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Archive for October, 2009

Time is cruel that it doesn’t return
Nor does it feel when the heart breaks.
With leaves wandering among weeds
Seldom there is an echo that breaks.
We will not love again nor will dream;
The faith that grows like an oak
And falls from the tall beautiful cloak.

Somewhere near we will see again
The mundane eyes with tears filled.
And someone whispering in the ears,
All will but change so where does it end?
Then a soul will stand, another will follow.

The caverns of time will guide
And gentle breeze will heal.

The hoofs still beat and hunger stands
Alone on this strand deserted for long.
There is light and there is darkness.
There is an eternal war to face within.
There is peace in an unknown song,
When melodies flap and ever embrace
All monuments of race and empty hands.

Someday on this acre of green grass
With dew filled Tulips swinging
A soul will meet its soul and pass
The baton of love and care.
Then there is no anguish and pain,
No dream that is butchered,
No wish that enters dark wheels
And no moment that stands still.

Is that what we call death?
Is that the end of all desire?

Flame beside flame will make way
For this luminance that will stay.
All clouds will clap and move,
All stars will now fall in love.
From the furnace I have come
With no tattered piece in hand.
These eyes have closed long before
But the vision within still sees;
The flowers of childhood still fresh,
The fragrance that still echoes.
The robe is now clean and furls
The soul of mine to journey
Through these known woods of rose.

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It was drizzling in a small country side, and was an evening dark and lonely. There were paddy fields stretched on all sides with apparitions of old trees hustling here and there. The sky looked softly lit and birds who have returned after the winter, chirping on unknown boughs. All doors were closed here like everywhere else, small little lamps lit faintly with mediocre human beings surrounded. From somewhere there emerges a white smoke and sometimes the air is moist with occasional fragrance of flowers that grow in the forest. The generosity of this life is in the observation of the unseen fabric that fills the time we live in.

I sat on the pavement through the night watching closely all. I am glad there is a hope for the day to break with a new sun and a new life growing after the monsoon. The possibility of life gets more strengthened with the visions of greenness around and experiences of vivid emotions generated in this small little world of ours.

It is still gray as the night is not just over.
The last drops of the last monsoon
Wish that a great green earth is born,
A phoenix tale from time unknown
Gets played on this country-side.

There is a tree in every being.
It depends what tree you are.
No rain, no Sun will ever help
Someone who doesn’t wish to grow.
No kind will come for help
And no generation will remember.
The more the branches the better.
The green leaves will grow on us,
And will take us into memory.

To nurture, nourish the naive,
Will make a melody for seasons.
The ages of the romance is now gone;
An age of unseen sequences arrive,
For trees to grow and keep green.

We are like the trees born with a seed,
Grow in many seasons undefined.
Yes and grow with a hope to be huge,
To soon stand tall and amuse.
Let conscience choose the right seed
And be here with great future to greet.
Let greenness bring enough fortune
In these ever changing times.

Through seasons let us journey and gain.
Let’s stand together to make a forest again.

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