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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.

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AN URGE IN AUTUMN

Hunger does more miracle if not the being
That settles down among the cold winds.
We’ll arise again and till we become the light,
We’ll fail among those desires every time.
The soul says now to be the song not rhyme.

Why write with ink from our innocent heart?
Why allow the blood to flow through the pen?
Who reads these days, what books we hold?
A sad man stands at the crossroad to meet
And talk to the moon that comes after rain
To tell how clouds swim with dreams so cold.

It’s bleak or brazen or burns like a furnace,
Yes, our heart that melts with passing time.
If not, we stand tall and help wipe the tears
And bring smile to a lonely traveler’s face,
We must buy the thought and again rhyme
We have not grown but gone with the years.

Spokes on the spinning wheel now roar with fire.
Who says stones don’t burn and not ever retire?
Wind cuts the craft when tossed with art in dust,
Every stroke on this wheel rhymes that holy gyre.

What has begun in the dark soul of an unknown,
Also ends among the witnesses of most known.
Spoke to spoke now not touch but push to move
The rim of our life, the realm of an unending love.

Light writes the sculpture, else nothing means
The desire we stand before and stare in love.

In Love

Those splashes of water from the puddle in the field,
With colours that make you feel will as if now get tamed
By my call, or even by a whisper in this crowded world.
Those humming birds among naked leaves now draped
In the mist, in the music of my childhood seem to shield
Whatever is beautiful, whatever I wish from this world.

Steps and so many of them that the spirit refuses to jump;
There I see the bell among the clouds that form like trees.
Sailor to sailor now say ahoy, with waves sounding hope.
I will but take only that voice with me that called with ease
My soul that stands with flowers of spring and a cold winter.

When it’s dark call me again, among the stars I will look
At you and your smile that makes so much the life’s brook.

WHAT IF THE SOUL ASKS?

The Soul's Whisper

And what if, it all ends in a whisper;
Frozen walls, iced words, and eyes cold?
Peace flapping it’s wings to lead the soul
To a much lighter space where exists
The emptiness for one’s stricken desire.
 
You are where you ought to be in life,
Or you will look at these moments someday
And laugh most like a baby in the cradle
Does when sees it’s mother who will hold.
A finger that will lead to hold it more tight
Among winds through the curtains in cold.
 
What point does this race make to us,
While the heart wants air to breathe
And looks so eagerly among the smiles?
We will come again to the tossed mirror
And face the questions of our conquest.
We will be born again to seek the light
When our soul would ask again to rest.

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And what if, it all ends in a whisper;
Frozen walls, iced words, and eyes cold?
Peace flapping it’s wings to lead the soul
To a much lighter space where exists
The emptiness for one’s stricken desire.
 
You are where you ought to be in life,
Or you will look at these moments someday
And laugh most like a baby in the cradle
Does when sees it’s mother who will hold.
A finger that will lead to hold it more tight
Among winds through the curtains in cold.
 
What point does this race make to us,
While the heart wants air to breathe
And looks so eagerly among the smiles?
We will come again to the tossed mirror
And face the questions of our conquest.
We will be born again to seek the light
When our soul would ask again to rest.

The contours of our memories so much seek,
So much like whisper come out in blank silence.
Here are the butterflies chasing the wild swan,
Here comes the song from love’s forgotten peak.
If death be like a blanket that hides the world
Before our eyes and smell of that sweet petrichor;
There is this soul in you that will stand like cold
White, snow-dipped mountain in the darkness.

Yes, here’s the home, and that luminous page of life;
Come not draped in ignorance but with your story.
Soul to soul will whisper the same surrendered strife.
The eyes will get heavier with the tear than the being
When it drops, and waves you see in air around sing,
Everything leaves to meet everything we know in life.

Here’s the home, here’s that flame we forever seek.
Come soon, before I fly again to that love’s peak.