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.