When thinking of my Muse

Wake up my moon, wake up soon for the dream to keep.

Among the zephyr, I will wait when you smile or weep.

Someday, when you are done with all reasons’ sweep,

When no more reasons draw you to the river so deep,

Wear that red gown again like the rose after the rain,

With thorns of time turning more blur or more clear;

But not wear that fear, those shades of hatred again.

If all labour doesn’t end in love, what profit we made,

This night after the storm, this farewell that we bade;

All will be frozen like moments in our heart, but red. 

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Waiting in the Winter

There’s enough silence seeping tonight,
With the winter sky peeping through
The small little window of our reasons.
Stars craving to assure every moment
That we loved and will now love forever;
The way the water from a fall is eager
To quench the dried stones beneath.
Often among the midwinter nights
I wake up to greet those stars again,
And find each leaf of the tall dark trees.
Time doesn’t return anything ever?
I see the time waiting for us to meet.
I see the sun kissing our hands again.

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The Red Rose

Among these hustling dried leaves, pale and cold,
As if they never saw a spring alive or a stream flow;
I wish to pause now, I wish for this moment to hold,
And let go all fear, all that darkness to turn into a glow
Of the hermit within that does not know desire ever,
Or the melancholy of a muse that is carved forever.
Among these nights when hunger echoes like a lion,
And hands rise to the sky, wishing to catch the cloud;
There’s the rose that smiles and asks, when do I return?
I shall come again and soon, I told the thorns at night;
Among these hustling dried leaves, let our fears burn.
A rose, a rose, a rose all that I waited for these years;
When I woke up and found dew drops drink into my eyes,
And my red rose whispers again, while this world dies.
Among these red petals, I will surrender all my reasons;
To rise softly with wings of love and a world that cares.

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War and Peace – a Poem

When you know the war was not that needed,
Among the follies of our own fear and frailties;
When you know, no blood stained stone to sit,
Or the thrown pounded over the thousand sighs
Will never bring that joy of victory after violence,
Then why march into those dark ponds of pain?
A lone soldier among the corpses of known men
Is like a sunburnt rose in the middle of a desert.
And our weapons lying dead among the swamps
Where our own children would never wish to go.
A smoke-filled sky where no life can breathe;
A known face that we would not want to lose.
What profit does those fear earn or mind grow?
After every war there is only the known peace.
Love more ❤️

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The wish of an unknown artist

Torrid they say the path is that they tread often,
The dried leaves fly like sparrows or break in air.
What begun among the whistling paths then,
See more symphony, now with the passing glare.
Why is it tough to absorb a poet and poetry more?
I asked for years to the thickest wall where I broke.

Tossed among the million dreams, the artist stands,
With a brush, with hues, with a vision of the light.
The heart hymned quite often in the darkest hours,
The wings will add soon, the wings that softly flutters
Over the several miles of memories to the rising sun.
Faith, the most beautiful gift, freedom the only choice.

Freedom is in letting go everything we feel, we know.
The hues will rise again, the leaves of love will grow.
When I stand again without fear, the morbid voice,
Will be taken over by the music of a stream’s flow.
With every morning when the wings feel more wise,
The heart must fly to the deep blue sky over the snow.

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Through the changing times

Neither sorrows nor the sparkling moments,
Stay as much as the soul like the sculpture
At the crossroads stand under the blue sky.
Tossed by time, tested by tyranny, moments,
Stretched beyond reason, like leaves of autumn
That echo the rain, they so much lived with love,
And the winter that awaits after a few weeks.
Cold and lonely, almost no one to hear the heart,
Yet the heart knows, the soul will rise again.
Of a million fear we know that scare us ever,
A very thin but blazingly beautiful light shines
Through the veiled veins, visions that lived time.
Believe, you are forever, believe it is all yours.
Faith does all wonders, blessed by the sublime;
The blanket disappears, only the nude lives.
Rise, soon again, rise to unfold and fly this time.

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From over the distance we never wanted

Tonight you stand like the healing moon,
And have the same vision of our first meet,
When my fingers had an urge to touch,
And this dream fluttered like wind so soon,
Under the wings, in known silence to greet.
If I could, may be I would have yearned more.
It’s tough to let go all I know, but feels good,
It went all to greet your path, the poem in you.
A distant flute, an echo all filled inside now,
What is music, if not you singing to the wind?
Am holding this breath till you come with light,
With petals from the same tree that we know.
What will revert is not a river, but an ocean,
As time fleets you be the loving fountain.
As days sweep, you be the night full of love,
The muse who sees me rolled in colours again

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A Prayer before the Rains

No, they were right always, it all changes with time;
The applauds turn into a darkness now in our ears,
The twinkling stars that we often forget in the years,
The sculptors of beauty, melt now like clay in rhyme.
What solitude brings with it, is a pause and tears.
Then pause again deeper, it never fails to surprise,
Like roaring lions how we stood among the woods,
Like beating wings how we kissed the wind in rise,
Like the petals that touched the stone in all moods,
Like that cold morning that knew the evening prize,
Let all glory stand again amid the sailors of time.
Let there be more love in the vision of the sublime.

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When colours talk, and soul paints…

Hunger knows what music is, darkness applauds colour;
I’ll come soon my muse to you and serve those humour,
That the intellect plays and how the crowd rolls in frolic.
The myriads of the mirage, how fast it cleanses the peak?
Solitude that we so much fear in this pale, paltry crowd,
Wish I pick the brush again, and paint this sky aloud.
Cloud after cloud, float like tales of truth they have told,
But everytime it rains, yes, we look at ourselves so cold.
Wish tonight when everyone is asleep, I open the door,
Wish the windows don’t whistle, the floor not whisper,
And I quietly walk into that horizon light, like the wind.
Feelings float, everytime this mad artist that you will find.

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Freedom

Time just passes in a flick, the sky remains constant.
A gyre that we are in, a ground that seems so instant.
A decade gone, I wish those clouds come together,
Will weave one more blanket, where breeds no fear.

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