abstract, dreams, God, life, poem, Poetry

Attraction

She has been with me since the day I was born,

Our attraction over the years has only grown.

It is in her arms that I will always fall,

She kept me grounded when I grew tall.

While life’s tough lessons made my logic sound,

She embraced me adding value to my life like some extra pounds.

With her whims she makes the seas swoon,

With her winks, she seduces the moon.

Do not doubt my intentions because of levity,

I am overwhelmed and thus this brevity.

And I have seen failures of the best of the men’s integrity,

You are my one true anchor binding me to this world, my dear gravity!

Image : https://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.photoshopcreative.co.uk%2Fusers%2F654%2Fthm1024%2Fattraction72dpi_wlogo.jpg&imgrefurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.photoshopcreative.co.uk%2Fuser%2FAlan_Tye&docid=CJYcKYxp9wxu2M&tbnid=8qUzhcfeCwAM_M%3A&w=1024&h=768&bih=568&biw=360&ved=0ahUKEwiumYLOiqbPAhUSS48KHULIB_IQMwgfKAAwAA&iact=mrc&uact=8

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abstract, dreams, life, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

The Warrior

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It wasn’t just a good bye,
But a picture framed in his eyes.

Thriving between the Earth and the skies,
He waited to be unbound from the truth and the lies.

While blood dripped down the sword out of its sheath,
His vision grew blurry and memories cleaner with every passing breath.

He did not fight to defeat a vicious foe,
But picked up arms against the mightiest in answer to the pleas by those eyes like doe.

At his feet was a dead bull and also to him clung a child,
“You are my hero” said the sorrow and fear filled voice mild.

The old man smiled and said “No, you are mine”
All the while resisting the urge to take rest by laying supine.

He stroked the child’s cheek with his hands rough,
You made me realize, everyone of us can be tough.

Today I see that strength is not in the hands that hold spears and shields,

But it is in the heart which to injustice never yields. 

And while songs will be sung for the heroes who died in wars internecine,
I die a warrior, saving the innocent and serving humanity as a medicine.

Image source: https://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fmedia.licdn.com%2Fmpr%2Fmpr%2FAAEAAQAAAAAAAAJzAAAAJDdjOGIyNTdiLTQ2YzAtNDVhYy05NGNlLWRkZWE5YTIwN2ZmMA.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.linkedin.com%2Fpulse%2Fwarrior-jody-sigmund&docid=WH52XHKv_KKhLM&tbnid=fceH_xLO9p0faM%3A&w=698&h=400&bih=623&biw=1366&ved=0ahUKEwim9Mv7wvvOAhXKMY8KHZUlAh0QMwg3KAQwBA&iact=mrc&uact=8

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abstract, dreams, life, poem, Poetry

I wonder


Good is not better,

Better is not the best.

The best scares the ordinary already under fetters,

And perfection seems akin to standing out from the rest.


A tree that sticks out, at the first instance, is cut,

The grass beneath our feet grows but stays in the same rut.
While men mock the mountain tops for being lonely,

The poets despise the plains for being too bland and comely.
For it is by the challenges that life throws,

It is the fight and not the results by  which we grow.
When we kill in the name of faith, against our gut,

Why be humans, when we tend, in the herds, to stay put?
Time and chance at times may make the ordinary look extraordinary,

But only those who seek light within are the real luminaries.
The world craves such torchbearers to clear our sights,

The hand which holds the candle, suffers the molten wax, such is the plight.
At such times one wonders about the deeds one could and should,

The heart says, being you is the only good.
In this moment, when my heart seems to be at piece,

My brain quips in with an advise apiece.
Good is no better,

Better is not the best.
And I wonder…….


Image source: https://goo.gl/images/9EFuAq

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abstract, dreams, life, poem, Poetry

Little men

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Just the other night, on my nape I felt a touch hot,
Turned around startled, for there was another person not.

On my face an icy breath like the storms did blow,
My eyes were glazed with the sudden flashing glow.

Like the dead did I lay in torpor,
Even these events failing to bring me out of stupor.

As I stood like lost on a highway, a kind soul offered me a lift,
Finally Iwas moved by the thought of that gift.

Amidst the chatter while I was losing my vision,
I tried to clear my mind searching for a reason.

Try hard I did, but in front of my eyes was an ever growing blot,
The last words in my ears were, “it was a blood clot.”

The painting on the wall said “most unhappiness is caused by little men chasing happiness”
Behind it, the wall crumbled because of a little patch of dampness.




Image source: https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjfiuPkhavOAhWBtI8KHR0QClkQjB0IBg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.aliexpress.com%2Fw%2Fwholesale-famous-paintings.html&psig=AFQjCNEw_tm-cBjPQw781MRx4PVT1zrmcA&ust=1470512863362491

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abstract, life, poem, Poetry

The Window

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Sitting on the chair by the window,
The boy looked out at the green meadows.

He saw the architects of the future play,
Building worlds in their minds, stronger than any made by brick or clay.

The ominous darkness, was their friend as they chased shadows,
They were the odd ones, when everyone complained, they thanked for the gifts life endows.

There were young men chasing their dreams,
As they raced life, powered by coffee sans sugar, milk and cream.

And those prematurely old men who waited to retire,
They seemed like dark sooted lamps without the fire.

On one hand the kids laughed and for each other they vouched,
While the grown-ups beneath their facade grouched.

The boy had a question he could no longer smother,
To the most trusted person he turned and called his mother.

If with education men are supposed to be learned like a sage,
Why do I see wisdom in the ones who do not age?

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abstract, life, poem, Poetry

Seasonal reasons

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Outside my town I take a stroll,
To a large oak trunk with a seat for me, for some which is just a hole.

Getting used to the woody smell, I take in the view,
Everything appears the same but then everything appears to be new!

Near a baby, a man, building walls to protect his heir sole,
Next to him a lady labors on the wall to bar every single sole.

I see a couple so lost into each other’s eyes, that the place, to them is a point moot,
On the side, sits a tired man out here in this place to escape the chimneys’ soot.

Tilling the ground is a boy, to match her sister’s beauty, he sows a flowers seeds,
And then there is a son, plucking flowers for the dead, forgotten in their hour of need.

I wonder why do we call it a change of seasons?
For nature follows a path constant but not man his reasons.

Look around you and you will see seasonal reasons,
Worry not till within you can find reasonable seasons.

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abstract, God, life, poem, Poetry

The Son of the Lord

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This is about the favorite child of the God,
He was blessed with powers other could not afford.

For amongst all His creations, he was the best ,
He was arrogant thinking he had aced life’s test.

To celebrate his own self, he organized a feast,
To bask in his own glory, he decided to bar all the beasts.

God’s child he was, yet he committed a treason,
To control everyone else, he created a prison.

In his quest to make the world perfect,
He donned the cap of a prefect.

First he caged the wild ones with blood’s lust,
And then the dark crows who were as flippant as wind’s gusts.

Next came the grazers who he feared for their horns,
Along with them he caged the porcupines with thorns.

He followed this incarceration by the cunning fox,
He used all his strength to fit in the raging ox.

After putting them all in chains,
He aspired to attain peace but felt like parched land under a shade in torrid rains.

For he wondered why after he had removed everything bad,
The world around him did not look any less sad?

And while he stood alone outside the cage guarding the gates with open sword,
He could hear, from inside the cage, the beats of a lively world.

He saw that the cakes he so relished once now seemed like ordinary food,
It was then he realized that life without all the evils will be no good.

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