Clarion Call

Jump into the madness.
Fall into the loud beats.
The clanging sound of revelry,
Twinkling lights and crunchy treats.
Amidst all the slimy darkness
Three all-seeing eyes will unveil;
A knowing smile on rosebud lips
Looming near blood-smeared trails.
A dark red dot on golden forehead,
Like the rising sun in skies not very far
Fragrant flowers or sharp stinging steels,
Choose one and know who you truly are.

Autumn Wind Whispers

The air awaits
With bated breath
Stifling. With only
A hint of breeze
Beckons families
From far across
Hills and plains
Rivers and lakes

Sheaves of pages
Office paraphernalia
Locked in desks
Clothes folded,
Gifts wrapped
Crisp white tickets,
Whirring wheels,
Shrieking trains and planes.

The footsteps and smiles
Already floating in whispers
In the returning autumn wind.

Unchanged

Like a solitary boat that remains unmoved,
From its solitary spot between bobbing sea waves.
Like the sturdy tree, that never shakes
While winds of change scatter stray leaves.
Like the stubborn old man, rocking in his chair,
Refusing to look into the eyes of his heirs.
These are the champions of stability, the stones that never rolled;
Unable to get swept up with the rhythm of the world.
Some things never change and some things never will,
Only living in hope that some day some one will climb that lonely hill.

When She Comes to You

When she comes to you, will you take her swimming?
Hold her hand and guide her down the shores of the blue sea?
The yielding sand below your feet
The salty-sweet breeze, she will not notice.
Lost will she be in a cloud of colour and dense smokes of happiness
Too scared to accept, too scared to believe,
That all her dreams have at last turned to reality.

A troubled child, a child wont to deep thoughts
A child who saw the world in words,
A girl who dreamt of people in pages and stories in still screens
A scared young woman running from despair to distrust,
Hiding from bravery, in the embrace of sheltered homely blankets.
That is the woman you will have in your arms
A little fragile on the surface, chinked in many places
But hard as the bubbles of colours within molten glass.

You will have to step cautiously
Understand that she has a young face but a mind that is old
You will have to prise apart her fingers gently
Removing each small digit one by one, away from its sweaty clasp.

She has dreamt about you for a long time
A time which is long in moments if not in years.
She is not like you, a self-styled monarch of your own destiny,
Surfing with skill and flair on your brightly painted surf board,
Dodging one blue-green wave after another, with nonchalance.

You are the product of a world that worships man-kind,
While woe-man struggles to find her foothold.
Most are tired of the eternal cry for justice,
All they desire is to be honoured for their only special birthright,
To give birth and nurture the little body in their womb in peace.

SO grip those sore shoulders tightly, but with care
And lead her away from her fears, and
Teach her that all those who are of your sex are not seeking harm.
When she comes to you will you take her swimming and sailing?
Or will you drown her?

Epitaph to Poetry

I wonder why we don’t appreciate poetry any more?
Is it because everyone’s wounds are just too sore?
Sometimes, I believe it’s because we have lost all our rhymes
Little twinkling stars have been replaced by paeans on crimes.

Or maybe it’s ‘cause our Hours have become fleeting moments
In the blink of an eye day dreams melt into night time torments.
How will we gain succor from the tales of yore
If we can't even feel the cold hardness of feet above the floor.

Poets had wings, they could soar and swoop,
Now humanity is nothing but chickens pecking in their coops.
So, on and on let us through this tiresome tide troop
Even philosophy won't help untie this vicious loop.

Still wondering why we don’t appreciate poetry any more?
What can we do? The wounds are just too raw and sore.

Cords

I wish I could dream all night, all day,

Untie the cords that hold my restless thoughts at bay.

Let my mind explode in all directions,

Unleash its power without any restrictions.

The grass, the sea, the planets and the stars,

The little drops of rain, the sunlight and the flowers.

I feel so muffled, so heavy and constrained,

My life seems so tiny, within the life in which it’s contained.

I want to touch everything, to see, to hear, feel and perceive

But the cords are too tight; all I can do is grieve.

At times like these I fervently hope and pray

That our soul is truly immortal, as the learned say.

Because I know that even a thousand lifetimes

Will not loosen the cords enough to reach life’s confines.

Nights are Young

Nights are young but days are old
Old, older than the skin covering my bones.
As ancient as the endless pit that lies beyond the eyes
Why does gravity its strength belie?
Why only half way and not pull us down deeper?
The force feels sharp underneath the feet.
But outside there are no visible signs.

So we keep moving on, and on and on and on,
Darkness is warm but cruel is the dawn.
Nights are young, the young sleep sweet
The others just stare at the clock and keep time with its beat.