Maternal Instincts

Its been one year, since
I strangulated my new born dreams;
in broad daylight, it was a cold blooded murder
guillotined with such panache
that no one could deny the remorse on my face.
(the wonted sobs and the usual commiserations)

My child had gone
like a perfect child
making it sure,
no one construes
the dissembled devil in my face.
His unconditional acceptance
was rejected
even before his inception
by everyone;
even by me
(for reasons unknown)

These twelve months have
brought within me
another child
(contrary to all expectations)
who just like her brother
is willing to be perfect;
But this time
I would be a perfect mother
and
not sacrifice this life, within
for the devils outside.
These bubbles of joy
would not burst into tears
Rather, they would mellow
into balloons like moon
sparkling their own radiance
much to the sun’s envy
much to my delight

Yes! they will not burst;
rather they would be
a mother’s gift
to his new born child

Inscrutable questions

Despite that stygian night
the iridescent colors
of light
looked not so bright
because of the sight
of peoples plight

"Why this fight?"
asked the child,
who lost his day
as well as night;
whose world is all black
not even white;
whose gone all so quite
like someone with snake’s bite

I tried my best
to give him some respite
but failed to ignite
the indented mind;
his eyes still gleaming
with anticipation
awaiting a meaningful explanation;

it was my most difficult test
and I tried my level best
to put his entire dilemma
to rest;

I said: “child,
all this puts me in quagmire
for the reason behind this fire
is known
to no one else
but that so called god
who is said to reside
in every ones heart,
but sadly is no more
anyone’s part”

For a moment
he kept quite
as if trying, trying
to hark the placid nile;
trying to decipher
the wailing cries;
trying to correlate
the mysterious replies;
trying to become
some less juvenile

"Can this world ever unite?"
asked again
the valiant child,
full of dreams
full of sight
that’s the world
I dreamt tonight;

I said: It might
but all of us
have to be right,
right in our thoughts
right in our approach to life
only then
can we make this world
children’s delight

“So why don’t we do
what is right?
why don’t we live
what is life?”;
these were
the last thoughts
with which the child fought
for he now knew
the world had won
and he had lost
then: he had become absolutely docile
no more bombs
no more missiles
that was the unsparing end
of my exile

with tears in my eyes
I walked
away from him
in disguise
with asmileofabeguile
(It hurts but: "be practical says everyone")

Half life

Cessation was the only concussion
I never contemplated
its concomitance with success
even more appalling

That maroon island
now a concourse
the boscage, barren
though glistening with ostentation
but destitute of prolificacy
these paeans
no longer as luscious
those bijouterie
without their radiance
now just inert metals

what remains
is corporeality
so distinct
so different
from my self
who seems to be lost
long ago

Its facile to live
this half life
no internal conflicts
no disputations;
only outright submissions
anytime, every time
there is nothing to look forward to
except
The End

Other side of life

Cessation was the only concussion
I never contemplated
its concomitance with success
even more appalling

That maroon island
now a concourse
the boscage, barren
though glistening with ostentation
but destitute of prolificacy
these paeans
no longer as luscious
those bijouterie
without their radiance
now just inert metals

Today, I stand
drawn away
from that glittering world
lost in the midnight sun
searching for footprints
to retrace the journey
to
Elysian fields

Assisting me
is the tenebrosity of silence
haunting away benumbed shadows
inorder to scrub off the alley
for retrogression

But this time
as a curandero
deciphering unspoken rigmaroles
discovering shrouded palaces
ameliorating desecrated maladies;
keeping intact
that not so soft epidermis
to once again
entrance myself
with tiny cherubs;

But this time
not to get lost
in the midnight sun…

Wondrous night

A child became an adult too early. Thanks to this astute and such intelligent world, that he quickly transformed to adapt himself to the increasingly indecent decencies of this world. He now laughs only when it is worth laughing; but at the same time he sighs and remembers the sweet little nights when he used to enjoy his silly dreams (just besides her mother). He once again wants to smile and laugh without reasons so as to fill his desiccated eyes with some light; but those demons won’t allow that. So he chooses an escape route…he now dreams about the dreams he used to sing; and in turn gets some reprieve in the form of a feckless smile (silly but innocent).

Encased in a starlit sky
awaits…
an inconspicuous blissful night

lucky was I
glowing with glee
in getting an entrée
to an astounding nitery,
no, no; not for free
but
for guiding ravening bees
to panicles with nectaries.

the pageant begins
philomels croon
stirring silence strikes the chords
cool breezes waft along,
delineating serenade’s inception
And there was I,
Singing along
these songs of joys
Or
joys of songs

awakened, are the nimble flowers;
rosy mummy and daisy papa
and at back, are
little daffodils and lily’s;
all emanating ambrosial redolence
And there was I,
panting in
these fragrances of joys
Or
joys of fragrances

the audience embodied
beatific angels
from the crescent moon,
hovering in air
bequeathing their tinctures
spreading their shimmering trinkets
And there was I,
permeating in
these springs of joys
Or
joys of springs

at last
rain makes an apt ingress
and everyone is engrossed
laving in this nippy muzzle,
exuviating sunken sorrows, thereby
embracing ingenuous smiles
And there was I,
rejuvenating in
these pearls of joys
Or
joys of pearls

“its time to go”
says the desolate ensemble
but not without an avowal
to return
for another glinting exposition
to reassert nights dominion
And there was I,
gleaming in
these dreams of joys
Or
joys of dreams


So what if they are still dreams! I will wait till eternity to make them define my world (at least in dreams) once again…
At last some hope!

Metamorphosis

It was twilight.
sun
about to set
for the full moonrise
I was sitting with my wife
(Shadow, though it was)
wailing over my loss
when
you invaded
wretched dreams,
full of barren vigor


My self, trapped
in those two spheres of influence
astonished, bewildered
by this vanquisher in you
who had won
without any struggle
without any strife


You embraced this frostbitten firn
bequeathing a chilly warmth,
devoid,
of pains of separation
devoid of,
joys of sensation
but
warm enough
to induce a state change;


My face witnessed a blood riot
as innocent, as soft
as damp as yours
and then...
you deliver the final blow;
soft living tissues of yours
strike,
dead trenches on my lips
accouching exotic viands
sufficient, to enrich this tenuous existence
which, till then
was hankering for life.

Perpetual eclipse

Vision’s eclipse
spells fear
the veiled future
now so clear
a thousand reasons
as I hear
to not to smile
to not to smear
this face
with ecstasy’s tears


This huge sphere
waiting to tear
the only traces of hope
I wear
Destiny,
ready to sear
my dream’s pears,
ready to queer
carols, congenital to my ears


There is no peer
to proffer steers,
to stop this sudden veer;
no one to cheer
no one to veneer
only lears
with leers
and handful of spears
to mock and jeer
and stop this quest
in first gear;


All this
so hard to bear
when the spring,,
is so near...

A step ahead

Sudden showers in this simmering heat
deceive only this corpse;
To life, it’s an aberration.

for the good or for the bad
or
for the bad or for the good
it doesn’t care
except for a brief halt,

The umbrella it opens, is
not for these fictitious droplets
but
for the shadows that follow.
( Be practical says everyone )




Explanations
Oh how contradictory they are!
for they are words of virgins
offered
to reassert their allegiance;
To sadists, who
themselves are culpable of incredulity




Hope
When this world breaks free
from self imposed cliffs of ignorance,
singular dreams would learn a
mutually coherent definition of plurality

The Inexpugnable

Sship of my dreams
sank in the ocean of distress
and failures;

Incessant self
demolished by frozen hardliners
turned into an object of commiseration;
with a bunch of henchmen impending
to impersonate last rites
and finish off
the last chapter
of an immortal saga
of assiduity and diligence;

completely unaware
of the indomitable juggernaut
within the same corpse
within the same ship
though deep down at bottom
but waiting;

waiting to sail again
in the swirling waters
of the same ocean,
waiting propitiously
the completion of this arduous expedition
and thereby
embracement of
the same troglodytic
vivacity and ecstasy…