An Outcry upon Determined Human Supplications
What are these sounds in these wild dunes?
Where man moans along several shadows of his
On being fettered by invincible strings of fate.
His surrender is a quasi-self abuse here
His improvisations; childish self deceit.
Here only sad lullabies greet, amuse
And stay prone at the peaceful threshold of calm.
Better thousand folds those celibate pleasures
Than marriage to a whore of varied smiles and faces
Whose qualified avowals of love mock our trust.
But this yoke of flesh and soul is destined
To dart together despite native hostilities
Till men shall be eccentric critics
Of notorious pyramid of being, nemesis and revival
And pronounce themselves as no man or every man
To inspire awesome laughters
At the denouement of their tragedy.
Men's masculine gaieties, women’s feminine charms
Both wither in hoary infest of depletion and decay.
Scorn is for tradition of this sarcastic fable
The personae of which pour mud on themselves and laugh
And often invite clansic brawls to pretend ignorance
From the estranged aura of their world
Which offers nothing for the fruition of human fantasies.
True, vulnerable were we being human, but
Suicidal silence will rule on these stoic lips
Until guillotine of fate swerves uninformed
To furnish an honourable exit
From this enduring farce of the best Playwrit.
Romance Platitudes
o goddess of virtue and nobility
o silence of the serene woods
o mist of the solitary weed of the desert
o reward of centuries' wait and patience
o rationale of this illogical muse
o joy of forbidden fruit
o lonely excuse for abandonment of my contentment
o noble intention behind my excitement
o popular cause of all wars and battles
o only meaning of poets' existence and words
o crudest wine with purest taste and effect
o difference between faith and faithlessness
o melody in silence and peace in eloquence
o bare difference between truth and fallacy
o maiden hope of the cynics and the obsessed
o holy holy soul amidst uncouth rowdy folk
o innocent intention of heartfelt sacred groans
o beauty's unknown meaning
o worship's invented theorem
o true lover's untrue moving lore
o mystifying lingering urge upon fulfilment
o delightful stage of meditation
o cordial pact between envy and pride
o reticent pregnant gesture to sounds and noise
o enliven aspiration amid wild terrain of aims
o lavish contributor to my treasury of memoirs
o grimacing prudent onlooker at follies and crimes
o second thought of piety for abjectly sinful choirs
o polite reflection of a vanquished heart in eyes
o visible glimpse of a unique syllable
o final shape of an artist's old fantasy
o sublime virtue, manifest without a lure of reward
o solemn intent of one's conviction maturing into mass creed
o weary gay vision of triumphant truth after onslaught
what else must I give you the name!
Mass Hysteria
Those who drink the wine of credulity
Are mostly carried away by their eloquent eulogies.
Their present delight for ephemeral revolutions,
Implants curse of future in the womb of time.
They are asked to dance on the rhapsody of words and promises
And are entangled in the quagmire of mass hysteria.
Their gullible acumen is high jacked for humble ransom of support.
They become vulnerable to any mould and machination.
The cascade of circumstances leads them to indefinable depths.
Like incorrigible optimists, they refuse to admit obnoxious opinions.
In any sanguinary encounter, these mortal millions prove a modicum of
sand.
The sycophants rule the roost in this civic hunt.
The hangman's noose sustains its shine in general.
However a few hollow dissentients are bribed by the despots.
Such a low profile stampede of sheep they become.
When their hypnotic fit ends, the nightmares have them
Which are the manifestations of their own deeds.
Anarchy Across Eyelids
The fringes of subjectivity
Would last so short, I knew not
When a sudden gloat annulled my teeming youth
And buried under mud
The adolescent contours of my mind.
A veiled face with mere eyes uncouched
Revealed upon me
A perverse public insistence on hide and resign
And to condemn the natural against the prevalent.
While for me that was a precise pilgrimage
To the anarchic but quiet lands
Where words revealed and words concealed,
Where suppressed and unrequited emotions sought asylum
That one moment
Dwarfed the gist of clerics' vociferous sermons
And invigorated my vision
To witness forbidden aspects and clues
And sailed me across fluffy robes of restraint
Exposing her flawed mimicry of an alien soul
Whom she opted at the expense of her own self.
A stir terminated our converse through stares
And subdued two objective souls
To rot in their gray heavens of chastity, once more.
You may call this love, lust, lechery or insanity
But this would ever remain unquenched
Had that face been bare and naked,
Since suspense and mystery carve beauty jointly
Endangered Species Of Our Honest Goldsmith
A semi barbarian in a civilized society
Whose unacknowledged magnified tears at times
Provide mute testimony to your abject disregard for him
His idiosyncrasies do sound awkward to your novice ears
When he intervenes the self-nurtured riots of warring ideas
While joining the battle as an equal but separate combatant
And thence embracing his martyrdom in the same bloodshed
He constitutes his theology by drinking ,
the essence of venomous fruit of life in one gulp.
Knits the fine fabric of notions and ideologies
With the most precious silk of verbosity.
His terse though tentative tickling with words and sounds
Occasionally engages him in self torturing skirmishes of beliefs and faiths
His wails and groans escape your notice in the times of your affluence
And in adversity he laughs at, but not with you.
When hegemonies meet with united resistance,
He voices the slogans of the leftists.
Who dares stop him from lashing out whips of reproach
On those who make man bow before man.
Via the ladder of fancy,
He ceases virginity of all organic and celestial secrets.
His intellectual somersaults lend proverbial charm to commonalities.
Is he still barbarian, liar and whimsical in your civilized society?
Where he mocks at those who play a play within a play.
While unleashing all curtains which separate man from man.
Though he is not fortune's favourite,
He belongs to that class of humanity
Who lend eternal ingredients to their soils.
Capital Punishment
Simple it seems but complex it is
Collection of inspired follies for some, a challenge for others
A story without a title, a journey without destination
A prolonged joke for some, a momentary pause for others
Starts as a friend and deceives as a foe
A bed of roses for some, an unending marathon for others
A frank deceiver, a bargainer who always won
A loose structure incident for some, a nightmare for others
Yesterday, today, tomorrow and so on..............
A meaningful nonsense for some, a tense snare for others
Philosophers' ever green question and historians' foster child
An equivocal notion for some, a plausible interlude for others
Real it seems but dramatic it is
A mirage in the desert for some, a concrete impression for others
A meaningless enigma, a purposeless clamour, understood by none
Still....an optimistic wait for some, a detestable weight for others
