chimes of a forgotten melody

Far away where the clouds scatter into a biblical array of potent symbols, Is my dream of finding truth. The hills I climb, certainly in doubt, Are fathomless, yet grants me with joy, Each step I make, the doubts crumble. To perform no rites of fortune, But to ensure my message remains clear, I shall fly higher with each flap. And when I reach the very top, I would perform the final miracle, Of writing my name in blood!

    Stirring up love in his guitar strings, Reggae, calm and soothing, but the flow seemingly with revolt, Hit the passionless cells of my being, With percussion, commanding, To get up and stand up, With his insistence to never give up! The story of renaissance, With redemption and dream, Birds that came to wish you well, Worries dissolving with his voice, Gods never came from the skies, But the music continued. So much trouble in the world, Yet sun was shining with him, Conviction of saving the world with each breath, spreading like marijuana in the nerves, Emancipating men from slavery, with songs of freedom, sounding high! Oh, the world we live today, Devious and deceptive! And yet, the tender joys we share with Bob's eternal voice shall carry no bounds, Like a drop of faith and a world of roots, rock and reggae!  Notes Planned to write a poem about Bob Marley, the legendary reggae artist whose birth...

I found these hollow words; inaudible, But with sarcastic resonance floating and clogging the path towards time. Brute honesty, abiding by virtue forgets the unconventional marriage with a cupid bound by divine mediation. It breaks through, and clears the path for the clogged words to flow, With it the marriage must shatter! The undying saga of words erupt, Orgasmic, it send shrills to the ears, Rage is momentary but truth shall prevail!

According to an All India Tiger Census conducted during 2011, an estimated 1706 tigers are only left in the country. Maybe because of horror, Before me his canines illuminated, The potency of fear consumes you, It draws your attention, commands your mortal self to act vigorously! I could never outrun him, yet piety flew inside my veins, His scars conversed with me about the woes of being hunted, Queerly it gave my fears an asylum, Inside which I could feel empathy. The hunter has become the hunted, His leap is my last memory, With all concealed rage, At me, at humanity, His canines glowed, In an effervescent red!

Star Valley Flower Farm, by Toril Fisher Courtesy : secondcloudfarm     Here the dews which settled idly on paddy leaves seem to have returned back to the distant skies, A butterfly, anxious to gather nectar from a blooming bed of flowers danced to the morning ragas, A bottle of honey gathered by the bee was distibuted around her household, the sweetness made their tender wings to ripple in ecstatic enjoyment. There the plants opened their hands,  Unfolding their might, As they woke up from deep slumber,  Like an escaped yawn a wind blew upon the Earth,  Her gentle children fed their face against the yawn,  Themselves humming a tune of joy. And then the Sun threw her silken blanket of warmth, Underneath which the bustle of love exploded  into fragrances of delight. Suddenly, the valleys echoed, a visitor dressed in floral medleys have neared, he shall plant life on these fertile fields.

The poem was inspired from a Pink Floyd song of the same title. I dedicate this poem to everyone in the world, even though many would not fall directly into impact range (at least for now), blue sky is fading, and some day you would definitely bear the consequences. Oh, my lovely blue sky, For my poetic flaws, I request pardon. You were gentle today, While my brothers exhaled fumes (toxic and dark) into your fragile threshold, I guess you choked, A portion of you dying away, An artwork disfigured! You were gentle in the past, While your calm clouds were shattered by murders, Those wails were not for our children alone, but for your dismembered grace. You were gentle forever, When suppressed by us, You never complained, Stayed there, not moving, And continued to pour your affection, which sadly, Fueled our pride and conviction. Now, while you fade, I wonder if children ever would look up at the heavens and smile, ...

'The most dangerous of all negativity is anxiety, self abuse and untruth.' One The skies thundered in fresh outburst, I believe it were blood that rained, fury, Higher than all sense of indignity is the wrath of Ein Sof* and his creed. The realm shifts, obscure patterns change, A satanic indulgence reforms the world, But the anxiety over self-motives still remain, The skies settle, it begins to rain. Two Constantly assuring that my hands aren't red with the blood of comrades is a habit, But in an unruly battle, no choices are left, When even death is a masterful theft. I notice the dark shadows beneath my eyes, I am wary of the doubt that creeps, clawing into the threshold of peaks unclimbed, There I see a spot untouched, it bears the tag 'FINISH', furnished because I shall never reach. Three The blind world continued its walk, With a stick pointed up, No soul shall stutter nor fall, In front of them an obliterated world, but for ...