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The Dreamer

Alone when I stand and see these pages
Of faces with sweat and surging brows
At the crossroad, in the crowd, among the hedges
Of crimson cast sky and a brazen desire;
Shadow to shadow neither offers more,
nor instinct succumbs to serene pledges.
The Dreamer walks alone!

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Rise

The storm has calmed down now by the time
That touched you and touched me with love.
Let death distance us if it can with its strength,
We will be born again and again with our faith
That shall beat its wings with the dearest dove,
And sing the melody among lives so sublime.

Let thoughts be the orchestra and eyes paint
Desires unknown to the most reasoning minds,
Let this war be over, we’ll talk to the moments,
And walk on the green grass feeling the dews.
Let the temple doors open again and we light
The lamp and bow before the greatness of god.

The stones will remain, the soul will but flee
To its own kingdom of heaven where no fear
Will ever stand, no greed will ever question
The intent of life, the dissent for every death.
Let the muses come and guide us to the tree
Where flowers of gold breathe enough faith.
Let love fill every bard, let blessed be the eyes
As we greet every passing moment and rise.

Yes, it is a symphony, very much here and now;
Pause at this moment and gather all the dreams,
All hope, and all that everyone wished us ever.
Fear is like a tattered coat, why wear it anymore,
Not thorns, but the beauty every rose is known for.

Who says you are alone among those dark towers?
Who says we are left only with the bleak hours?
Gather your breath and close the eyes for a while,
There stands the God we search, there is the smile,
There’s more heaven when we see the sky in this isle.

Those soft leaves of love now turn forever into gold,
Those faces like apparitions far disappear in cold.
Not enough time then remains for an adieu or ahoy,
Some lives are not chosen but become stars as told
Some moments that we wish much to become forever.

leaf.jpgIt’s been so many years on this earth, so many moments, so many experiences that life puts us into so skillfully that we apparently feel, we are writers of our own destiny. Today, standing somewhere in the middle of my journey, I paused and wanted to reflect my hope into the air that enveloped me under the mincing sun rays of a spring afternoon. What I found was a dried leaf that unintentionally rested on the ground with so much to tell, so much to share, so much meaning for someone who looks deeper into the threads of a fabric called our journey. This leaf certainly came out of the moist possibility that nature would have inspired to make the tree grow till it can, it would have surely seen the seasons pass by, so untouched yet grow with it so undaunted. There would have been flowers that got nourished so much by this leaf and fruits that would have resulted after a natural effort, without looking back at who offered what. The pursuit of our life is so much similar to this leaf. We are born to live, but time scathingly satirizes our effort to an end so much scripted to a moment when everything seems ceasing. Helpless, hopeless it may look like at times. But the essence of life certainly is at the end we contributed to the tree of life by whatever we could, with our abilities inspired by experiences. There is no universe that can deny that existence is not inspiring. There is no tree that can hold the leaf forever. Yet it holds it again and again, for it to fall. The essence of life is to realize surely, this truth that we do our best to whatever role we are assigned to, in this tale of eternal love.

Smile at everything that comes across and we are through.

This photograph was taken at a walkway in Sector 17 Chandigarh today that inspired this thought.

A broken wooden bench over a spread of ivy all over,
As if it hides those footprints of a distant love and life.
There I see flowers occasionally touching the air over
And murmur the silent whispers of my hopeful wife
That they hear from those years of struggle and fear,
Among the many hopes, everything that stands so dear.

Oh! What fear makes? What clutters this cold mind now?
We played characters, both strong and weak with time,
We hunted and allowed to be grabbed in the gusts
Among those years, with one single hope for a life
That is beautiful, that is holding each other and rhyme
The spirit of life sitting beside the waves of this world.

Time plays the greatest comedy, for it brings justice
To every breath that we think we accomplish in life;
Time sings the greatest music, for it sounds rhythms
Of love, no matter what strings we touch with hymns
Anchored by our soul, served in light, a sublime piece.
Have faith, love alone stays as every other bird flies.

Here and now, just pause and remember the first sight,
The first spring that we chose to journey and then cross
The summer and the fall all together with the courage
That repeats life again and again, no matter what name,
What thoughts will teach us, what actions will journey,
We are surely now in an endless love forever and ever.

Who says seasons change with time?
Who says we will die in the darkness?
Who says our prayers are only unheard?

Drop the fear, the anguish with time’s passage;
And let no stone be unturned if not by effort
But by the spirit of love till the eternity feels,
And invites us to join the chorus of the divine.
These stars are the saints, this light is ours;
Believe, and it all turns into light and glory.

Words fumble when the tongue feels the air;
Sight differs when the light fills us and lure
Every soul that comes across with the truth
Of this journey called life, this air called love.
We often give up just before we could achieve,
And close our eyes before the sight of fear.

Believe not in reason, but in faith for long;
For we are the soul; we are the song!

THE REDEMPTION

When I walked over the dried ferns under the oak,
The moist fallen leaves gazed and asked if am a soul.
What makes this being so light and that has crossed
A million questions, and seen words turn into wind.
Now no breath invites a rhapsody among the wood,
But stand like surreal statues to falter in an old feud.

Sometimes it’s the man in the street, homeless, tired
But with sunken lips says “it is a beautiful world”;
Sometimes, it’s the golden steps upon which the lady
In bizarre, sighs on everything that crosses the cold.
Is peace so far that we purportedly seek in passion?
Death is but silence offered to every moment we lived.

Rumbling among the thistles of these autumn behind,
The feet now tired, the head pulled through the wind
With so many thought pieces and moments to lose.
Until the waves touch them, until the sand is so kind
To hold the feet and declare for the times to come
I will either live with the heart or be left to remind.