Posts Tagged timeless
This is one of my first poems that I shared with my friends…they loved it so much…now I’m sharing this with you…hope you like it:)
Its not the bigger things that count
You might buy me expensive jewelry
But I would rather
Share a moment with you
Watching the setting sun
It’s the simple things about you
That I count as treasures
A smile as I wake you up
Yawning and stretching
The kisses at odd times
The way you brush away my tears
Your voice with a hint of a laugh
As you see me pout
The mischievous winks and smiles
When nobody’s watching
The way you creep up
and hug me as I cook
The silly little arguments
The silence as we walk by the beach
Just the two of us
In our very own world
Together today and for eternity
Steeped in the shadows of the night
I walk upon the cobbled street
Unmindful of the cold
That has long ago
Seeped into my bones
The steady stream washes away
The blood from my hands
They leer at me
As I step thro’ the door
And cry and plead
As I pull out my gun
I feel no mercy
For these dregs of the society
They say I look like an angel
So sweet and so pure
But the fact remains
That I’m so cold
I’m Nobody’s Angel
this is my first poem for Undead Poets Society…hope u like it…
The waves crashed against the cliff
The wind whipped her long black hair
Reminiscing about the ages she lived thro
As she stood waiting
For the golden rays of the sun…
So many centuries…so many identities…I thought about my life as it was since the beginning…Flashes of it came to the fore…
An attendant in the court of King John, fleeing with the Romanovs during the Russian revolution, Watching the beheading of Queen Marie Antoinette, Watched the first play of Shakespeare come alive, the American revolution, paid a visit to Dr. Livingstone in Africa, been the wife of the Caliph of Persia and the mother of another, witnessed the sufferings of soldiers as a military nurse in WWII, paid homage at the passing of Mahatma Gandhi… it was a long list
I was tired. Tired of constantly moving from place to place changing my identity. Tired of constantly having to look over my shoulder. I was tired of watching the farce of human evolution. I was ready to let go and sleep.
My only regret was… Nikolai…But I guess it is for the best. If he knew how much I loved him, he would never let me go. And he deserved someone better than the world weary Queen of the damned.
The waves were already tinged pink at the horizon. I could feel my skin burning even now. Gritting my teeth, I watched my first sunrise in over a millennia.
And there she stood
Frozen for a second in time
Till the wind blew her ashes
Into the sea
Hidden in the shadows of the trees, Nikolai watched the beatific smile that lit up her face before her body turned to dust. “I will always love you…Sleep well Zoya”
Dust thou art And to dust thou returnest
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Hamlet Act 1, scene 5
The heat was oppressing even as I got out of the car to step on the soil of my ancestors. My birthplace-a little village in the State of Kerala in Southern India.
My grandmother, a tiny woman with nerves of steel, gave me a hug and a broad smile as she enquired about my journey and told the maid behind her to place my bags in my old room.
After chit-chat and general gossip for sometime, she sent me to the ‘kolam’ (a large bathing pool). Dressed in the traditional settu-mundu(a two piece sari), I toweled my hair dry. It was wonderful being back in this house, back to my roots.
My grandmother set out my lunch for me and we settled down to feast on traditional keralite sadya or feast. I commented on how hot it was this year when compared to the last timed I visited. She explained that it had been a year since it had rained. The crops were suffering and drinking water was running out. Even the kulams had less water now, a fact that I had noted as I had my bath. The village panchayat had called a eminent brahmana to perform the rain invoking yagna. Today was the last day and it was supposed to rain at the close of the yagna.
I had my doubts about such things working, being of the general that believed in science and not in tradition as my grandmother put it. I explained that it was not tradition that I was against but superstitions like this yagna which seemed more like money making schemes to me.
I spent the rest of my afternoon meeting my cousins and the myriad aunts and uncles and neighbors in the village.
Apparently the whole village had gathered in the huge temple grounds where the yagna was being performed. I had to appreciate the brahmanas performing the yagna in this blistering heat even if I did not set much store by what they were doing.
Nevertheless, there was something to be said for watching a yagna being performed. Te chants and the smells and sounds added to the flickering flames were hypnotic and created an atmosphere that had to be seen to be believed. I could see the hope on the villager’s faces. Women in traditional sttu mundu with multi-colored blouses, a deep red bindi and sacred chandanam on their foreheads and the men elegant in their dhotis. The little girls played at a distance decked in brightly colored pattu-pavadas.
Splot…I blinked as a drop of water fell on my head…The crowd was murmuring in delight as drop after drop fell on the parched earth…
The rain came down in torrents and the people were dancing with joy as I looked on in disbelief as the yagna fire was completely put out by the rain it summoned.
I hold you close
N lean upon u
I feel d weight
of ur head on mine
The thump of ur heart
Against my ear
I look into ur eyes
As u whisper In my ear
And I feel myself
Falling in love
all over again
The candle light flickered in the wind, half heartedly staying on. There is no sound from the expansive halls where once it was filled with clanking of bangles, tinkle of anklets, laughter over a joke said, shouts of children playing in the hall, the footsteps of servants running errands. All that was till a week ago. The hall lay empty and barren, the two old souls were all that is left of the days of the old.
The house had been sold. The house was to be demolished as soon as night passes. Then they will have to leave. Leave where he had been born. Leave the only place she knew after her marriage. The home where their children and their children’s children were birthed and made their homes.
They had their share now. Nobody cared about the old structure of bricks and stone and the two lost souls. Lost in thoughts and grief, they leaned back in their chairs in the veranda. The candle gave a final splutter and died.
rent d air
grounds tat were once so lush and green
lay barren and gray
crimson pools spread abt
by d blood flowg off human bdies
So much is lost
but to gain what?
Till death they are d patriots of the country
after death what is the difference
between friend and foe
the grief of human loss is d same
across borders and beliefs