Monday, December 24, 2007

Our X-mas

Christmas jingle-
Fumes of chill-
Scent of wines-
And a lot more thrill…
The flavour of cake
Rooted berries inside,
When my tongue is wet
My manners subside-
Glowing church with
Candles of wish,
Chorusing of carol
Can’t miss that bliss-
Lighting the holy tree
Bundle of joys,
Camouflaged as Santa
I parcel the toys-
New cards and gifts
A sheer delight,
Yummy roast turkey
That ends the night…

I sleep under my warm quilt-
Lucky socks hang in neighbourhood doors-
Another good morning waiting for tonight’s merry makers-
The footpath momma fails to nurse her child in biting cold-
Poor mother reluctantly tearing a broken lump of pie-
Unblessed kid calm in hunger and X-mas wind,
Perhaps, in his dream he’s waiting
For the colours our Santa will gift…


-littleWriter


(I've penned this one after being deeply inspired by Indrajit Ghosal's poem O Santa! Yes, Indra is a damn good poet. My poem is no match with his "O Santa!" still couldn't refrain myself from posting it)

Sunday, December 23, 2007

A Christmas Invitation

Snowfall summoned by Santa’s bell,
White flakes with the hidden trail;
The passive dark curtain at the back-
Honey has the hour come,
Now can we have some talk?

Chill sketched by the frozen breeze,
Look through your window pane
How my burning sin will freeze;
A naked hearth in the arctic land,
A sore getting nursed by frosty sand.

Manly oath under whitewashed oaks-
Rusted by green eyed season,
Fleshless skeleton’s malice jokes;
Fault was that I authorized my head,
Gift I got was the empty bed.

Hush listen to the silent blizzard-
Count those iced up bits of tear
Hiding in the luxury of December air;
Once loved never earns abhorrence,
Today sense of union lost her resilience.

I can’t live sans my vow,
I still feel the lost inferno-
The empty grandeur of Christmas chill
When careless whisper my heart carols;
Honey, say me once the same you feel.
Say me once the same you feel.
Say me once the same you feel.


-littleWriter

Friday, December 14, 2007

My Reminiscence in a Midnight Platform


Clock strikes twelve, smoky anguish prevails;
Impatience grows higher, tranquillity unravels-
Pin drop stillness rules the midnight platform,
Sounds of shoes have faded fulfilling their term.

The dim light of station master’s cabin falls low
To keep me awake waiting for my carriage;
Like other two three heavy-eyed passengers,
Wrapping myself well, I repose by my luggage.

I don’t know where I am now,
Music and melody all around…
Thoughts and pains are strangers,
Euphoria flooding unbound!
Is it the Eden I read in Bible,
Is there the lake of eternal bliss-
Is that tree carrying fruits of wisdom,
Does here blow the healing breeze...
Who stands there by the orchard hub,
In snow white gown like a divine dove-
Yea I know this wingless angel
She’s Suzan, the lady I madly love!
The space smells so passionate,
Infuriated by the enchanting harmony
My throbbing heart wants to be free-
Blizzard of love has sipped my serenity.
Two azure eyes like frolicking ponies
Whose obsession I could never override-
Her ruby lips with charismatic plea…
My longing for a kiss is absurd to hide.
I walk to her to sense the warmth,
To unite our soul in the mystic horizon;
She surrenders her to my comfy dream-
Love stands statue over rolling seasons…
Time fails to tinge her white robe,
Her golden tresses sustain their chaste,
Summer falls short to parch our wet lips,
In wildest tempest we remain embraced.
Eros turns green at our undying love,
Dionysus gets aggravated by its sanctity-
Curse of Menoetius chinks our union and
Loki abducts her revealing Gods’ insanity.
Oh she’s roving away from my reach…
My limbs are immobile under Veles’ hex;
Poor eyes witnessing our separation,
Rolling down teardrops is my only reflex.
The jovial ambience has lost her glow and
Fading with my drifting away lady love-
Lonely I sitting by the pit of darkness,
Alas, Suzan’s ring slipping down its nub!
How can I let our token of love to ebb…
Thousand commitments unfulfilled,
Want back that heavenly season of love-
I dive into the well of time to rebuild.

A shrill noise splashes water to my alcoholic self-
My venture against vindictive time halts abruptly;
Wintry chill is stinging my skin like furious bees,
Train is whistling, I’m a traveller, I’ve to hurry…

The train is speedily cutting through dark subway,
Putting my life in motion, grabbed my effervescence-
No opportunity to revert, to rethink, to volte-face;
Time has won once more snatching my reminiscence.


-littleWriter

Just a Sin


An ominous night betrays-
Silent pitfall at sleeping back-
Whack…
Whimper vanishes in darkness…

A blood sodden bed sheet,
Watch with a beating heart,
No substitute though for the fleshy dead;
Swinging cradle,
The only witness;
There remains his wallet
Containing plastic money
Now plastic in bona fide logic;
A grey scaled blonde pie in it,
Now will be of some business
To the truth hunters.

Here come the officers,
Escorted by beastly barkers-
Trained eyes scanning for traces
On clueless white marble;
Sound of deep breathe echoing;
Every mark and dust has immense value,
Why aren’t they interrogating the cradle?
Am turning dull or insane,
For I know it’s lifeless-
None keen to look for the fled howl of pain,
Free photography was in his luck.

Group smile in professionals’ jaws
Discovery of a fetid condom is the cause;
When none cries over spilt milk
Life is good.

-littleWriter

To view blog-posts on this theme from around the world or to participate in this challenge please click here
 

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Cry of an Injected Mind

The torrent of blood is once more oozing out;
I don’t know am I stabbed or a diseased soul;
I don’t know why I don’t want it to clot;
Can you tell me dear, why my lips don’t shout?
Don’t they feel the pain of pain I feel?
Why do they look thunderstruck within-
I don’t know this strange language of dumb
And I don’t know its willingly mute thrill!

Oh look at those nails hammered in my flesh-
I’m no Jesus and so you won’t get my grace;
I want to curse you dear from my deepest core
But I don’t know why my soul and I still bless.
I shout at my silly-polite forgiving self;
My disloyal lips revolt against me once again
And my shout dries out before it’s born;
So I can’t help the rebel in me, I fail to help.

Blue toxin is spreading in me like a bonfire;
Is it stronger than the most lethal venom?
I’m burning in the fire of self annihilation
And my affliction is getting higher and higher.
There lies a frozen lake of time in my reach-
Why don’t I pick a cube to rub on my burns?
I don’t know why, willingly I suffer by and
My unbuttoned cut juicy skin cries for a stitch!

It’s like dying every second, time and again;
Hey take up this deadly axe and hit my skull,
I’m ready to feel the pleasure of extreme pain;
Don’t fear of my response or muscle to regain.
Stab me, slice me and leave my wounds to rot-
Smells of decay won’t kiss your thirsty throat,
Cry of my injected mind won’t steal your rest;
I’m in anaesthesia, consciousness tied in a knot.


-littleWriter

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

When

When my specs turn smoggy
With the mist of sweltering tears,
When the mantle of lonesomeness
Grows to be too heavy to bear-
When my tedious compulsions
Flavour like a festering sausage,
When the thought of bondage
Panics even my mirror image-
When the blunt shaving razor
Slides deep into rough cheek,
When my last water bottle
Deceives leaking in a desert trip-
When my boorish supervisor
Threatens for my resignation,
When I satisfy boss’ other half
To safeguard my designation-
When the long dead ancestors
Visit on my mournful recall,
When my interminable voracity
Silently invites my downfall-
When I set for a far away voyage
And lose compass in mid ocean,
When I howl in burning twinge
Having lost the soothing lotion-
When I find my favourite novel
Half munched by creepy-crawlies,
When I miss a golden prospect
By any of my ill-timed follies-
When I fail to trace a cathedral
For confessing overflowing sin,
When I lose a must win contest
Put up with winner rival’s grin-
When I rush to station but miss
The fleeting train by a second’s luck,
When I hear of my friend’s demise
And drop down like a dead duck-

Then…………………………………………?

I sail the boat of discontent in my mind’s sea,
The vessel floats aimlessly in search of thee-
Thy music from deep coral beds heals my ears,
Wet breeze encasing your kiss drinks my tears-
Your aroma intoxicates me like illusive morphine
Making me oblivious of all agonizing happenings-
The same fragrance wakes me up when I’m drunk,
While you are my anchor, I won’t ever get sunk-
I glimpse at a green dot like island from my craft,
There waits my pensive Suzan with a red tulip tuft.



-littleWriter

Monday, October 1, 2007

Illusive Temptation

The nymph of moon is dancing with the sun;
She is tempting the sapphire ocean,
Luring the high snow-white peak
To commit the sin of neurotic devastation;

She’s tapping her delicate feet and waist
With the eerie melody which
Wind makes while kissing oaks;
The chill of winter breeze is doing the rest.

The poor sea waves are suffering low tide,
Sheer observer of her enigmatic salsa;
They are in touch with warm sand
Exposing their body in mannish pride.

The lunar nymph winks even to the cloud;
The free winter cloud ceases and
Exotic enticement forces it to drop
Those drops it was holding to redistribute.

The sprite gambles her intoxicating eyes
To the planets, comets and stars;
What a sumptuous delusive charm!
She captivates with her feminine disguise.

The hallucinated snow peak obsessively
Touch her seductive navel;
Fancy his glossy cheeks to
Slides down her perfect curves fervently.

The possessive sun gags out his tolerance,
Spites off his radiance to
The unruly longing peak
And the sheet of ice loses its residence.

The nymph vanishes, arousing eroticism
In all masculine power of nature;
Alas, the impeccable amorous earth
Famine and flood dented her clear prism.



-littleWriter

Friday, September 14, 2007

Now I Feel…

Oh I were a rockstar then, of Bryan Adam’s sort-
Didn’t bother much whether I had a guitar or not
Nor ever cared for background melody-
Why should have I cared when my virtual stage was ready-
My voice had no job as my mind was performer,
It was the guitarist itself managing bass, saxophone
What more could I expect from this versatile singer!
This mind was my hero then, my warden too
Steering the boy in me through all red and blue –
Air was so full of essence then like never before
Stars kissing my head, moon luring for fantasy tour-
Was I achieving freedom from boyhood bondage
Or utilizing those golden pieces of time to my advantage?
Today its no more a world of ‘twinkle twinkle little star’
My stage has vanished throwing me to world so blur!
More I try to simplify the space around me, it gets smoky
Obstructing those rhythms which had moved me so far-
Many says it’s a bigger stage, so do perform at your best
How can they sense-the player in me has opted for rest;

I walk over stony streets like a guy with crutches
The green land in me has tuned into beaches,
So close to sea- it has no reason to be parched
Waves hug the shore million times, still full of earth.
I’ve lost my balance, my limbs are throbbing
The ground so frail, as if rocks below me are breaking.
Is this a virtual occurrence giving me a false intuition-
Or I’m undergoing a transitory figment of imagination;
I keep thinking about my suspicion all day and dark
Who is my teacher now who can give me a feedback;
My mind is dynamic perhaps like an obedient child –
Taking up a number of responsibilities & turning a blind-
What’s the use of its curious, sensitive azure eyes
Where it toils like a slave in the world of filthy lies;
No beauty to gaze just about, no color to praise
I’m an odd man here, deserved to be out of this grease.;
Am I a marine life rolling over sunny warm sand-
Or I’m a cub isolated from its mother in its first month?
I suffer an era of shilly-shallying-

I’m a prudent chap now, now here I’m not dying.
Not crying over the melodies which tempted me flying-
I look the world now through a different pair of specs
Bind my mind tight with thousand steel braces;
Those rainbow whims don’t rock my wits anymore,
I’m getting matured now, may be core turning impure-
I accept what comes to me irrespective of its spectrum
What else can I do, to my yellow days I can never return.
I know life is thorny, life is rigid, life is yank
Life is the name of motion, navigation of unseen dark-
My wheels are set, my fuel is full & have the map as well
I can dive into ocean, cross the roads and pass along rail.
My boundary has widened, my horizon has broadened
Still shiny pleasing reminiscence swivel like a pendant;
I sit with an ocean of memories perched in my eyes
Mist of tear fills my sight-I miss those schooldays!



-littleWriter

Friday, September 7, 2007

Lunatic's Song

The hanging metal bell over your head
The wail you hear, sketches my death;
Swing the bell baby, swing it hard,
Shake the brass body with your fart;
Swing the bell baby, swing it hard-

You’re ashamed to fart before them all,
Hey listen, none bothers for your fall;
Licking dogs smell the bloody thieves,
Never do they hunt for their wives;
Don’t be shy baby, shed your leaves-

Dong-Dong-Dong-Dong- rattles the bell
Your witchcraft suits the stinking hell-
The sore on your lips drives them mad,
The blood inside it has turned a clot;
Prang the bell baby, prang it hard-

Don’t slow down, you cankered bitch
Suck my blood like ever-longing leech;
Suck my vigour till my eyes are shut,
Else you’ll burn in my lustrous thirst;
To shake the bell, baby you’ve to fart-

Moving to cloud nine is such a fun
Only you and I, there’ll be none;
Then you expose your distorted curves
And you can test my masculine nerve;
Hear the wail baby; do catch its verve-

Let me lie once on you unguarded lap,
Fantasies will haunt me in my last nap;
I’ll kick the devil and fuck the witch,
I’ll turn incestuous; sins would get rich-
Alas, my soul is fancying out of this ditch!



- littleWriter

Saturday, September 1, 2007

The Tragedy of Errors

Give me a puff of air- I’m badly yearning for it
I need the air of my share you’ve gulped in;
Lungs are half roasted fishes of your tender hand,
Till now desperately alive for your final close in-
Long forsaken in the mist of ghostly souls
What human sense hell do you expect from me?
Sipping my own blood from the vessel below-
This caged piranha is damn glad; do come and see.

No rising sun in my prison to steal my daydreams-
I’m at liberty to have my head in the clouds of captivity
The consequence of ruthless whipping on my bare skin
Will slump you over a frozen earth of zero gravity.
Howl for an Adam there, like a desert cries for rain;
Fortunately there’ll be none to melt at your false tear
And none to drink the peg of your poisonous appeal-
My soul will cherish at witnessing you naked in fear.

My eyes bathe with the memory of an unpublished play:

(Sitting on an archaic wooden chair
In a warm evocative afternoon,
When she was resting on a couch
Only few yards away from me,
In the same veranda facing the
Bougainvillaea shrubs of south-
Sun wasn’t till then so lethargic,
Radiating the crimson golden rays
Those fondling her hanging locks
And igniting my envious self…)

That script was unworthy of staging for a real show…
I burned my fingers for scribing such a manuscript,
Submitted my mind and bulk to your beastly assaults;
No wish I’ve to amend my play, I’m not a soul to drift.
A flock of birds hurrying by in the brown sky above,
A wounded sun dropping down the burgundy horizon
Marking the reign of nocturnal lives and their shadows;
Trickling drops from my vein whispers, “The end, the end”.



- littleWriter

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Real Pollution

Coming from the world of fortune we Welcome You All
Welcome you to our ‘Get what you Want Magic hall’
Come here you people, this jackpot is for you all-
Don’t pass it over, because it is not your soccer ball.
We will be singing our song here with each of you & all,
Men if you don’t join us don’t blame for your future fall.
We’ll also be dancing here taking you guys & girls all,
Ladies don’t miss this chance or you’ll be ever still doll.
We’ll neither leave a chance of playing, calling you all-
Under8teens opting out this choice will make you to bawl.
We will be worshipping our idols here, stick to us you all-
Veterans avoiding us will die before Lord mails their Call.
We are tearing out our throat for calling each & all,
Staying deaf to our call will earn you nothing but big null!

Well Countdown begins, hurry! Grab your ticket from us-
We are giving you it away only at a dollar at last!
That’s not the all, we are giving you a free demo book,
Read there how our golden offers will change your look.
If you wear a slipper, slipper will turn to a leather boot;
If you have a cheap shirt now, get ready for a new suit;
Why wearing hanky around- learn wearing neck ties;
We’ll be gifting you the best attraction for million eyes.
Riding your grandfather’s bicycle doesn’t suit your style,
For you we’ll bring the Mercedes, most cozy and agile.
If your roof is leaking don’t get wet in toppling rain;
We’re allotting you own flats, no monthly paying pain.
We are not businessmen but social servers (most vile),
We want nothing in profit but to see all of you in smile.

But at the end of the day:
(Partners, I’m so happy, it has been a great day for us!
I’ve sketched the balance sheet of today’s eye-wash-
Look, only few hundred dollars more than we expected,
All credit goes to me as this scheme I’d pre negotiated.
And lastly we’ve to thank those thousand fools trapped,
They’ll never get back their money we skillfully grasped!
Tonight we have to leave this island of brainless bugs;
Already I’ve chalked out next plan, file it in yours jug.
This time we would fence in some place of Far East,
Where we’ll be human beast again disguised as socialists.
Friends get ready for the next enterprise I’ve made,
No mistake there must be and we’ll remain untraced.
Let’s cheer tonight for our recent mastermind game
We are all drunk now; don’t have any sense of shame)

Thus a group of muddy sheep paints a bright day into black!
Wake up people, open your eyes-
Let your wits to play;
When mass and mind combines,
Filtering this polluted society won’t be any Herculean task.


- littleWriter

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Nightlife

Gray dirty bat peeping at the steamy glass pane,
The red glow of interior can be seen-
Dogs barking beneath the dark streetlamp,
Bitches tempting the alcoholic owls while
Puppies dream over soft beds so damp-
A drunken man kicks a metal can
Breaking the stillness with a tinkling noise,
Overrides trill horn of the patrolling police van-
The dogs disperse away to some corners
And the bitches drop from owls’ shell so small,
Cunning bat feeling warmth of red
Cleans its skin and returns back to its stall.

The lonely road feels lonely as
Her partner footsteps are escapist,
Giving her false hopes at daylight and
Forsaken in the right period like opportunist;
The forlorn owl hoots in dissatisfaction
Relaxing over a willow branch;
Responsibility of tomorrow knocks him,
Ever-open eyes revert from the trance-
Bitch has cleared her worry for the next day,
Happy seeing her children at rest,
Purifies her fur in warm shower of midnight dew,
She needs a snooze; it has been a day of haste.

The porous moon winks at that window pane
With drowsy eyes a face full of vice,
Red glow of interior is bright as before,
The aliens inside playing with hottest ice-
Alien has no fear of catching cold
As it’s not a man of this soil;
It lives in a dungeon so high and
Walks over wheels without toil;
The dark moon knows the alien and
Likes its dishes,
Curiously stares at the steamy window and
Enjoys the dance of witches-

The wholesome chunk of ice melts in flame;
Meanwhile the bored moon
Has indulged in an earthly game.
Frustrated dog howls before closed saloon-
Barking dogs irritates the holy moon;
A lesson needs to be taught soon
To fill up coming morning’s tabloid book
And get some glory for his nocturnal look.
After all, the moon is a sincere cop;
Has good vision to act as the alien’s prop;
A small number of poor, skinless dogs are trapped;
The dawn is knocking; moon will go for a nap.


- littleWriter

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Hateful Peace

The creaky feeble noise of the old windmill,
Immiscible with the darkness of the site-
Black baleful sky above dissolving its blades
Enticing it for an indisposed survival fight.
The odour of decayed departed souls
Blended in the core of this sluggish breeze-
Only the evil spirited serpent creepers
Deceitfully embracing the fatherly trees.
A sudden gust of bizarre poignant wind
Passes kissing the numb burial place-
Acts of wantonness inside get amplified,
Tombstone frowning at coffins’ disgrace.
Soft Moon subdued by a sinister cloud,
Murky leaves running out of shadow-
Subterranean cracks on coarse sterile soil
Veiled in vain by nagging roots below.
An infinite space filled by mysterious air
How passionate the room seems to be-
Chocolate scope of immoral love making,
And pain of separation none can foresee.
Is it the ethereal empire of evil spirits,
Sketching scarlet plot for a death match-
Embryonic human race is at high stake,
Gladiators are however to be hatched.
Blazing smell from some far away land
Bothers the sleeping flora in the black-
A hooting queen feathers away the whiff,
None ready to lose the ongoing blackjack.
Witchcraft soaked in malodorous blood,
Preaching communalism in bare breast-
Poisoning the tonic like drinking liquor
Magnifying the deaf leopard’s unrest.
Sulphurous essence of the prevailing peace
Murmuring the truth of an odd serenity-
Motionlessness must not be conked out,
Or it’ll tarnish Emperor Saturn’s vanity.
But monsoon time coincides with winter,
Frost of blood raining down the night-
Muggy darkness sinking down the hell,
Eternal sand-clock desperate for daylight.
Lord of Justice descends down from heaven,
Be aware that the Judgement Day has come-
Hey cast your gothic spell of stillness now,
Tussle hard to save your tottering kingdom.
The wheel of time has completed a rotation,
Rejoice at the sight of our blood bathed sun-
Repent for your slavish schizophrenia and
Vow for accomplishing the priorities undone.


- littleWriter

Saturday, August 18, 2007

His Sleeping Lady

The old man living down the valley

Lives in a timber hut-

He lives with his old spouse;

Love linking them has faded really.



He goes out in the early sunshine

With his flock of sheep

And the woman expects

To gather fruits from nearest vine.



The man rest his body on a boulder,

Loosening his bind over

His sheep to let them graze;

Solitude cloaks his frail shoulder.



He sings in his Soul:



“Let my mind flow

Let my mind fly

Let it unbind the irons

Let it soar high,

Let it soar high.



Look, the butterfly

It’s hurrying by

Look the colours

Its wings holding thy

Look, it’s flying by!”



The time passes by ending the day;

The sky has lost its glow,

The shepherd is old once again

Losing his euphoric halo.



Old man stepping down groove

With his home-sick battalion,

Tiny light from his distant hut

Perhaps, his only existence proof-



The door of his cottage is wide open!

Old Sam curses his careless lady,

But no slang does he get in return!

Is she sleeping? There lies her body…





- littleWriter

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

After 15th August, 1947

Centuries of captivity in the dungeon of Dracula-
No messiah interferes in my daily slaughter of
Semi extinguished skeleton of perception;
Rich blood of hopefulness drains out in vain;
Flabbergasted at own vastness of resources,
I chuckle at my self tolerance in exasperation.

Starving tongue praises the taste of own blood-
Mine is no “odd stomach out” as I follow;
Weaving a fictitious autocratic state in mind,
Learning the art of being content at the cost of
Self respect and pride which seems minor…
Surrendering brazenly for a gory ethnic grind.

Sack carrying mule has been my idol till now-
While I’ve mastered: dumbness in acute pain,
Plundering of my own and neighbours’ treasures,
Dusting down replicas of our ancestors’ dreams,
Brushing the crops till corn turns blue from green.
But obedience prizes my skin with sharpest razors!

Temptation of autonomy sets fire to my frozen eyes-
Feeling humiliated of own nakedness looks proper;
Cat snoozing under chair is profiting my hatreds,
Imitation of donkey is no more my commitment,
The hot air enveloping me is healing my paralysis,
Modesty sucked a lot, let me see what mettle begets.

Here starts the clashing of swords built of my bone-
I’m a comprehensive fighter with ocean of passion,
Splattering of blood here is my religious conviction;
Infatuated with the newly developed extremism
My boisterous steel blade slices this and that,
Till the vanishing of evil Dracula calms my notion.

Only hovering vultures and remnants I’ve achieved-
White veins and barren lands dumped as my award!
Shrewd vampires peeping through martyrs’ cemeteries;
I can’t hold back my tears of shame and futility…
Celestial voice mocks from far away distant cosmos:
“Wingless Eagle, sense your Freedom, it’s time to fly!”


- littleWriter

Monday, August 13, 2007

I’ve the Sword of Non-Violence

My bent heavy head is terribly aching- do I need a painkiller?
The blood inside has turned into a sphere of rotten meat-
I can’t find a scavenger to be indebted after I die-
What is it- a habitual nightmare or the mood of a sufferer
Who has dwelled in the darkest dungeon ever known to man,
Encircled himself with a flock of thousand groaning hyenas!
Arms being coupled together with the strongest iron-
No hope does he possess to witness the rising sun again!
I’m that tormented living matter on the verge of death-
Still scorching air coming out my nose- it’s a trouble for me;
I don’t wish my heart to beat now, and wits must not act-
I’ve to start dodging to heaven, this time I can’t be late.
My limbs are no more my servant; they are not my slave,
I’m a kind old master freed them from theirs years bondage-
Light of my life will fly to God’s home to turn into His angel.
But no scavengers around me, where to dispose off my flesh?
I’m unable to die within this black cage, once show me the sky,
Take me out of this abstract hell once, let me feel the air,
Let me breathe to fill up my lungs for the last time-
Else, I’m a tough lover of open earth and I would never die.
I know this is my last gamble and so I can’t lose the game,
Let my carcass rot here; I’m ready to take up that pain-
Can’t compromise with the tyrant who enslaved me so long,
I won’t accept my crush and mess up my final dream.
Iron shackle seems thinnest glass wall now; it never was so fragile!
But I was longing for a sedative, now don’t know why-
I want the strongest venom now for inflicting me more pain;
I’m changing to a skinless fighter determined to die in the earth’s isle.
My enlightened free soul will be punishing that cruel oppressor
Who have raped my golden ages and made my treasures decay
And pushing me down to the unfathomable layer of black soil,
Not taking his route, without turning to be a bigger tormentor,
I’ll take all the means of non hostility and highlight before him:
Teach my co-sufferers what freedom of mind really means-
His whip can’t stop me preaching, nor can his framed laws do,
He’ll be a shocked new man then appearing to have lost his limb.
He will turn a man from his present beastly form in my light,
He’ll kneel down for compassion before all of our radiant stature
Will be ready to give us something, which then we wouldn’t take-
What freedom will he give us? We are at a much greater height!
Now the fight will not be with he and me but with thousands
Of my fellow victims raging for revenge having lost their epoch-
But my guidance they would never deaf-ear, I’m their torch.
We’ll forgive our sinner; we’ll lend him our rusty chained hand.
Tears of regret will purify his soul, make him work for humanity-
I’ll put my hand over his wet shoulder, talk few words of console
His sore will be much deeper than what I had; I’ll drop my last sigh.
The triumph is mine, harmony prevails, Gandhian spirit won’t ever die…



- littleWriter

Saturday, August 11, 2007

My Reminiscence on a February Night


Thousands of inspiration to choose out from but, I don’t know why my mind is so vacant
When I’m sitting with my pen tonight, under the starry sky of 13th of second month!
I keep turning back the filled pages of my diary, must be expecting a creamed theme;
Filling old wine in new bottle though I barely favor, presently is the only gleam-
I strive hard to press my lyrical mind on the blackness or solitude of the setting,
But my eyes get set to an older page, I wrote a rhyme on black night approaching;
No solace there in repeating that same subject scripted by hundreds even before me-
Sitting stationary with my pen is a pain, I feel like a thirsty aged man living by the sea!
Now it seems, I have to get back to a very outdated idea of composing verse of ‘Love’
Those same fantasies of valiant prince and gorgeous maidens, for me not thing so tough-
I pinch myself with some obnoxious memoirs, sacrificing my present mental comfort-
Transposition of mind had never been so bitter; I stepped into a frame of lost rapport-

Some warm dim light have filled up the mind
I express my soul like a child with no bind!
I enjoy the arrow shot by that stupid cupid at me-
Desperately looking around for my own “she”;
Prior to it I’ve to recognize the timeline I’m at-
Else my passion wouldn’t be strong enough
To suit this present context of my love story;
Though not sure if it’s my recap or poetic hurry;
Did I craft an atmosphere of soothing moonlight
And a garden beside with scented flowers so bright?
Are those stars more glittering, moon more shimmering
Are they spoiling the backdrop I’m craving?

My self –created lover boy waits by a red rose shrub
Weaving those seven colored dreams for his lady love;
Black clouds above in the meantime keep passing by
What an apt stage for a fanatic like me, I won’t lie!
Everything is going fine, yes, the boy has picked up a rose
Having hurt his tender finger letting few red drops to ooze-
This’ the best way he could show his emotions for her
“A glimpse of my Suzan; wow she’s looking like a star!
Suzan is one in a billion, sharpest of diamonds ever seen,
She lives in a far isle, where, in my dream I’ve never been;
I perceive her by that hallucinating aroma she consumes
Against those blue eyed obsession, I’d never been so firm-”

Till now the poet in me has been isolated at some…so called ‘a world of practical’
To shield his rational heart from an erotic virus called ‘love’, cause of million ordeal;
I wasn’t aware of those cozy visions, warm hugs, stony promises and sensuous kisses
Until my shackled heart, thirsty lips has got the sense of that lost voluptuous opulence!
No boundary remains now between the soul of that love-sick boy and its playwright,
I’m turning crazy for Suzan at this moment, I want her in this pre-Valentine night-
An old movie starts playing involuntarily behind my eyes reeling those faded romance:
Suzan is walking down the Oleander Street embraced delicately in my possessive arms
Halts at a sudden before a florist’s stall; amidst hundreds petals, picks out a ruby rose
Silence followed us for seconds till Suzan came closer and her cheeks touched my nose;
Union of two flaring hearts; I whispered “Oh Suzan, my Love, Happy Valentine’s Day”!

Then? …Twilight dew spoiled my delusion before those same words Suzan could say...



- littleWriter

Don’t Waste Your Youth in Chasing ColorS of Life

In my life of daily dilemma
I wonder with a hazy mind,
About how color can come back to life,
To infiltrate the gray scale melodrama-
Without overdramatic effect
As if edited by a looser mathematician
Having lost his rainbow shade
Of youth, in vein wit,
Now crawling for snatching from us
What he didn’t get……
His green creeper died, then water
Was necessary to be added-
But could manage as well,
Not to be a strawberry one over green land,
Instead, a cactus on sandy soil-
Now it doesn’t
Open its mouth for tropical rain-
Why should it?
It has forgotten the longing for rain
Which was its shadow at gangetic plain-
It’s a life now but devoid of life
Its standing now ….but,
Not under self whim,
Under the fancy of this mathematician
Veiled in dictatorial theme,
Made nazi of his own youth-
How could he save his gray cacti
From future drought-
Drought of vigor,
Drought of green-
Turning yesterdays berry
Into spine of steel.
But like this dupe I wont
Let my hue to fly to so far a galaxy,
Anchoring to some vague excuses
Of daily business porcupines,
Slaughtering tiniest scope of ecstasy
Which were not created by creator
But I, thinking myself
Higher to mediator,
Possessing lethal mind,
Suppressing His gifted youth and
Willingly craving to be terminator,
Like a virus
Passing this pessimistic psyche
Among my race and upcoming generation,
Negating their development,
Guiding to a spiral bypass-
When destination is the centre
Why to orbit…………?
Why wont they…? they need
In their life color a bit.
Meantime I consume their energy
Misguiding them, and taking pleasure of
What should not have been unknowingly-
And me keep composing verse in elation
Until they reach the centre and sob-
Now they have also drowned to the
Same black spot where color is a dream-
No way to revert…all path have collapsed
Having lost their youth regret is at brim.
Now I can be astrologer and predict
What route would they follow and
What will be their verdict.
They would resolve to guide others
To save them, and teach them
Forbidding them to turn color hunter-
But alas, what they will speak
Will seem thesis of old,
A wall to repaint……
Rather a roof with a million leak-
How can they cohabit,
They need a rainbow to ride,
After all they are new color hunters,
They have billion fantasies to rear-
In the course, which black body
They are stepping to
I wont be there to care.
Feeling guilty for having thought
That mathematician a dull,
An agent against life-
Today I know the truth,
I know it all.
No scope to articulate it to
These present day dreamers-
No chance to apologies
To my guided all spiral spinners.
No hope left for me but only
To look back for what good I’ve done.
Meanwhile little aspirations condensing
Of what color after life I’ll get in turn.
This time I’ll keep a record of
What I expected and what I’ve got-
And make a survey of my fore walkers
To make my end of the day a little less tough.
Me still not aware of what is
Color of life and where has it been lost…..
No more would I think of this color-
Surely it’s a new illusive dust.
Oh !I’m in ecstasy once again

I’ve got this realization at last !

- littleWriter

Spoiled Fantasy

The silky purple fairy of his childhood day,
With her he has flown in all red and gray;
With her, Robin climbed a snowy peak so high,
She had trained him like a trainer- how to fly;
She had been a caring shadow behind Robin
In his infancy, boyhood & till he stepped teen-
The first dream he indulged in his deepest sleep
Couldn’t be possible without her crimson lips;
The earliest romance that made his heart thrill
Was the effect of her two azure eyes’ spell!

No acquaintance with the world she lived in,
Not aware of the reality of his leprechaun,
Robin painted the pages of his malleable heart;
He was a boy then, till not at an age to flirt-
Jabbed his imaginations with all imagery of
His purple fairy; hard to guess-was it his first Love?
Those early colored days slipped away too fast
Before his kiddy fancies could shape into lust.
Teenage demanded Robin a fairy sparkling in red
Purple elf had vanished, from whom could he beg?

Gazing at a distant rainbow gloomy Robin snuffles,
Obsession of this red elf- his life has been ruffled.
It’s painful to be lured when you crave for a break
This ruby red nymph spoils his sleep by a tweak.
Her emerald eyes speak nothing but of seduction-
Mature Robin is jaded of this physical satisfaction.
To get rid of this corporeal fantasy, he cries like a kid,
But Time was the dramatist- teen Robin was deceived!
His twenty-fifth birthday today, a glow in his face…
Youngster Robin will join him in his midnight rest!


- littleWriter

The Frustrated Poet

The same chirping morning birds,
The same morning sickness,
The unchanged inauguration everyday-
It bores my soul, repels me whole;
I live in a rusty cage; I sleep on its edge
I don’t know why I dwell in it
When its bars are broken;
Willing captivity is my survival token
I pound my head on its hedge
And nothing new I feel in it-
The same pain and same sprouting blood,
Same cry from my tongue and
I get bored of it… I get bored of it-
I sit at leisure with my pen,
I’ve smaller value than a hatching hen
As I don’t feed your famished belly
I keep scripting my lyrics in vain.

My pen keeps scratching the pages
I make them victim of my crazy usage
White paper turns dirty with my words
Still nothing change my world,
Same rising sun- same singing birds
And I get bored of it, it bores my core,
I roll my frustration on some distant shore-
The same plastic smiles I bear daily,
The same smoky air I inhale and
The same chattering of a group of apes;
I can’t put up with this world so silly,
I feel the madness of a barred rebel
I cry, I weep, I howl, I moan, I groan
As none appreciates my poems
I wish I could reproduce delicious novel;
A novel to feed thousands of folks
Gorged with my lunacy but all dreamy talks!

My blunt teeth tears a brown fibrous bread,
A sense of vomiting fills up my head,
I keep chewing it like a chewing gum
A series of starving faces floats by my eyes
The same boring tear rolls by my cheek and
I get a fruitless yield, it salts my sweet bread
This was emotional case- but realism unread!
Impulsive self provokes me to incise my vein
And conclude this somnolent awake state-
But how can I bear that shameless bare pain;
I was never a gutless in the ocean of sorrow,
I’m waiting for the fire in me to ignite
In this hopeless frozen furrow, so narrow
Yet, I get bored of my impatient mood
I lose my stream of optimist thought
All these seems so vague to me, meanwhile
My pen and paper rolls on some hazy riot...

- littleWriter