Sleep

                                      Sleep

If  you  sleep over  the 

Slumbering holocaust 

Booming   sudden   like

a   crashing  fall    of

aircraft, you  sleep  forever

in   the  den of  ignoramus

goofing  of   enormous 

 cavity  and  growing

declivity    and   nullifying  

aridity. Don’t  sleep  over  the

loss   and  amiss,

gain   the  vital  consciousness

of  wakeup  and  thunderous

 awakening. Only  reasoning is

struggle   hard  and   resurrect.

 I see  the  barn   slowly

gets   reinvested. 

Go to Himalayas.

    Go to Himalayas!

 Come  out  of  your  mushroom  growth of

dazzling  apartments, those  apartments

that   proliferate  through the entire stretch

of the   busy trafficked   roads,

 walk  through  the  seepage

water-logged  streets, stench  pierces,

cover    your   nose  ,clear  the  buffer

of  grills   raised  for  men  at work,

water-logged  streets,

do  you  look  for  the  postman 

for   the letter  of  a sinecure,

for your  age is  such,

but  your  will  is  all the  more agog,

segregate   your  disappointment,

set off  to  Himalayas, trekking 

through  the  thistles  and thimbles

that prick  your  sole  of  the feet,

blisters    and wounds  less  inimical

than    words  of  human  tricksters ;

crush  the  leaves of the Messages 

of  wisdom   and clairvoyance

of   Sages  and   visionary    Seers ,

drink  the    vial of  Times’ Bliss  and  Beatitude

Uprooted grass

Uprooted  grass

A few   hours ago the cute  grass bunch

Silently    weeps for  the loss,

Loss  of  its  innocence,

A  butterfly  has its moorings on it,

its  freshness, its  dew   glanced,

Innocent  looks  upfront,

I mercilessly trampled upon it

during my inadvertent   walk  :

after  all  the  grass  with its

ancestral  lineage, its   peerless  smell,

sooner,  nods   elegantly  around the  soil,

It  does not   have  a  mouth   to  cry, for

no  hurt   or  crushed  pain  emitting  thereon,

no  rocky  stones, no  tornado

could  whiz past  the  earthy  queen,

on   my  return  from   gravel  path,

a  gardener’s  sickle   swaps,

crude   ‘ unkindest  cut’, grass

Looks   as  if  flamboyantly

Relieved from the  mud  cuddled   posture.

What is for these thugs?

          What  is  for  these  thugs?

You   sail  westward  of  your   delectable

Notations and  wide choice,

Twin  sisters  crude  hypocrisy  and

Deceit  in  full  fulcrum,  spiralling

everywhere  around the  visibility,

They  execute   in  invincible   way,

Inconceivable    clouts they  are;

 yet you Determinately

  abrogate  those deadly  Sinners:

daily  sinister s  they   become

like   tsunami   tidal  waves

sudden   and  swallowing,

we  are  like, caught  in the

elevators, waiting  for the

restoration of  power, a   somewhat

prolonged   wait, a swift jerk,

a  movement, hoping   similar

swop   would  denigrade  the thugs. 

Imagine life without..

Imagine  life  without

Imagine  life  without  a  bed coffee,

And   a   newspaper  of  global   coverage,

 Your  pride,    sitting  cross-legged,

A  plain  glass  water  would  suffice,

A  life  without   delicious  meal

On  a   mahogany  rectangle  table,

Bread  crumbs would  suffice your

Hungered, accustomed tastes buds,

Imagine  a  life  without  a pen and paper,

What if   bereft of them, your fertile

Imaginations ,lasting recordation

On   your  cerebellum, gyrating ever,

Imagine  a  life  without  the  pouring

Mercy  of  the   firmament,

You  and  I  are   dried  grass;

Imagine  a  life  without  His

Watchful   Grace  and vigilant

 Protection, we  are  the  Cud.

Distance

  Distance

In the  Distance of  a   rubric ,

Well constructed  wall,

Untresspassed, there is a

Delectable  intimacy,

It  is  like   a  beautiful

thin, neatly  folded,

Embroidered  handkerchief,

Not to wipe your sweat

On your powered, perfumed

 face, but  a  cute  kit  to  be

tucked  in the  sari,

it  is the   malleable  Distance

to  chase    the  angst  of  your

felt   or  imagined  feeling,

Distance  is  delectable.

Eyes

                               Eyes

I   effortlessly   eye  the  world

With   its  masochistic,eyeless,

heartless  beings, those  that   view

abject   penury and   drudgery

as    abominable  eyesore, the

eyes  even  refuse to   look  at them,

oftener, I am in  a quandary,

why  the  very  same  eyes that

imbibe  the   scintillating   Beauty,

eyes  that  scan  heavenly  charm

should   abrogate ,unwilling to 

share the  despicable ,for  them

they  are  horror  of  Draconic;

Don't be angry with the Gods!

Don’t  be  angry  with  the Gods!

No, never ,show  your  fury, undue

  Ire  On the  sacrosanct    Sages  and  Divines;

 Blow  off your  angst  ridden  ambition ,

You  are  the Maker of  your own  makings,

You  are the  inimitable  ruler of your

Own   dubious ,indulgent,   staking.

His  wrath  is  warranted, He  being  an

Efficient   sleuth, solves  the  mystery,

Reel   or  reek , you  need  to  take

Asylum  in   His   Majestic, invincible  creek.

A foreseen perpetuaion.

A  foreseen perpetuation ....

What  has been  going on like

An  anthill corroding  and

 Corrugating whatever  that

Comes  its   supple  ways,

What  is going on for decades,

Like  the  backdrop of  curtain,

Waving  for  unethical   shows,

Unhealthy   silent  mode,

What  will continue  to  enforce

Its   sardonic  and detrimental

Persuasion   or   ribald   dissuasion

Will   occupy  its  throttlehold

At least    for sometime, 

Until  some  quirk  whizz past.

Adamant   Bull lies its way.

You are dragged by...

You  are dragged  by  ........

 You    sit  in the  window   seat  of the

Deluxe bus, a  window  , a must  for  all ;

  The  flying horse,   already  started with 

A  mechanical  load of  passengers,

Red  soil, agitated, flares   up,

Playing  blind man’s buff,

e- Ticket punctures   your   countenance

for it is disappointed since  you  scantily

care  for your destination:  knocks

  your    panjandrums  though  you 

 don’t  appear  to be.  You  cant 

measure  the  distance,  hot  and

cold   temperature,  for  there is  a

boiling point  from within,  fling  the

euphoria  of  suffocated   existence,

blow  the  balloon of   heightened

Scattered   imagination,   a  live

Rehearsal of  the hollowed    past,

You   are   immersed in   a  different world,

Destination  reaches  you, by the repeated

Call of the  Conductor, your  handbag

Dragging  you  slowly there.

                    

I surf today in the lake of my dream

   I surf  today  in  the  lake of  my dream

Not  with  a  faint  glimmer   of  hope,

For  hope is  the only   swim  suit  which

Pulls the   string of all –our  lives  and 

Dreams  and   beings on this  planet,

In  search  of  The   abode of  Righteousness;

I  surf  today  in the  lake of  my  dream,

Chance   a   lotus   like  a    sacred  boon,

Looking   at  the  Sun  for   more   and  more

Beams  of  Radiance   to  spearhead  

The   message  of   Bright ,  Fight  for 

The    abode of  Righteousness;

  

   I surf  today  in  the  lake of  my dream

   To   shun  the    Rigmarole   and  clutter

  Of   confusion,  the  white  swan  nods  by,

  Passing  clear  pool  of  water  not 

  Wishing  to  meddle  with my  dream,

  We   both  in  search  of  Righteousness.

  

A wailing....

A  wailing....

  For  her,  the  quietly   withdrawn,

Is  there  no  space  in this  vast  ,vast,

Immeasurable , mysterious   land of 

Colourful   crayons, cults, and cannibalistic   

Beings  of   untold , repeatedly  arguing  guts?

Is  there  no  tiny  speck  of  corner

In this  land sliding    soil  of  decadence

And  irredeemable  principles   going   awry?

Is   it  perhaps, her  wilful ,salient ,   choice?

She  is  happier  in  a   different  domain,

Yet,  we  feel   the  loss,  the  awful  separation,

The  uncanny  way  of  bidding  good bye;

From  a    far  better  realm, she  waves  a

Flag  of   supple  acquaintance,

Is  there  no  space in this  vast, vast

Panoramic   sweep  of   surge   and  upsurge?

For  her?  Her?

A chuckle from the corner.

   A  chuckle  from    the corner

The  loose  hanging , irate cobweb,

As  if  to  sever  its  life  and living

from the  hitherto   asylum  giving 

wall,   mocks  at me ,chuckles  at

my    pecuniary  approach,

you   save plastics  and pennies ,

pence  in   cute  bamboo    boxes,

scribble   and  sweat,

peas  are   luxury  for    your   

hungry   stomach,  pizzas   crave

some  other  dominion, you

bend  to   assemble  the  broom

to   swipe   and  sweep  and struggle,

when your pence  sleep, steady

in   their   safe  vault, blank

cheques   and  pounds 

fly  in the   air,  they  are  airborne.

I   measure the scale  range 

In  between  the  price  of 

Prized   poignancy   and  priggish,

self-centred   buoyancy.