End of an era

The flower blossoms

only to wither and die

The hearts meet

only to bid goodbye.

There's change and

the end is the truth

Immortality, a dream

created to soothe.

Consolations pour in

boatloads of love too

But, when living

the friends are few.

Passing on to eternity

A perpetual hearth.

A gentleman sweetheart

from the province of Punjab.

Trailing tranquility, and how ...

The need to feel wanted

 Is imprisoned within me

Unlike a canary in the cage

I can’t sing to be free

I am drowning, in not, some

body of water or whatever

But, in the deluge of thoughts

Them, I am unable to dissever.

The fire of spite that burns

Around my clueless existence

There are those that insist

To revel in continual resistance.

Surely my souls can hold

To the many outside blows

Just enough to endure until

I can overcome the throes

A dose of reality

It is the beautiful season of joy

While not a scrooge, I don’t

buy this temporary pseudo ploy  

to make life become bearable.

There is no permanency

Everyone gets by somehow

A complete lack of pertinency

With that of abject reality.

But is it all one looks for?

A brief reprieve of sorts

From the tedium, they abhor,

Just enough of this for a jolt.

The toiled stupor is shaken

And, renewed are the souls,

Everyone is ready to awaken

And, get lost in the grind.

The cycle goes on in a loop,

The hordes are survivors

There are the others who troop

And, make their own path of joy.

Coveting calm

I wish to be free of

all gnawing worries

I wish to wake up

sans the deluge of regrets

I wish to not bend over

feeling inadequate

I wish to feel full

and content with me

I wish to let go

of all the sadness

I wish to breathe

in pure and simple joy

I wish not to crumple

under pressures of life

I wish to live in calm

each day afresh

Who am I

Instinctively I reassure

I am polite in crisis,

That’s me, oh boy, what

A specimen indeed

My mother taught me

Never to create a scene

Everywhere therefore

I stay invisible

No crying child, I

Grieve in private, within

My safe cocoon

Not to trouble others

Broken, hollowed and

Beaten down, without

Any hope of remedy

I am but a lost cause

I soothe and support

I bolster the other

While I labor to breathe

I’m the wind beneath their wings

Bemused

Homemade, she added in haste

Why are egos fragile and misplaced?

What is it about self-worth?

There seems to be a dearth.

Promote thyself with all one’s might

But, why of other, add a slight

Clichéd adage, a bell does ring

If nothing good to say, say nothing

Ribbing in jest is how it begins

Humor, the perpetrator feigns

Until there’s no hope of return

While the other burns in scorn

Time and again, young and old

The pattern, cannot be foretold

A lack of empathy for fellow being

The graciousness is fleeing.