A SWEET BATTLE

The virgin beacon of sun-light pierces into my eye lids,

A bitter-sweet pain caresses them as they refuse to open.

The monotonous chirping of birds in the distance shatters the silence,

As a gentle, prying hand, opens the curtains and rips open my quilt.

I curl up coyly in a foetus-like cocoon and my arms fold in-advertently,

I put up an ostentatious defence, though my heart purs to be deluged.

A preposterous battle, with the earnest urge to lose, I fight,

Gentle paws, claws and clenched fists erupt in the midst of soft moans.

My mellifluous denials are mere antics as I crave for just a little more cajoling,

The force against me is dual, internal as well as external, and yet one.

The aching voices from the recesses within me pine for surrender,

Just a little more teasing before the conquest is final and total.

The arms pushing me, drawing me nearer suddenly surround me in an embrace,

Thats the ultimate volley that destroys my fortitude, my pretence.

I reciprocate with a vengeance and thats what my abductor desires,

What a sweet antagonism, that fructifies into a rhyme.

The quiver of two souls as they couple for an eternal unison,

My eyes close again as the flood-gates open and love gushes in un-armed.

I WONDER WHAT IS LIFE....

I wonder what is life....

Is it a string of breaths sewn together in an intricate pattern,

Or is it the bridge between nascency and man's final sojourn.

Is it the beckoning of fellow-mortals for comradeship,

Or the calling for diligently harvesting the fruits of every relationship.


I wonder what is life....

When I feel the gentle nudge and the warmth of my friend's hand in mine,

Is it pedantry to preach that solitude is the ritual in His Chamber divine.

The sonorous prattle from the cradle and the penitent moaning from the death-bed,

That life tarnishes the interlude, the symphony cracks into cacophony, is so sad.


I wonder what is life....

The laurels that embed my voyage and the reproaches that mar my ascent,

So ephemeral seems their impact on the last breath and yet so profound on the present.

Is life the chronology from infancy to senility and the ultimate surrender to the Omnipotent,

Or is it an anachronism to be sagacious about its transience and the powers of the Omniscient.


I wonder what is life....

The bludgeons of penury cannot trample the burgeoning of faith,

The glitter of riches cannot dazzle the vision of the sage.

Life, i wonder, i presume, i state, i avow, is an endowment, a prelude,

To deluge with the placidness of knowledge, and denigrate the demonic ineptitude.

THE CALL OF CHILDHOOD

The redolence of wet soil seeps into the air,
As the cacophony of children drenches it more than the rain.
The puddle gushes with pride as its womb carries the paper-boats,
That shrieking kids with muddy hands and teethy grins set afloat.

The park is their haven, their incubator, their arena,
The bonhomie reverberates in the vicinity deluging all melancholy.
The honking school bus delivers a gang of little bags of mischief,
As mothers make milk-shakes, they fling their school bags with glee.

Children, they are the salt of the world, the soul of humanity,
Childhood is the panacea for the anathema called a life-span.
Nostalgia is all i can feel as i grope in vain for the days gone by,
The creases on my brow bear testimony of the vicissitudes of adult-hood.

But as we traverse into the vestibule, there are still children wallowing,
Let us take a pledge to give them their due and save them from the nemesis.
The tears of orphans, the stretched hands of child labourers are agonizing,
Let us bury our antagonisms and fight the demon of molestation and abuse.

IF ONLY I COULD FLY ....

If only I could fly,

I would transcend the mortal woes,

Cleanse the blemishes dealt by friends doubling up as foes,

I would ascend the mount of peace and put to rest all turmoil,

The trauma, the pain, the rage, makes my heart boil.

If only I could fly,

I would migrate to lands where mirth prevails,

Where the eyes are not moistened by gruesome tales.

I would elevate myself to the highest perch,

The zenith of tranquility where I would need no crutch.

If only I could fly,

My wings would flutter with the breeze of zeel,

Against all storms, the citadel of hope would be my steel.

My tiny eyes would be pegged at the horizon,

As I would barge through the gates of prison.

If only I could fly,

If only.

But I cannot.

My wings are clipped, my feet tied in a knot.

My eyes are myopic, as a numbing pulsation throbs in my throat.

THE QUEST FOR LIBERATION

My arms writhe in pain, my eyes moisten in vain,

The nauseating claustrophobia, drives me insane.



I grope, i fumble, i stammer, i clasp, and stumble,

The waning beacon attenuates as i am no more nimble.



My heart pines to be coupled with freedom,

Liberation - thy name i hear seldom.



The landscapes beckon with their open arms to embrace,

But the silhouettes and shadows pursue me in their chase.



My feet are bound by the clutches of coercion,

But hope still floats that liberty is not just an illusion.



The night is seduced by the aphrodisiac of fear,

But dawn is on the anvil, i know from the glint in my tear.

THE IRONY OF LOVE

Love, they told me is the most potent panacea,
then, i am befuddled, why does it adorn the garbs of gruesome pestilence.
Love, they say, defies all reason,
then why does the world resonate about the perils of dauntless liasions.
Love is eponymous with ecstasy, they elaborate,
then is it a misnomer when they christen it also as the root of morbid melancholy.
Love, so vehemently proclaimed as the elixir of all mankind,
then is it mis-anthropy to denigrate its virulence, its panache.
Impecunious is one who fails to bask in its embrace,
They may disparage it, but the greatest malediction is to be penurious enough to escape its bounty.

WHY ??

Why is every smile the prelude to abysmal agony ?
Why does the heart not learn lessons even from chicanery ?
Why does intrepid faith fall prey to cannibalistic acrimony ?
Why is candidness reciprocated with vindictive hegemony ?
Why does love knock when its never going to wait till you answer ?
Why does hatred fail to purge the blasphemy of the heart's sinner ?
Why do i cry when i know my tears are innocuous for the perpetrator ?
Why do i forgive and still immolate in the conglagration more than the confessor ?
Why do i fail to see through ostentation and bestiality ?
Why does the warp of gloom strangulate the infancy of felicity ?
Why does the mind wander into the realms of estranged territory ?
Why do i fail to recognize the paws of melancholy serenading as ecstasy ?
Infinite questions, umpteen whys, eternal pursuit, persistent tears,
I feel so vulnerable, so petrified, so vacuous, inebriated by my overwhelming fears.