Where politics smells and flirtatious comments are flown.
A noisy noon after the lunch, fill with gibbering chitchats,
With frivolous teenage songs and with puppy romances.
Amidst these playful parties, one is disinterested, sits apart
Brooding on shattered dreams, hoping for the timer to ring,
Isolated one, it could be you, she, him or me.



Back to your home,
Gazing outside, through your own that special window,
Right there in your own room, with a melancholy mood.
Speaks yourself, smiles alone, and making fanciful stories.
Find ease in thoughts or in virtual journeys through books,
Sensing soliloquies, making sickly strategies like a maniac.
Sing alone, tease yourself and rethinking your own past,
Isolated one, you, but it could be she, him or me.



The pony-tailed girl,
I know her, I think she too knows, but not a familiar one,
The girl, who has silky sort of hair and white sneakers,
With a pair of vanity specs and appealing attire in style.
A jolly type, not my kind, with plentiful admirers around.
She has not seen me among her beaus, as I am a shy one,
Often, I have to pretend as if I am in some grave thoughts.
Isolated one, I am, but it could be you, she or him.

An Island Mystery

Of the several known
Mystery lyrics, which
I had heard and learned a few,
Allan Poe with his rhythmic
Rhymes and
Flannan Isle of Gibson
Are topped.

Here is my story,
Set in a peaceful island village
Surrounded by some discoloured
Fuming waters, foul smelled,
To which the only inward way was
A silver-tanned rusted bridge, iron made,
And both the lightest footsteps, and
The jumbo treads alike had turned
It into violent shakes with
Crackling sounds.



After passing this wayward bridge
I drove my bike further
Through a shattered way
With gutters and all,
As directed by my artist friend
Who dwells somewhere
In one of those
Rustic gloomy ghostly homes
Made by time-eaten
Bricks and clay.

As I moved forward
In those shadow cast evening
With my curious mind
In search of a hermit's house
Where my thoughtful friend resides,
The darkened broken path became
More and more damp-like, and
The greenish fusty trees began to wore
Some puzzling smell and growing dark as well.

In the end of all,
When I reached his dwelling place,
Set in an enclosure
Made of time-worn
Degenerated bricks covered by terracotta,
Dipped in a smell of ancientness,
By throwing open its wooden cave-like door,
Partly disintegrated,
I stepped into the courtyard
Dense with plantains and coco palms,
And with stinking smell of snakes.
From the old perishing house
My friend appeared
By opening an ancient door, about to decay
With his usual hearty smile
And with flashing eyes.



Time ran swiftly
In his closed antique room
Where we discussed the popular things,
As well as the heartfelt tales,
The politics, cinema and literature,
And some of our genuine experiences.
In between this, what I missed to notice
Was a touch of eerie air, that
Made his dwelling place a little bit congested.
The creepy air, and the darkness grown
Together made me to ask
About his experiences with ghosts
And unknown spirits in his
Dreadful dreary den.
His answer made me to shock
As he mentioned certain queer experiences
With an invisible thing, that
Beat him occasionally,
During sleeps or his busy
Writing schedule.

Let me tell you first,
These creepy damned things,
Called ghosts and spirits
Had never made an appearance
In front of me before,
As I have a strong distaste for both.

Soon, I heard a voice,
Rather thump like one, and with a start
When I looked at him, what I saw was
His gleaming glossy eyes, and he said
In a pensive voice,
'You know the old mango tree near?
Where it had happened, that cold blood murder
Of a pregnant girl, Ah! who was
A little comely girl.'

With no delay
And with no further telling of tales,
I took my leave
By grabbing my soaked cap, and
While running out I noticed
His meditative dubious eyes,
Now covered by a pair of specs.
I ran through the open courtyard,
Now wet due to the drizzling rain,
By tramping the weeds and plants
Under my quivering feet,
Towards the closed cave-like door
Of the outer wall, where
I had stopped my sidekick,
My sincere motorbike.

Now at a distance,
After drove my bike through
The similar way,
I looked back with
My eyes protruded, and I saw
In the night,
That old ghostly figure of house,
Stands, by emitting an air of eeriness
And with its genuine touch of ancientness.

A Fine Medley of Poetry

Some sudden temptations are freaky,
Those occasionally make me to write
Like a genuine rush of hopping thoughts
Or like the actualization of dream wishes.
Sometimes I wrote, rhythmically, as a flow,
And at times like a knotted string of words.
But whenever longing for a gush of outpouring,
What I get is the mimicking of known lines.
Sometimes it creates, with unusual clarity
Certain unknown coinages from subconscious
Like a compilation of speckled oval pebbles
Piled up on a blissful shore of waving thoughts.
What thing makes you touched, whatever be
Process them on a pure sheet of white paper
With the genuine tint of heart’s feelings, and
What you get is called ‘a fine medley of poetry’!

Goodbye Examination

Once again I have prepared
For an examination
By picking up some dust-ridden olden
Carriers of the knowledge
Those have been adorning my chaotic table
For many a long academic eras!
My preparations lasted for several years
With several not-so-long months,
Sleepless nights and
Chilly early mornings
Those provoked me some time
To curse the unending warfareWith the black-inked
Tiny pack of letters
Stamped on cheap white papers, and
Many a times it made some of
My fellow beings envious
And made some of them to appreciate
With heart felt admiration!


Shakespeare, the bard came
In my visions many times
In the late night,
Sometimes, Eliot and Dickens came
In the early morning with
Their portrait-like amusing smiles
That even made them alive in between
The quests for a theme from the
Random paths of life that they trod.
Certain Women writers of the West
Amazed me with their mastery over
The flowery fiction
Covered in their long term sufferings of
Diseases and isolation -
Like Austen and Bronte sisters.

Indians too were there
Who made me stun at the word power.
Tagore came first with
His Song offerings,
Later Toru, with her short-term life
And her homesick writings
Too had made even the owners of the language
Stuck at the thorns of amusement.
Arundhati and many more
Supplied me with wonder at
Their imagination power.

Many a days in the morning
I rode my bike through an endless way
Covering several kilometers
Touching city struggles as well as village virtues
To a center where I let drop
The burden of language
Wasted by those masters ofLiterature. And I returned, throughSome familiar paths after
A three hours struggle with the
University paper and clutched pen
With aching sinews of palm.

Now it is all over,
The struggle with the forced yawns,
The read through the lines without a blink, and
The speedy revision just before
The last bell,
The tension on the hall ticket, and
The agony on the finishing moments, all!
And occupied now with an effort to
Gain the longing sleeps and lost dreams.

The Mystery Girl

(Dedicated to my friend known among
the bloggers as Cracks, who gave the
sudden inspiration for this poem
narrating about a girl he used to see
on the way to his office)


There is Mr. Cracks, a real life crack
Who helps me to break, the themelessness track
Now the theme is this, that of a pretty Miss
Who daily does not miss his inadvertent aerial kiss!

It’s the Thiruvananthapuram city, with morning’s gaiety.
You know its eminent deity, Sri Padmanabha almighty.
Where she stands daily, waiting for her college bus shyly
My friend gets her glance slyly, that she gives him daily.

You know this girl? She’s a belle, with lovely kiss curl
Like a golden whorl, gilds her rosy cheeks in roll.
Did you see she smiles? Ah, that’s like an angel smiles!
Wears churidar with frills, Does the black one for her inner wails?

Why does she cry, or pretend? For the young beaus to tempt?
Or is she really in lament? If so, what’s the cause of her plaint?
My friend Cracks, with tender heart, does not see her apart
Plans to a conversation start, and to break the rampart.

You know this guy Cracks? Man, you should know his pranks
With his existential remarks, his rivals, get some open attacks.
He likes social fillip and seldom breaks friendship,
Has no scholarship, though, he’s a man with some leadership.

Moving aside the city flock, my friend goes to talk,
“Tell me with no shock, with no playful mock,
Tell me hey babe you, with your shyness few
What dreadful thing makes you, to cry happiness in lieu?”

Blinking dreamy eyes, she tries to stop her sighs.
With a sigh she says, “Not any more, I can control this,
Hey you gentle jaan, I will tell you man,
What is in my lifespan puts my mind in san,

I will share you my sorrow, not now, only morrow
For there comes my bus in a row, see you soon you hero!”
Then she goes as planned, with her waving hand,
Looking back forth and like in a journey errand.

Several days had came, several belles came
Not our Cracks’ dame, came the spot that same.
None of Cracks’ team, thinks her as it does seem
Thus here ends the theme, like a genuine dream.

A Drowned Man’s Reminiscence

Gradually began the submerging. So slowly,
Hands shook and struggled with
The hardened water.
Damn agitation with craving fear for life.
Life-sick.
A date with death, unspecified.
My legs crouched. Chilled a little
Due to the freezing cold. Snowdrops fallen on the water surface.
White. And dark.
Underwater.
The limbs stopped for a silent enslavement
I fagged. Stopped motion.
Eyes protruded. Hands wavered, Heart chill cold.
Decreasing energy. Breathed. Breathed.
Exhausted. Choked
Starving Oxygen.
The water drank me, As I
Drank the water. Salty
Fainting fortunes, feverishly.
The silken thread connecting the
Conscious and unconscious broke.
A few eras elapsed....
Pavements on a path towards an unknown land
Where apparitions move forth.
Dirty smell of sinking ships.
Algae. Amphibians.
A conscious blackout.
Apparition again. Pavements clean.
Bluish tinted fog. Blurring images.
A palace ahead. A hooded figure of a man, I thought
Death comes for a row.
An encounter with death.
Inviting charm and a coarse voice of ancientness.
Total Blackout.
I drowned.

A Boatman’s Love Song

Let’s row the boat as one, oh my love
To an unheard far-far land,
Where seasons keep the treasure trove
And birdies aggroup a music brand!

The river, the oar and me, the lover
Fit the fiddle strings that you play.
But your absence makes it, Oh Singer
A stricken grievous fiddle in May!

Am I in love, or in fancy? I wonder
You tell me the one that true!
Till that I will put myself in wander
Nettled by your thoughts and rue.

Take on my hand at once, oh my love!
Else it will make my heart to bleed.
Drop some glance at least somehow
And that will up my heartbeats to speed!

Familiar Paths

When we were children,
We trod the hidden paths of
The countryside, together.

It is a long time back now,
But those still flourish in my memories
Uninterrupted..

It was the time
When the echo of Koel’s shriek
Had made us to Jump,
When thinking of the amusing people
Of imagination,
We shuddered being enthused.

I forgot the hidden paths now,
Not listening the favorite Koel,
No more care for the imagined people,
I left my beloved nostalgia,
Back somewhere.
Don’t want to peep over the loneliness,
That occupies a solitary path
But, when walking through the paths,
Or riding the motorcycle
I feel everything as familiar to me
Familiar to my mind
Familiar to the extreme depths of my heart
I too become a part of them
The bush, the stone, everything
The plants, birds and flowers
The butterflies, everything
Familiar to me
I know them.

When reaches a spot,
I searched for something there,
I know it would be there,
And it was there,
A shrub, a stumpy one
Over the years, it survived the time
Survived the changes, Survival,
All are familiar to me

About Nature’s Precision

Truly delighted I am
As I saw the bewitching
Glamour of the dawn, and
I said to myself, ‘Ah,
A fine morning at the door’

The incessant momentum of
Time makes the misty
Backdrop of sunrise
To appear at my doorstep everyday
With biological precision and
Supreme regularity.

And so, I began to think
On the Powerful force
Behind this day to day affairs of
Nature - uncontrollable to the human, and
Still it remains in my
question
Unanswered.

Eternal Melancholy

If I were a skylark

That flies with wings spreaded

Humming the eternal melodies, and

Carrying the poets’ fantasies,

I would have flown farther,

If I were a skylark.

If I were a soft breeze

Touching the mountain blues,

With the inherent chill,

Waking the veins by a gentle touch,

Bearing the dreams of wideness, and

Clinching the solitude,I would have blown

If I were a soft breeze!

To become a tune

That no one sung before!

To become a dream

That no one could imagine!
What If I were a mystery?

Or seclusion?

Abstractness or Nothingness?

To become the breath of the dead

To stay in the jungle of solitude,

Undisturbed!

To be a colour!

And a star!

To sparkle in the silence of the night

With the wildness of terror!…….…..
A human I am,

A creature..

The power to dream,

And to imagine

Stays with me!

Waiting here,

In this non-existence,

To take rebirths,

To become all these,

Till end up in a wild unity

With the eternity!

Themelessness

(Answering the question, ‘Why my posts are delayed?’)

Days have gone and weeks too gone

About a month is near!

The lyrics fairies have not come yet

To make my thoughts pour out!

It makes you wondered, makes me too

But you hear my arguments!

There are a few more things exist

That cause lyrical dryness!

Here contradicts my previous claim

I know, as you too know!

But I repeat, it is the lyrical dryness

Caused by the themelessness!

Themes and thoughts are under decay

Due to the hasty days!

But some commitments make me to write

And now I chose themelessness!

People may suggest, ‘you choose heart,

Love, romance or dreams!’

But one pens on what strikes him, and

Hence it is the themelessness!

My Lost Lover Girl

(Once again interpreting my own dream following the 'Birthday Party of the Beautiful Princess')

For this time I will tell you a story
And not a story properly, may be a sophistry.
For my friends I’m telling this story, dreamy,
Who had unusual love affairs, in biography.

It was in a September, I too remember
And I was a tiny teenager, too common in any genre,
When I met this girl, the lost lover girl
Who was a pretty petite girl, and I fall in love with her.

Two or three months passed, and once we stood
On a sea-pier extended, clutching each other hand in hand,
On a cloudy afternoon, with my companion boon,
Beneath the faded sun that shone, watching surf those breaking soon.

Soon there a wild beast comes, on these foaming waves
A huge figure of Octopus (1), with greedy tentacles.
We both looked at this, this huge figure of Octopus,
And we both startled once, stared at it with fearful eyes.

The sky went black n’ dark, the clouds began to bark
Making thunders strike, and the east-wind’s crack.
Then my pretty petite girl, pushed me to the ocean whirl
Cause of panic n’ temptation, or I didn’t get her action.

I felt I was falling fast, to the hands of the beast,
I saw her frenzied eyes, while skidding among the tentacles.
With the Octopus I struggled, to rescue the life shuddered
And I looked at her eyes troubled, to see sympathy, distressed.

Struggling hard and hard, I made my life to guard
Somehow I escaped, and now reached where I stood
The first thing that I did, as you have understood
Or as you unexpected, was pushing her downward.

I was in such a rage, and I never thought of her age,
That she was underage, and she had lack of knowledge.
I saw her to fall downward, struggling with the waves hard,
And screaming being afraid, with my heart unusual hard.

Skidding between the tentacles, and trying to break the obstacles
She vanished into the bubbles, and I didn’t watch her resistance.
Keeping my head low, and leaving my love below,
I ran to the lands at low, to escape from the Law.

Dear readers, you please don’t be worry
‘Cause I said, I’m telling you a story
And you too know, it’s a story of a fairy
That I learned from a dream, dreary.

"But you know that’s how I lost my lover girl!
And that’s the story of my lost lover girl!"

(1). Octopus

And still there remained poems

An Adam was there once
And an Eve too..
Once they began to write
Poems..
First poem..
Second poem..
And third poem..
They finished soon
But still there remained poems to be written

They keep on writing,
Writing and writing
Once Adam boasted:

"You tell me Eve, any letter
A, H, Y or Z
And I can write poems
Starting with that"

So soon they finished every letter,
And still there remained poems to be written.

The Circle

I saw a dream in sleep last night,
And morning saw them realized!
Dream of hopes and enjoyment,
That shared the charm of solitude!

In the dawn I saw the sun that rise
And the mist drops glint in multitude!
The bird that hum by the Cuckoo’s nest
Told me the tale of nature’s bliss!

Total shine of the morning’s mirth
In step with the dream of yesterday!
And the hum of birdies’ fondness had
Shared the tone of the night in tune!

Noontime I left to the sands of sea
Where the sunrays bathe in twinkling wet!
I saw there the dimness that perchance
Due to the pass of morning’s grace!

The sands n’ Sea had striking solace
In the tune of night with dream n’ dark!
The glimmering petals of water drops
Wrapped up the depths of Ocean floor!

The evening time I spent in calm
With the numbness of the day in this end!
The moving figures that walk in front
Had not made anything in my mind!

The eve that waiting the dark in style
Wore the attire of gloom and shade!
The clinging cold of the nature be,
I suppose, made for the eve in special!

It’s the time of the sleep and dream
Has come as usual in the routine style!
The day and night have this much to say
To recur the steps of life’s circle!

The Princess’s Birthday Party

(Inspired from one of my dreams)


It was the Romantic Path
Again, this time too!
A heavenly Path,
With Cedar trees flourished
On both sides, and
Yellow leaves scattered
All through the tracks.

It was the City of Time,
The Kingdom of Dreams
And the heavenly Palace was ahead
To which I was moving.

I was a traveler to this city,
A visitor, uninvited and
A perfect stranger, who carried
The craziest thoughts of his age, and
The winged hopes with him.
Aimless, and helpless,
Foolhardy, and dreamy, with
Droopy eyes due to the weight of
The last night’s missed sleep, and
The unshaven face and shabby dress
With worn out apparels.

The strangeness was similar
To the city dwellers too!
They looked curious at the strange
Figure of mine, and
I too looked back with
The excited curiosity!

Soon, I knew, I too became
The part of the crowd, that moved
Towards the palace, ornamented
Highly with stones precious, and
Embedded with charming
Sculptures.

That current of the crowd
Took me to a hall in the palace,
The Diwan-I-Am, as it was called,
Darkened, yet illuminated with
Mighty chandeliers hung aloft, and
Lofty cherubs silhouetted.

It was the day of the Princess
That she turns seventeen, the sweet.
It was the party time for the invited, the
Courtiers, and I am, the uninvited.

There filled a soft music on the air,
And coloured smoke raised with
Fresh fragrances of Rose and Jasmine,
As everybody sat on chairs somewhere
And tasting the delicious, while
I too sat somewhere on the back
Less crowded and light diminished.

Arrival of the Princess, it was
To the hall played along by
Mates, who gossiped and giggled
A lot with the thunder of claps
In the utter amazement at
The beauty of the gown that she wore,
Ornamented and embellished by pearls,
The charming smile that made the
Courtiers mad, and above all,
Her gaze, dignified and majestic, and
Her eyes, graceful that drooped
A little downwards.

Walking through the hall
Among her admirers and
Without looking any, the Princess
Approached my side giving me
Some startle and embarrassment.
Straightly, wavering not even a little
She sat opposite me, and
Raised her eyelids to look at me
With her pretty eyes of inviting charm.
God, it was the moment that
The classics although the ages
Had praised a lot.

The charm of all lasted for a moment
As the images began to dissolve.
The palace, the hall and the charming courtiers,
The applause, the heavenly light, and music,
Everything began to vanish into thin air.

And still there I could see
Two bluish tinted eyes
Casting the dignified gaze
In front of my opening eyelids
Sharp and alarming and
Even prettier!!

Dreaming the Dreams

(A continuation to 'Waving the Dreams Away'. Previously credited under the title 'Lines of Dreams, Depression and Rain'.)


Soon I got into some dreams,
As the rainfall patted me to sleep
With its soothing fingers
Amidst those olden dark cold nights.

I dreamt to brood then,
Hugging the chill within a nest
Built on a tree branch at a valley
Where no rainfall comes.

That was a time, unlike from
These nasty days,
When the Goddess Prakriti
Blesses me with full of sleeps and dreams.

Cursed are these days,
When not a night is kind enough
To give me some peaceful sleep or
To show some wondrous dreams
Even in these wet rainy days.

The tiresome long nights
Might have forgotten
To see dreams.

There was the childhood, once
Got in to the depths of my thoughts
Usually to dance graceful, and
None of such things does
Care about peeping my thoughts
Nowadays!

The past seems forgotten, and
The dreadful black granite tower too
Shrouds itself inside the clouds of Forgetfulness.

Rhyming the Time

(Previously credited under the title 'Some Dejected Thoughts')

As every night draws in
For a new morning,
As every dream blooms
To form a reality,
As the Spring falls down
For a new season, and
As pretty foreheads
Begin to put up with wrinkles,
Says the Life,
‘The Time passes...’

Actually, the time passes through
Every fragment of life,
Every thought, and through
Every enjoyment…
In the expectation for the next moment,
And in the sweet memories of the past!!

The time does not give
Any loss or any dream.
Life is just a fantasy!

Dreams are bloomed in expectations!
The time is enjoyed in the
Richness of Life!!
It is usually the smiling faces
That make time under the
Clouds of forgetfulness.

One will think
It is the truth
And it is the whole!!
And there is no ‘next moment’ (Some only)

But everything will go by
Making the spectators all fools!!

Then the consciousness whispers,
The past was better!!
But the truth is far away from these
Presuppositions!!

The past was never so good, but
It was for the good!!

One’s dream is not for the other!
One’s best companion is his own dreams!!
His hopes and wishes!!

The fascinating wishes has its appeal
Till its fulfillments only.
After the fulfillment,
The wishes will get thrown
To the past,
And will become a loss.

Ah! Poetry

The heavy dark clouds droop above
Stand for the sadness,
Cumbersome...
And hefty...

Beneath...
The ocean of ideas
In its violent tumult!!

And on the shore...
Stands the darkened tall tower
Erected by the thoughts.

A blend of colours,
The shade of black and white,
A total diffusion of darkness,
And the tumultuous uproar of violent waves.

I came this shore before a long time.
Might be immemorial,
Could have picked up some
Pearls and oysters,
From the depths unlit.
That time my collection had
Some black pebbles too...
Naturally...

For the second time,
What if I cross the ocean once again?
To try my luck,
To see the curiosities ahead,
In the midst of waves.
What if my new wealth this time
Constitute some stones precious...

No! The ocean,
The mighty home of dreams...
I won’t let myself ever go
From your grasp on my wishes,
And on my thoughts!!!

My First Love Song

(Inspired by the picture beneath)

There hangs loosely on the wall
A picture titled ‘Romantic’,
A picture of a wooden path
With scarlet flowers scattered
On the black wooden tracks,
And crimson trees flourished
On both sides!!
A heavenly path…!!!

It extends to an infinity
Set in the middle of the canvas.
Romantic, as it called
And is full of lovingness.

Paths in general
Are of differences,
Path can be adventurous,
Tiresome,
Heavenly,
Melancholic,
Gruesome
And romantic.
This path is Romantic.

Is it the path through which a loving couple,
Who sought colourful dreams
Strode hand-in-hand days before??

Elegiac Memoirs on the Childhood

(Previously credited under the titles 'The infancy-made forsaken structure' and ‘The Valley where dreams danced once’.)

A huge black tower
Sculpted and Storied manifold
Stood there once pyramid-like
In a shrouded plane
Shadowed by the steep mountain ahead
Encircled by trees and meadows,
And by black rocky lands.

Built by imaginations,
By dreams,
And by innocence,
This tower stood gallantly
Facing the sky atop.

On the upper floor
We born
Three children,
When stories, joy and
Intimacy ruled.

We went matured
As the time passes
And the small room became too small
For us three.
So she went downstairs
And she didn’t back,
Though we called her.

When her memories came
We began to search her
Beginning from the downstairs
With the desire to see her
And we left broken hearted
In the new room alone, where,
Brightness just peeped,
Spiders cobwebbed
And butterflies unnoticed.

We thought for sometime about her,
Our elder sister
And realized what happened.
She might have gone further
Too downstairs..

Our old floor diminished
In our memories.
We thought it as a dream,
A memory and a wonder,
And one, which exists too far
Faraway in the woods..

We witnessed our own dreams
Touching new horizons
We saw imaginations coming
And giving bows to both of us
We hugged them and smiled
With cheer, with surprise
And with bumping hearts!!

We moved to further
Downwards
And darkness…
As the time passes!!
In some nights amidst some sleeps
I was knocked by some broken dreams
Remembering the olden places
Where I lived and abandoned mercilessly!!

Final days of longtime boredom,
Waiting in impatience,
We were in the last floor.
Nothing could be seen around,
Even ourselves,
As it was darkness filled.
Agitating boredom,
We were searching for a peephole
To outside,
To light…

The smarter one found the door first,
And she said,
“’Tis the way,
Brother, you too come along,
Sister must be waiting”.
And she didn’t wait further.

I saw an open door
Where sunrays sank in.
Moments of hesitation,
I felt tears in my eyes,
Whether to go or to stay there,
I loved being a child
Loved to live cares free
In any of the stories.

One moment’s vigour
Made me to jump outside,
And I saw light everywhere
Green everywhere
And smiles too…
I saw the dimness of light,
Paleness of green,
Tremors in the songs
And the wickedness in smiles,
Artificial…

Where I found my sisters
They smiled…
I saw strangeness in their smiles,
It was not a smile,
And was the straightening of lips
In which the charm of intimacy was absent.

Fake appearance was everywhere
It was a fight between
The virtue and vice,
Strange sophistication caused by the internal fights
Suffocated me almost to death.

For the second time,
I saw my sisters again,
Remembering the old tower
And its premises,
Where we born and grown up,
I said my sisters,
‘Come, let’s go home’.

But they seem not remembering,
And they said,
‘No, there is no such a place,
Not a tower, and brother,
You must be dreaming’.

But I didn’t give up
‘Coz, there was an alarming memory
Still flourished in my thoughts,
Which consisted an olden temptation
That made me to jump
Through an open door,
A dream like one.

I was all alone,
I loved to be in somewhere,
Where I lived cares free,
Where the darkness was veiled
And the light peeped through tiny holes,
Where melodies overheard,
And tales being told,
Where intimacy dominated,
And Innocence ruled,
And where April collected the dry flowers
And December dispersed the chillness of wind.
‘The Nostalgia’..

The old valley,
Where dreams danced once,
The huge black tower,
Where light rays emptied the gloom,
I searched everywhere.

There at a distance,
Stood the tower
With all its majesty and charm
Over a queue of trees and mountains
Touching the sky atop
Surrounded by hills and meadows
And by black rocky lands.

I realized the tower with an alarm,
The infancy-made forsaken structure
The great grand one..
I approached it,
Laming,
And barefooted,
Tramping the thorns and bushes.

The small door on the base
Was kept open still
Same as we left it last time.
Panting and agitated
I tried to re-enter it,
But all in vain,
The door was too small.

I smelled the failure,
The same door gave me the way out.
But at that time
I was just a little boy.