After The Battle

Alas! O Mighty King,
This poor man has nowhere to place his stick
Until I pierce it through the body of my kin
For my land is carpeted with corpses,

Alas! O Mighty Lord
In your kingdom
I have no wood to cook,
For it is burned up in the funerals

 Oh! Great Shah
Where do I put my seeds?
My son's body will take time to enrich,
Enrich the fields on which I sow

Your land stretches so far
May it stretch farther
But may the echoes of cries,
leave your mind and body to peace.

Alas! Your valorous majesty,
 What shall I do but lament
For the rivers of this land are no longer blue
What shall I quench my thirst with?

Take away all we had my Sultan,
Elephants, jewels and spices
But do leave your arrogance here
For this old man 
Shall burn it, with the rest of the corpses.

Luna

What shall I write about you?
You are poetry herself
Yet some fools like me
Shall make garlands of words for you.

The inkblot of the magical light
You keep all our secrets
You, my dear 
Are the journal of earth.

And since the beginning
of our time,
We all see you,
We all loose ourselves to you.

From the verandahs of gold,
From the balconies of sandstone,
From the streets,
From between the bars.

Your glow is not blinding,
Yet it brings tears to my eyes
Your moonlight,
Lighting my pen

Though you are not with us,
all the time
In the darkest of nights
You let us fight

But you don't leave us in such nights, do you?
It's because you hide
The nights are dark
You let us trip

You let us trip,
and tell it's fine
You look at us
Without raising a hand
You let us get up on our own.

While you bring us hope,
You cut yourself in pieces
Each small piece,
residing in us.

Haiku

Fertile black soil,
Fiery flowers blooming high,
Grey grass drifting slow.

My first haiku!

An Ode To Kindness

Blood is the flower
In History's garden
Ashes, merely pollens.
Fallen crowns with every jewel,
except the cheapest jewel of all

The jewel in the prickled hands of masses
Having no price at all
Gleaming in the hot sun,
Its glow blinding and futile to our leaders.
They find charm's glow more soothing perhaps

Daughter of love,
She is nature's heart,
Humanity's greatest feat.

Scoffed and scuffled now,
It's people's misfortune.
She is kindness,
Mother of hope.

From the carcasses of Harappa,
To the corpse of Anne Frank
Kindness has flowed from different hearts,
Hearts beating under rags.

Yet rags they remained
What's the use of silken hearts,
When silk is worn
By ragged hearts?

So they lived and so they died,
They might have carved
Themselves in someone's heart,
But a mountain stands taller, doesn't it?

A shoulder to give
A blade to take,
Love to give,
War to take.

Kindness is like a manifestation,
But   in History's garden.
History's amazed yet afraid of her,
As it tries to conquer
It's new blooming batch.

The featured photo is of Miep Gies, the woman who helped Anne Frank’s and 4 more Jews into hiding at the secret annex, a brave act of kindness. This is a tribute to her too. So, this was my first ode, actually quite irregular Pindaric ode. Now I missed the previous week, I’m sorry, I was not quite well. I got inspired to write this after seeing the kindness of people and their concern during these times. I wanted to participate in the NaPoWriMo, but as you know, it is quite late for that. But I’ve pledged that I will only put the stuff I’ve written this month on the blog, and it is going to be poetry.(obviously) I hope to try any new poetry form, or write something other than my writing style like I did in the first poem of this month. So, that’s it to my banter today.

Shatters

A mistress looked at her glass,
the image was shattered yet the glass was new,
Salty water quenched her thirst
Fires of rage turned her dreams to dust.

She looked for long at those once-rosy cheeks
Now they had turned as blue as her dreams,
Her eyes were glittering still
From the burning pyre of her joy.

The mirror was shattered now
It glowed crimson,
The shatter buried in her pale throat,
Yet the hand who did it wasn't hers
The body surely was.

The Strange Tree

I am back! Well I am done with my exams, and they ended a week ago. I am so so sorry for not posting as soon as they got over. Well, better late than never I guess 😦

I clicked a picture of my memories,
In that came a lone, strange tree
It was different from the typical ones
Because. It had birds instead of leaves
It stood there with its indented boughs,
It stood there with its hanging roots,
I was captivated from its beauty

I thought the birds would always be there,
Nobody was so selfish to eat them
No cat, no eagle, no fox would be so cruel,
To eat the tree's bird- leaves.

I saw a big shadow
I thought it was mine,
But what came was a horror,
Cause I saw animals that looked like me
They caged the birds,
They cut the miracle,
Its last watering were my tears....

You are enough

You are enough,
you have done enough
Enough is not perfect,
Yet perfect is not enough

Forgive them, forgive them now,
The people, the world, 
your thoughts and your mind.

Let it beat let it beat
your heart on your chest,
It is knocking so hard
So you let it play,
play a melody for you.

Let all of it free
Be kind not caring,
for you have cared enough.

All of it is enough
You are enough,
Set loose; hope.

दीपक

Welcome to my first Hindi post on this blog! For all the non-Hindi speakers, a translation is there in the end.

 मैं दीपक हूँ  
 मैं दीपक हूँ  
 तम तिमिर से ढके कमरे
 का मैं ही तो दिनकर हूँ
 मैं दीपक हूँ  
 मैं दीपक हूँ ।
  
 राग-द्वेष से भरे चित्त में
 शान्ति कर पाता हूँ  
 मैं दीपक हूँ  
 मैं दीपक हूँ ।
  
 क्रोध की ज्वाला को 
 आग से ही बुझाता हूँ 
 मैं दीपक हूँ  
 मैं दीपक हूँ । 

The Unexplainable Feeling

Extremely sorry for not writing the previous week, I have my finals approaching so you might see some irregularities till mid march though I will try my best to upload. I apologize in advance. I present to you again one of poems:

 The peace giving scent of wet soil
 The violet sky,
 The strike of the lightning that disturbs the darkness.
 The little green droplets on the leaves
 And when they slide from them 
 Making a heavenly sound,
A little earthquake in a puddle.

And when the wind blows,
it carries the water like a horse, 
riding on the air...
 'Oh how can I explain, oh how can I
 The beautiful feeling in words?


 I don't know if anyone else feels that too,
 But I love when that feel comes,
 And no words can ever describe.
 That peaceful feeling,
Like a gentle blow on a fresh wound,
The feeling I get when it rains.

The Cries Of A Crow

When I was in class 6th, I learnt from my general knowledge book that cuckoos do not build their own nests, instead lay their eggs in the nest of the crow. That was when I wrote a poem on this idea.

  
On the train of deep thoughts
 During the sleepless midnights, 
Did you ever wonder?
 Why he makes the ear piercing trills
 Why doesn’t he sing with a sweet voice?
 He is crying his fate,
 How he was made a fool
 And to save his infant,
 he was too slow.   

 You like the cuckoo, don’t you?
 But the moment you read the poem
 You will probably go all blue.
 The little cuckoo 
 Makes a plan
 In the crow’s nest she has a feast.