chimes of a forgotten melody

I. It is a clock, a clock as old as the antique hotel, Which ascertained the abominable fact that Two certain hours stood before me for sunrise, I searched for Earthly motions, for a rustle of bats Or the incessant chirp of a sleepless cricket, but The blessed streets of Benares remained in a world Filled with dreams, desperation and divinity. In an hour where even Gods in the temples Took a nod tired out of their daily chores of Hearing swears and prayers, I stepped out of The hotel that remained as dead as my thoughts. Feathers you find on wings of pigeons were falling From the skies, I shivered at the thought of dead Pigeons flying around for salvation, a suspicious eye Searched for answers of a meaningless sight, My body ached with the rush of adrenaline, my Legs found the pace that it forgot after the genuine Rush of hormones during an unforgettable youth, I ran where my feet led me to and dismantled all Directions pumped by a frigid brain. II. The clock i...

Each passing second of a prosaic life Showered me with scorns for not stopping by At abodes where dreams flew like feathers. I'm an eternal traveler now, through orbits of Dreams, on top of balloons made out of canvas Stitched tight with threads of noxious hope. An artist was born amidst, he pricked the balloons With a pin, taking out the strands of hope, And sinking my life on seas of random celebrations. Notes Prompted by Kim Nelson on Verse First at Poets United . The noun artist ended up with celebrations.

This is an old one, written probably a year back. Sharing it now. I always believed that the problem with an average Indian is his addiction to alcohol and exhibition of religion. A hungry stomach burned, The drop that sustains life Remained mutilated, Smog hid the Sun From a weeping slum. To feed her child, A mother unbuttoned her gown, A covetous mosquito flew about, Sucked the mother's last drops Of blood with pride. The child stood alone in the hash, He gazed at a world up high, Amazed at the sight of flight, An eagle soured to greater heights, The world of clouds he caressed. His father wriggled in at night, One of his hands held the drink That ceased all earthly strife, The other grasped faithfully On a jade Buddha, Covered in pure gold and fat, With lips that forever sneered.!

Rahul Dravid a.k.a The Wall : Indian Cricketer He retired from cricket recently Since the time when I developed the intelligence to count, I remember counting the balls this man has guarded off during his selfless workmanship that many adorn by the meager word 'batting' in cricket. And to think that I would no longer see him play again shatters my heart. I know the heart is no longer guarded by the Wall, but, I am sure the memories shall live on. Back when the motto of the days Where fun and endless hours of Undisturbed attention on the screen Where men clothed in whites or blue Would be seen submerged in a crusade Against falling chances to salvage Pride, I saw a man who looked Behest with faith. Sometimes, the Moment you remember forever is not The one that made you cry, Nor is it your last smile, for me It is when I realized I found a person Who could lift me up whenever I fall. His battles where won and lost Within his mind, his skil...

This picture is drawn and painted by my friend Aishidha Rajeev. Thanks to her sincere efforts I could pen the poem which almost came as an inspiration from the painting. Kudos to her and her subliminal effort. Killed once and dead thrice, pain is no longer Rushing through my frozen veins, it has stopped Somewhere between the terribly broken heart And the viciously cleaved head. Thinking out On the torridly lonesome after-life, it is not Hatred that comes into the unscathed nerves, Which still relay protected feelings of coming Back to a human abode and living a new life, Rather it is an ethereal passion to forgive and Thank the destiny which made the evenings Longer, days calmer and feelings narrower. The worlds I travel are distant, the people I meet are few. I searched forever on the shores Where dead souls come to see rare cosmic Lights that for a moment bring colors from Earth, but never found a single face that I laid upon in my disturbing ...

Artwork : 'Metamorphosis' by Cris Vector on Deviant Art People pass beside me with an imagination Drowned into a shallow pool of vestigial thoughts, Induced emotions relentlessly fluctuate in their Illustrative faces which when colored by lies Gives you a mightier weapon than camouflage. I see proclamations of fake monsters beside me, I stop, look and fall apart as a worshiper of evil, I utter profanity that the hero was always a coward Who grew devoted to the laws of an insane world, And destroys the monsters before they break away Both from within and outside the unbearable inertia. Keep moving along and the scent of flowers, grown By a thankless woman who puts her uterus for sale Every once in a year, greets me back to Earth, Where stories mix evenly onto the air like the Unmistakable melancholy of the forgetful scent. People complain when the innate depression In their shallow pools are brought onto the surface Buoyed by my nonchalant...