Sleepy scribbles

Raindrops in winter,
Sea waves on sand,

Sun rays at dusk,
By the devine hand.

Languid children,
By river banks,
Smiling maidens,
By water tanks.

Neither happy though,
Neither show,
Princes and paupers,

Of long ago.

From over the sea,
Sail merchants ashore,
Drenched in longing,
For darlings and whores.

Lovers wander,
Under a sickle moon,
Dreamers idle,
On a sultry noon.

Trees of green,
In stirring air,
Shady fairies,

With fluttering hair.

Where in the world

Can we look,
To find what we stole,

But thought we took?

Somewhere deep within,

There lies,

A world of glory,

For awestruck eyes.

Where the clear and high,

Draped blue sky,

Showers drizzling stars,

With her cry.

Where to the winds,

The rivers dance,

And float mid air,

In their prance.

Where friends are dear,

To the mortal kind,

Like the sight is,

To the blind.

Where dreams are spun,

With fragile thread,

That catch the wind,

In the flimsy net.

Where a mother smiles,

With her child,

When the flowers,

Run blooming wild.

There we rest,

My friends and I,

Refusing to wake,

And realise.

The missing seed,

Of purity,

That happens to be,

Our destiny.

One bright day,

We rise,

Sun kissed,

Yet unwise.

Looking around,

We ourselves find,

The mysteries,

We left behind.

A mother's lullaby.

Lulling chants of poetry in a young honeyed voice,
Touch upon leaves and grasses,
And linger in tender ears,
Imparting lessons of love.

Sleepers wake to the sound,
Enriched and fulfilled.
They look with glazed eyes,
At the beauty of the music.

The haunts of the songs,
Know no limits or restrictions,
And the listeners try in vain,
To discover source of these ripples.

Ripples of war and ripples of peace,
From the deep blue oceans and the flighty sky.
Ripples of love and ripples of hatred,
Sacred as a child.

Ripples of ingrained desire,
Creeping subtly to the eyes,
of bronzed and sinuous women,
With the rythmns of the music stirring them from within.

The swirling lyrical music,
Makes fluid waves in air.
The leaves rustle to its beat,
And water flows to its tune.

The music yet unfound and hardly comprehended,
Forms its languid shape in my little mind,
Trckling through my senses,
LIke a mother's lullaby.

[My this dedicated to my mother. I would wake up to the sound of her beautiful voice, filtering through a vent as she worked down stairs.]

The sense of loss and gain

Sweet forebodings present themselves,

To my listless mind.

They tantalize me with,

Their nasty invitations,

To leave me crestfallen,

And t leave my eyes silvered.

One man out of the crowd,

Says,"take what you get!",

An enormous number roar in approval.

I shreak,"but what of my love?".

Noone hears me but for my own ears.

I walk on the white sand of eternity,

Among the grey and silver trails,

Of a million women and men.

Coupled footsteps make mine lonely,

And remind me of my forsaken dreams.

I fall heavily onto knees.

I gaze ahead towards the horizon,

AndI see damp and black clouds in a massive pile.

Not only do they weigh me down,

But my hopes they snatch away,

From my clinging fingers.

I softly cry into my empty hands.

When I wake from my restless sleep,

Filled with alien dreams,

I see an old wrinkled man with a white white beard,

And a bright glare of yellow light.

My failing strength keeps me lain,

And I feel his unblemished hands on my hot head.

I ask him,"Is there an afterlife?"

He smiles and gently closes my aching eyes.

He says,"Die to know what the dead have known,

As the seeds of life is ignorance."

Comfort blazes deep within and soothes my hot young skin,

And my head seizes to ache.

I know now that I may live,

A life of golden divinity,

When I have lived,

A tainted one for the lords of my fate.

The comforting yellow light visits my restful deam,

But I wake again to find it gone.

Destitution, feeling I have on looking around.

Walking down this endless road to death,
I feel bereft and barren,
Simplicity fades into tyhe margines of visibility,
And a life of struggle winds ahead.

The mother and the father only remain awhile,
Providing their fingers for support.
Then slowly disappear into the darkness of bereavement.

But fleeting as it is time slips past,
Leaving pebbles for the poor and gold for the rich.
Little fish die swimming upstream,
I survive pain and agony dismembering my dry soul.

Patterns of intricate desires weave through my heart,
Along with the conscious knowledge of failure.
Failure to succeed,
and to provide.

Music trickling into my senses like mirages in a dessert of sand,
Like colour in a dark and dreary dream,
Music becoming the only solace,
Enriching me for times to come and being the remembrances of the past.

Open windows all along the way,
And the sheltered look on with contempt,
At a sight of shame and deprivity.
Raised fingers condemn me to misery,
Their ill will leaves me forlorn,
Eating away my love.

Woisdom of sages cannot deliver me from the hatred sown deep within.
I am milked of all my joy,
I drink from pools of gall which promise to toughen and to strenthen.

I inspire compassion within those who can feel empathy,
Those whose pretentiously pity me.
I defy their compassionate glance,
Their selfish desire to help.
I am strong willed.
I will bleed my feet ti walk,
I will tear my lungs to breath.

I will die in roadside slumber,
In the arms of the gentle breeze,
The breeze that rocks me up to the stars and heaven,
From where I drizzle down to mother earth,
Down to where I belong.

These little moments of joy and hope last a lifetime. Like when you feel the resignation of walking home in a hot scalding summer afternoon and God touches down his blessings in the form of a dilapidated rickshaw;at that moment the prospect of even buying a Mercedes cannot distract the happiness. You feel like laughing and singing;not even the fear of getting dust in your mouth can stop you from doing so. The rickshaw puller is the knight in shining armour;or shining at any rate. Generosity oozes from every single of your pores and you feel the heightened desire to donate an extra coin.Going by market standards you have donated twenty five percent more than normal.

Hence, all's well that end's well. your knight in shining skin rescues a damsel in distress and is awarded a much desired kiss in the form of a coin, which is more useful than a pouted lipped smacking sound.

Moral- Make your knight in shining skin happy.:)