Transience

 

 

 

 

Death they say is a gift,

A stagnancy to the soul adrift,

The only constant in the world,

From the moment, life unfurled.

 

History stands silent witness,

To the ensuing emptiness,

No matter how it is spun,

Death never ceases to stun.

 

The departed soon are history,

The fading words, a mystery.

Even the best, bite the dust,

As one day, everyone must.

 

At times, seen as the easy way out,

But, life retains its own clout.

Every breath taken is beautiful,

No matter, how severe the struggle.

Defray the disarray

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a puddle of chaos I stand,

Sinking like in a marshy swampland,

The race of life, with its murky goals,

Pains my already befuddled soul.

 

Isolated, I seem to feel in a crowd,

Breathless, like trapped in a shroud,

Some days are silkier than others,

Not that I am given any druthers.

 

A lankiness pervades in all my fears,

Downing whiskey, whilst drowning in tears

Razor sharp bite the days seem to be,

Mouthing a prayer, I try to flee.

Haphazard

 

 

“Life is no bed of roses,

You better write some verses”

Is one precursor to the other?

Or are they both pitted versus?

 

I then take flight to a land,

Armed with my repertoire,

Would my words see me through?

Without dipping into the reservoir?

 

My thoughts came with wings,

In wild abandon, it flies,

The unflustered freedom,

The turmoil within it belies.

 

Clichéd

 

 

His bloodstained fingers

Belied his tranquil manner

Can’t judge by cover

Sapped and Shattered

 

 

Bitter, I try not to be,

Like a rag, when you toss me,

I am no self effacing saint,

When innocence, you feint.

 

Manipulating my feelings,

You inflame my entire being,

Flinging me, every single time,

When I am feeling sublime.

 

Tightening my heart strings,

The torment always stings.

I shall leave you on your own,

You can carry on your intone.

Sham show

Your tears don’t faze me,
Skeptical I continue to be,
Your limited retorts don’t help,
Neither do your frequent yelps.
 
Your aggressive avoidance,
Words that pierce like a lance,
That hurt will never go away,
The distress, never allayed.
 
The heightened sense of hate,
Though, may never abate,
I am the bigger person here,
As to forgiveness, I near.

My little hero

This little girl trooper extraordinaire

Smiling though it all, she declares,

“Let this syndrome – beware”

With my braveness, I will ensnare.

 

Every day, about her, I wait to hear,

Nothing will, of her spirits, deter.

Standing up to it, she prefers,

Of the disorder, she is the saboteur.

Terse verse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I stare at the four letter word,

Urging my pen to move forward,

‘Poeming’ – isn’t it what I do?

Why is there so much ado?

 

When I sit poring, an hour later,

My palms create a paper crater,

Words are scribbled and crossed,

The clichéd paper balled and tossed.

 

Just another day, in poetry-land,

Where one and all try their hand,

Some days bring forth masterpieces,

Other days, one is left picking up pieces.

Feint a faint

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prompt courtesy: Sunday Whirl

 

 

In an instant, everything changed,

Buckling I was under my pressure,

Stride stopped short, but I managed,

To maintain dignity in large measure.

 

When my vision cleared, I heard humming,

There was a crowd bustling and milling,

Like being drilled, my head was thumping,

But, no one around, seemed to be spilling.

 

Navigate, I had to around medical terms,

Garnering and gaining, day by day,

I would not miss my dreadful squirm,

As among the machines, I drifted away.

 

By fortune, I was finally graced,

That bright morning had finally dawned,

From illness to health, I slowly paced,

Today, years later, this memory I spawn.

Homecoming

I open the door and step in,

A sadness lies deep within,

A welcome feeling, yet strange,

Back home, did I manage?

 

Seeing the familiar, my heart flutters.

My home, like my mind, has clutter,

The good kind, of the lived in tatters.

My reverie shall not be shattered,

 

Pictures in frames, of my past,

Trinkets of life, over time, amassed,

Souvenirs collected over travels.

Walking by, my story unravels.

 

Every step now, is a burden of pause,

Avoiding any possible faux pas,

Lingering within are gnawing doubts,

Coming to terms, with my whereabouts.

Mystified misgivings

 

 

 

Downhill, my life seems to go,

Crashing into the dark trenches,

The strength I seek, eludes me,

The waterfall of hurt, drenches.

 

A river of agony washes over,

Taking me to the ocean of despair,

Baying, I moon around in the jungle,

Murmuring a helpless prayer.

 

From mountaintops to gorges,

I hunt for my vanished joy,

Confined within, like a lake,

Days continue to be a decoy.

 

A stream of love, is all it will take,

To break this flow of gloom,

With a splash in the pond of inclusion,

Under the stars, I try to bloom.

Tot’s opus

Waving his fists in rhythm,

He hit the perfect note,
Precisely moving his feet,
Impulsively trying to emote.

The sweet whisperings of music,

The choreography, his creation,
The emitting of the right sounds,
that displayed infinite elation.

A hop and skip, to the distance,

Tugging at an invisible drape,
A kneel here, a twist there,
Thus the routine takes shape.

Enthralled with himself,

Oblivious to watching eyes,
He was on his way to bliss,
And ready for the reprise.

An agonizing account

Criticized, she was today,

For leading her life astray,

Amplifying issues, they alleged,

Unpleasant memories, it dredged.

 

She was moaning, they barked,

In exasperation, she remarked,

It can never be just one’s fault.

Though it all, she did vault.

 

Then one day, something snapped,

Reached within, at skills untapped,

Discarding the cloak, that was her past ,

Onward to her goals, she surpassed.

 

Moving on beyond banalities,

A small price to pay, the causalities,

In serenity and peace she was,

Nothing short of a rebirth, ‘twas.

An ode to the runner

In heat and in sleet,

Alone and in a fleet,

Their destiny is to run,

The race has just begun.

 

Their mottos may vary,

Of failure, they aren’t wary,

The thrill unprecedented

To others, may seem demented.

 

This is not just any race,

The need to keep up pace,

Until their final breath,

A last run at the face of death.

 

This maybe their swan song

From start to finish, amidst the throng,

Collapsing in complete exhaustion,

Their life, the ultimate inspiration.

 

A tribute

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fabled Dawn

A slow drive unhurried,

Deliberate and lingering,

Smelling the proverbial rose,

Or here, the leaves, dwindling.

 

Spirited yellows, the ripe leaves,

Bright reds enveloping the way,

Few greens peeking from within,

As dried browns, rustle away.

 

Washed over by a elusive calm,

Mornings like today are scarce,

Soft melodies waft by, gently.

And, in the moment, I immerse.