The seasons are gone

                                     The Olympic National Park, Seattle- August 2011

The sun is dim
When the day is long,
And the moon is dark
At rush of the hour.

I do not hear
When the friends call,
And no longer smell
The blooming flowers.

The bells are ringing
And the priest is home,
I fear the GODs
When the temples are closed.

Why do I draw
A line of separation, for ME,
When the holidays have come
What if the seasons are gone.

 

When do I get up

                            The Olympic National Park, Seattle- August 2011


I sit in my chair
Wondering,
Is it right
Or was it wrong;

Outside, the rain continues
To falter, and drown the world,
Listening to no one
But itself.

We can change
Our destiny, say many,
Do we know, why
When we try;

I watch, what is done
With a false sense of satisfaction,
How can I do, otherwise
Because, it is a relief, still.

 

The evening

                                                Akash visits New York- Summer 2010

 

The fall of evening,
The return of birds,
Why does the chirping fade,
Then, instead of going up;

It is the afternoon sleep,
I scream, ‘Help-help’,
When I wake after a bad dream
And no longer want to think;

The rain has stopped, finally,
I can hear the children
Come out to play,
I go to remove the curtains
And look, but then let it be;

That I keep on going
And do not arrive;

It is clear then,
Mind alone cannot age defy.

 

I wish, I could write

                                        Inside the Strasbourg church (France-2010)

 

I wish,
I could write,
56 verses,
At a time,
For the good of it,
To stay,
Until, it was granted.

I cheat here,
And make it, 55,
Pieces to work, to meditate,
The good upon,
Now, with a cleansed mind,
And a hope,
That would help.

But the last wish,
Must be,
With oneself,
And un-fulfilled,
For it to be,
At the end,
A true wish.

What a dream

                                   Inside the Strasbourg church (France-2010)

 

A dream tells me
To write itself,
When I woke up,
And I decide, to write,
When I wake up.

I meet all, living and gone,
With smiles spread, all around,
The friends and family,
Come and leave,
With no apparent hurry;

A festivity, so vivid,
Yet no occasion, to recall,
Happiness to feel, and just be,
With a promise, not to wake up,
That it will be back, if I sleep.

What a dream, forever, to be in.

 

Growing old

                                       Road leading to Bischenberg church (France-2009)

The touch of age, brings,
An unnoticed perspective;
Of child like curiosity
And young enthusiasm.

A realization,
Of patience, in pursuing oneself;
Of restraint,
While preparing to falter;

Of not having gone through,
The worse, yet.

Young and Breezy

                                                                              New York (Year 2010)

Changing cultures, and perspectives,
Still bound with commitments, and duties,
We work to succeed,
While the world goes, in circles.

Under the guard of humanity,
We fight the tough, the hated,
And our own jealousies,
It does not stop, still;

Until the love, in the end,
Wins, young and breezy.

The Trails

                               Taken from the Crystal mountain trip of Akash (May 21, 2011)

The yellow streaks
Through the rainy clouds,
The sculpture towers, above
The winding traffic;

No one waits, to hear
From you and me,
To discover, what is missed
In this, rush of the hour.

The strange trails
Grow familiar, day-by-day,
And follow us, irrespective
To arrive, where we belong.

A Companion

The grief must stay
A companion, of times
And happiness,
That cannot repeat.

That gave us the moments
Our very own,
Of bonding and tears,
Of all that was;

Yet most feared
And can no longer be reached.