THE MIGRATED BIRDIE

Leaving the coziness my nest,

The sky we hover around together,

My birdie abruptly migrated,

Into the unsafe sphere of strangers.

Straws, grasses and leaves we piled together,

To build a cup we could call our home,

Left lying all around as mute witness,

Of our carefully woven shattered dream.

The leafy walls of my habitation,

Preserved history of our sweet tweeters,

And the story of our the lovelorn glances,

In their dried up structure.

But the time has already erased the memories,

Of our undesirable and unpleasant chatters,

That led to our unfortunate separation,

And replaced them with your odor and my tears.

Your friend, your adorer never expects anything,

Never claims or demands your care or concern,

Come back to me,stay within the field of my vision,

Be joyous, I will become happy witnessing your grin.

THE MIGRANT PRINCESS

Away from the safety of the four walls of home,

From the security of known faces and familiar lanes,

Leaving her comfort zone,

My princess is in migration,

She is among the strangers in an alien region,

And that puts my adoring core into various apprehensions.

I am worried imagining the inconvenience,

Of the empress of a palace,

Who is forced to adjust herself in the provision,

Of a single room rental accommodation.

The possibility of her not having a sound slumber,

In the unaccustomed bed makes my nights sleepless.

I feel gloomy thinking about the hardships,

Of my princess who is now compelled,

To do on her own every household chore,

Especially when I ponder

About the facts that at home, she always had caretakers,

Who instantly carry out each of her orders.

I am concerned about her exposure,

To the unacquainted climatic conditions there,

And the probability of a bad impact of the rainy weather on her.

For a connoisseur and lover of food as her

I wonder about the availability of foodstuffs she prefers there,

Worried about who would be feeding her with tender care.

I am concerned about the gullibility of my lamb,

And the swindlers in guise of innocent faces in the alien land,

Even though my confidence on her is firm, unshaken,

It’s all about more love causes more concerns,

And a message for her “Take care of yourself; let God care you too,

Until you are back here, I will remain concerned for you.”

RAIN

I entreated politely near the cloud,

To grace her droplets on my field.

“The crops of my pen seeks your droplets,

As much as lovers desire the moonlit night.

Thirsty travelers hunt for oasis in a desert,

A hungry stomach feels the essentiality of esculents.

A man drifting in a current needs a favorable luck,

 A mountaineer requires oxygen cylinder on a peak.”

She realized my arid and pathetic condition,

 Her gracious core adjudged to grant my application.

She gathered vapors from water bodies with much penchant,

 Poured her heavenly content for my appeasement.

I did not care my age or taunts of my neighbors,

Danced and rejoiced like a child in her showers.

I tried to catch hold of each droplet in both of my fists,

Like an innocent baby does with her mother’s ringlets.

My eyes flooded salty juice with joy and excitement,

As I enjoyed the nectar to my heart’s content.

As the two sanctimonious flows got amalgamated,

My pen began flowing on the paper with full speed.

NAUGHTY EYES

My eyes and mind got engaged in conflicts,

When my eyes repeatedly stretched out,

Towards the road through the window of my house,

In search of your beautiful, charming face,

Whereas the mind tried to drag them back,

Towards my tiresome household works.

You know well about the stubbornness,

Of my adoring naughty eyes,

They did not listen to the orders of the mind,

Continued to search you among the crowd.

The mind complained with the heart in distress,

“My sense organs do not listen to me now-a-days,

They make me feel ashamed with their childish acts,

Obey you; carry your business as a matter of fact.

Your eyes are madly scanning the crowded street,

For the person who is not at all present in this city.”

Feeling embarrassed the heart advised the eyes,

“Close yourself for a while, peep into me and see.

The face you seek to see so impatiently,

Always lives there comfortably and happily.”

Then I closed my eyes and took a glance inside,

You were smiling there with pleasure and pride.

I felt ashamed for my ignorance and silliness,

Happy and thrilled to see your pretty face.

YOU WILL HAVE TO COME

When you were promising,

That you will come soon,

Then only I was not there.

Though the sun had hidden,

Behind the western horizon,

The moon was peeping,

Through the depletion of the cloud,

And was listening to your whisper attentively.

Bathed in the fairy lights of the moon,

When the western wind,

Was playing with your locks roguishly,

And you were busy untangling them,

Actually, it was eavesdropping our chat.

The innocent leafs of the trees,

Hitchhiking and rustling in the west-wind,

Were listening carefully to our love talks,

Though their green filament ears.

 When you were promising to come to me

In your slow and honeyed voice,

You might have noticed the troop of monkeys,

Abruptly became silent and motionless,

On the branches of the trees,

To listen to your melodious tone.

I have so many honest eyewitnesses,

Of your promises and my pensive heart,

That you neither can deny your words

Nor can show me an excuse,

You will have to come.

YOU WILL REALIZE ONE DAY

Will you ever realize?

From the day, you deserted me out of rage,

I stand stranded on a mountain ridge,

Where life and death seems sharing the same stage.

My lungs become torturously breathless,

Due to the scanty oxygen of its ambiance.

My screams reflecting back from the hillocks,

Frighten me with their spooky echoes.

My days pass through the wilderness and horror,

Of Solitude, exhaustion, distress and despair.

Will you ever realize?

Despite grievous negative situations,

The adorer in me is never shaken.

The perennial flow of my pen,

Do not ever fail to color your person.

The spectrum of my rainbow,

Do not ever fed to make you dishearten.

The castle I shelter your icon,

Do not wither with the change of seasons.

I do not allow the storms of my pain,

To put off the candle of my devotion

I know you will realize one day,

That I am not crazy for the smell of your wet mud,

Rather, I come impressed with the harvest of your land.

My feelings for you are neither sensuous nor coarse,

Rather they are as dignified as the flow of the Ganges.

That day your drowsy eyes will wide open,

You will visualize the lights of my sweet emotions.

The strap of your eyes that make you blind will remove,

The darkness engulfing your soul will diverge.

My pink color will cover your floor,

You will come rushing to me for more.

WHO AND HOW I AM

I am the droplets of the cloud,

That sacrifices all its assets,

To bring greenery in the garden of your heart.

I am the fragments of the moonlight,

That uses all its preserved luminosity,

To remove the darkness of sorrow from your entity,

I am the pleasant gust of the spring,

That descends from the mountain cliff,

To blend the jollity of freshness in your tiring life.

 I am the petals of a rose,

That spreads herself on your route,

To make the days of your life facile and fragrant.

 I am a parrot of your courtyard,

That sings melodious rhymes with all her heart,

To titillate your spirit and fill excitement in it.

I am that true friend of your life,

Who ignores his own sorrows and sufferings,

To devote time and mind for your well-being.

I am the adorer your person,

That smiles and cries witnessing your grin or pain,

Writes only for you, reads only your pen with deep devotion.

You accept or deny the truth,

My verses truthfully depict ‘who and how I am’

As I know I am not wrong, I am proud of ‘who and how I am.’

THE ROSE

Being a simple, supple, beautiful rose,

I spread my petals of affection on your ways,

To render you a cozy voyage,

And flavor your days.

But you began suspecting,

“There may be thorns hidden,

In between the innocent petals,

Otherwise, why is this rose so emotional?

How can one be so sacrificial and selfless?

In this world of ego, vanity and greediness.” 

Your rose was always decent and innocent,

And did not ever contain a thorn in her heart.

You were suspicious of the intentions of the flower,

That blossomed to bestow you flavor and pleasure.

The rose failed to dispel your doubt,

With all her cries and sincere efforts.

Neither was there any remedy to your suspicion,

Nor the rose had any proof of her honest intentions.

You changed your passage,

She was left deserted, dejected on the way,

To scorch in the sunlight of separation,

To perish in the blaze of dejection.

THE POET

Even though you are a visualizer,

Thinker, discoverer, teacher,

Revolutionary and a creator,

It will be an exaggeration, a misdeed,

To give you the degree of god.

The dumb nature, things, events,

Which fail to put impact,

In the thought processes of laymen,

Or even in the minds of learned men,

Talk a lot to you like a loquacious man,

Depict before you their tales and concerns.

By the blessings of the almighty,

You are capable of reading the eyes,

Getting into the minds, titillating the hearts,

Depleting their grief, refreshing their spirits

Titivating fresh dreams in the lives of readers,

With your artistic sagacity and sense of humor.

Your artifacts weave a pleasure region,

An asylum of peace and satisfaction,

That shelters your reliant readers,

As well as its worthy artificer.

Learned, wise and contemplative humans,

Having hopes and dreams of the world as a heaven,

Desiring the ethos to be in the greatest heights,

Enthusiastically read your art for new lights.

LET YOUR PEN FLOW

It’s true that poetry is not life,

You have many more strives to thrive.

But for a poet, poetry is his breath,

And it is unimaginable for him to live without it.

I can understand your heart and feel your pain,

Of staying under compelling situation away from the pen.

It is like the pain and wriggle of an aquatic creature,

That is forced to live for some time outside the water.

You can find out time for your passion,

Leisure hour your literally inclination,

Among the answerability of duties,

Within your social responsibilities.

Glance thoroughly around your periphery,

With a poet’s eye, gauge your territory,

There are a lot of people, actions, events,

And materials waiting for your pen to paint.

Be it the happiness or a wish of your person,

A sorrow of solitude or repentance of separation.

An achievement or a loss of your kith and kin,

A worry of busyness or freedom of relaxation.

Everywhere you will find a food for your pen,

And you have the skill, just hold your pen, you can.

Do not stop or pause under any compulsion,

Let your pen find a way to flow in every situation.

YOUR PEN

Let the perennial source of romantic emotions,

Of your skillful and sagacious pen,

Flow flooding the thirsty basins of my heart,

With its unique and splendid artifacts.

When the dependence of my greenery,

On your drops of water is not hidden from thee,

Then why is this dryness of sweet artistic pour?

Why this injustice with your infatuated follower?

Look at my side once with your inner eyes,

See the grandeur of the love of your adorer,

Pick up the pen; write down what your heart visualizes,

 It will be a beautiful creation, I promise.

KEEP SMILING

I know your address well,

Still,I do not ever push your doorbell,

Even though I am very sad,

I am dissipated,

My life shattered,

After your departure.

Do you know why?

I do not want to take my sorrow,

To your door.

I do not want to make you a partner,

Of my grievous state of affairs.

I love you,

How can I see you in blue?

You be happy always,

Keep smiling ever,

Remain unaware of my sorrow,

Stay free from my thought.

This is my love,

This is shattered me.

MY PEN

Ever since, you move away,

From my life,

Separate your ways,

From that of mine,

I am in pain,

In strain.

Every moment,

I live a little bit,

Die more bit.

I can’t call it living.

I call it existing.

My eyes shed water,

Behind the closed doors.

Whilst my heart,

With all its intent,

Prays for your betterment.

I jot down my feelings,

Silently in my verses.

But my pen does not ever,

Oozes red ink out of anger,

And I do not allow it

To turn black out of disappointment.

My pen

Percolates pink ink,

And the ink,

Smells rose,

Colors rose,

As this is the color of my emotions

As this is the fragrance of my adoration.

OH, CLOUD !

Oh, cloud!

We met in the middle days of the winter,

Then passed the cruel stretch of horribly hot summer,

That tattered my surface, shattered my core,

Compelled my greenery to face death premature.

You were never so late to deliver your rain,

Always care for my needs and concerns.

It is getting late; I need your instant intervention,

Merciful relief and graceful considerations.

The hours of wait seem torturous continuity,

I feel dying breathless in this condition of aridity.

Desperately my meadows look up every hour,

In your direction for the flowery of your shower.

It seems you forgot the way to my circle,

Or maybe the air has become so indifferently inimical,

That it is not delivering the news of my misery to you,

Or else, it is unlikely for you to abstain from obviating my blue.

Come in; rain on me tup-tap, tup-tap, tup-tap,

Play with my foliage zhip-zhap, zhipr-zhap.

Fill my ears with the honey of these euphoriant sounds,

Reign my soul; reincarnate me with your blissful magnitude.

THE POOR BIRDIE

There was a young birdie,

Peeping out of his nest with his fearful eyes,

Looking curiously towards the sky,

Watching closely his species fly,

In flocks like colorful floating rainbows,

Jingling and twittering freely on their way in bliss.

“I too can fly,” he thought,

”I should use my talent”

“God had made me a birdie for this blue sky,”

”I have wings like them,” “Why not to try?”

Without a second thought, he jumped out of his den

Fell down on the ground, climb up and jumped up again

The birds flying overhead looked at him,

Looking at each other began to scream.

Started saying,” do not know how to fly”

“Someone tell him, it’s not his cup of tea, the poor guy”

You too were in the flock silently watching the proceedings,

Your generous heart brought you near him.

You whispered in his ears,” Friend, you too can fly”

“Don’t be ashamed, I will teach you, how to fly”

Then began the process of teaching and learning,

Sessions after sessions, season after season.

Days passed on, they didn’t tire out in summer,

The storms of rainy season failed to disturb their soar.

The winters failed to freeze their art

The spring titillated their innocent hearts.

Burdened by your beneficence he gave you away his heart,

Began loving and respecting you from the depth of his spirit.

MOON DEAR

I do not know why my moon is not visiting my sphere,

Why she is depriving me of her charming cool fervor.

Knowing well about the craziness and hunger of my core,

Why she preferred to hide behind a dense cloud cover.

Dear moon; you are the lone precious gift of God to my poor nature,

Kindly do not try to make your accursed poor a griever.

It is injustice for a celestial being as you to torture your reliant,

Without fault, after seizing his soul in your gracious enchantment.

Oh moon dear, do you think I will try to find solace,

In any other artificial or natural luminary of the universe?

If you think so, then it is an insult to my sincere adoration,

And a distrust in my innocent sweetest emotion.

I will not sing a song any day for another luminary of the constellation,

And insult your graceful glow and my proud proclamation of affection.

I would prefer to remain drowned in the fathomless darkness forever,

Cry each night in the memory of my honeymoon with your glimmer.

HALF-RIGHT, HALF-WRONG

When one of my friends said,

That my behavior towards you is fatherly and dominant,

I knew he was referring to my straightforward reactions,

And honest statements about you, your actions, your creations.

He was half-right and half-wrong,

In his perceptions as per my conceptions.

He was right;

As it’s not my duty as a lover, to be a critic of my beloved,

Rather, I am supposed to lend a blind eye towards the person I have loved.

He was wrong;

As I am first of all a good friend, a well-wisher,

And then a true adorer, but never a tricky appreciator.

I did not wish or try to impose on you anything,

Rather frankly and fearlessly convey what I feel about the things.

As a true adorer, my heart does not shelter artificiality, deception,

Or any hidden agenda for the person it admits to be its own.

For me love is all about a clean and transparent acquaintance,

That does not have any room for hiding, lying, fear or shoddiness.

In love, words, emotions, thoughts flow free from the soul like a cascade,

Without being interfered, perturbed or corrupted by a calculating mind.

He went on to suggest;

That I should be cautious and courteous while conveying the truth,

Sweet, humble and shrewd enough to avoid the bitter truth.

Here again, he was half-right and half-wrong,

In his opinion and my principles.

He was right;

No one in this world likes bitter truth and everyone likes appreciation,

Be it fake, flirting and with a malicious intention.

He was wrong;

As you are not anyone but the one among many for me,

Why should I deal with the dirt of untruth or hypocrisy with thee?

For me, you are a sensible, fair and a fabulous person,

There is no reason for me to be worried about your discretion.

The only person on the earth that I have ever worshiped is thee,

That’s why I am honest and true to you as I am with me.

He was right;

In his notions of life, men, matters,

And common human behavior.

He was wrong;

In his perception, imagination and calculation,

Of my unique sweetheart, her greatness, me and my divine adoration.