Poetic confessions

Was thinking about this post for some time now, wanted to post some of the poems I have composed over a period of time. The range shifts from the Banal to the thoughtful , I have not been able to arrange the stanzas and paragraphs in this blog. To check all my poems you can access the website www.poemhunter.com.


Lore of Sufism

The almighty that sprinkles the earth with a thousand flowers benignMay the calm of a thousand mountains don the visage of your restless soul? The beauty of a river singing and meandering in search of that peaceWhich follows when the arms of the ocean engulf it, exemplifying existence The Ocean roars and says all permanence too has an ending.These chants of ages gone, this lore which brings a joyful melancholy.Instill nostalgia for this era passed long byWho were these seers, were they crusaders of the divinity in manThey for sure were romantics for romantics nurture belief like no otherThe tradition of worship found a new beliefIt was not heresy but the faith of a few TitansFighting the time, fighting tyrants, fighting savageryRealm saw a new dawn on a politic stained by crimsonMan became God, God became Man.Yes! The Mystic sang all this the song of love, of devotionOf a beloved waiting, of an anguish in the hearts of mortalsThe flowing sensuality of the praises of the almighty Matched the longing of a forlorn lover.The yearning for salvation was but what salvation itselfThe mystique of the mystic is a legend less understood, for Less understood are the voices of the chosen few yet Love is surely divine and divinity equals love Nature is the form of God and the love for nature is ElysianThis was an era when Humanity reveled, sanity was revered and solitude elevatedThis is what the Sufi sang for this is what the lore says.


A Smile Unknown

I saw that smile glowing under the rays of a nascent sun.As I saw a veil of darkness engulf the shadows of duskI stand on the perch of my house seeing the window afarThe dark eyes with shining brightness light the gloomy interiors of my heartThe lady looks at me with a curious expression, I furtively hide behind the window watching still. She flashes her dark tresses in a caress befitting the glowing radiance of the pallid sun.I see life through this woman of my dreams. She flirts with sanity, evokes a desire unknown. Yet she is life, she is joy, the heart glows in the flowing timbre of her laughter.Is She a dream? Yes! She is for my heart yearns for love yet it is elusive a dream.


A Marauder Came

A Marauder came, crumbling the temples of belief, plundering the souls of a few people.He came and he conquered the peaceful folk of a primeval land.He called them Pagans, Barbarians, miserable folk believers in an obscure religion.He called his faith a glorious revolution set upon this land to cure its miseries.He plundered, he looted, he swindled the wealth, the dignity of the land.He Imposed taxes on non believers believing in his God’s benevolence.Who was this plunderer from the sands proclaiming himself as the savior of mankind.What was mankind according to him. What was faith according to him. How did he perceive the vagaries of life.He did not possess the imagination for he was a believer in lust and greed.What did his faith tell him to loot, plunder spread all over on a tide of blood.What faith is this which chains humans, throttles and slashes toddlers in their crib.A faith which teaches impatience, hatred and bloodlust. A faith which suppresses beauty, kills expression, strangles creativity.It calls others non believers, is it the faith or the man who does it.A faith which is no faith, yet is present. A belief which gave mankind the message of Karma.A revolution which teaches God to be man and Man to be God. A circle which is round yet not round. A knowledge that no one is pure yet everybody is impure. A belief spurring the progress of mind more than the decadent body.Why did the marauder blame this faith for the misery. Perhaps he was the son of ignorance. His roots were ignorance, it was misery, it again took the marauder back to his roots.Roots which always wallowed in savagery, roots of philistine thinking and closed eyes.Roots which still can’t look a woman in the eye.

Mist

Happy seems the mist in the months of cold.My eyes see its blanket reminding me things of yoreSomewhere down the valley the mist calls Asks a question where are you these daysI tell the mist I am in a jungle burdened with concreteFar lies the Jungle from these tranquil environs The jungle has beasts all over roaring in unison at the crack of dawn.The Mist says you like the jungle, my reply gets drowned among falling raindropsThe voice of Mist rises and says- my question is unanswered. I reply, bother not you bride of winter. The answer is not required. The Mist is silent; deepening its smoky wings over the pines it rushes and gives a cold embrace.As I shiver I delve on the beauty of the mist and marvel its amour.Tickling the trees and flirting with the mountains it covers a whole town.The town goes to sleep, I remain with the mist with its cold embraces and boundless questionsQuestions I have no answers to questions of centuries and questions, which only the old pines could answer.Why do the mountains throw my advances back, and why do men find me depressingI reply mountains are like concrete jungles, while men are its inhabitants.



My Guardian Angel

All along the time I grew, I watched a tree cast a shadow on me.Yes! It was my guardian through times thick and thin. Times whenAll alone trying to understand the roots and algebra, I wondered whether thisIs the ultimate exploration of mind? I saw nature and it’s bounties smiling at my childish Query.I smelled the raindrops falling from my tree, quenching my pristine thirst.Making my courtyard smell like a thousand pure dreams. I wondered whyMy friend is so quiet, aloof from the vagaries of life. Why the quiet demeanourThe exciting solitude. My callow spirit found no answer. I saw the onset of spring, the tree glowing in a fresh coating of eloquent verdure.Winged herons, plumed robins basking in the lush beauty of countryside.My mind again wondered afar, thinking about beauty and nature.I found Wordsworth more profound than Pythagoras, was I wrong? The teacher laughed at the crazed query of a freckled teenager The father frowned at his impetuous reasoning. Perhaps they were rightMy tree smiled as if signifying an ocean of calm, urging me to be observantI saw the birds chirping on it feeding their young chatting with their kin.I saw the leaves falling from my friend’s branches, he said yes; I lose something everydaystill I do not complain, for life is an exploration at each curve.My flowers will again fall, but will bloom again you too my friend do not despairFor you too would bloom in your heart and in your soul.