Time

Under the bright blue sky,

I lolled watching the clouds float by.

Wandering amongst countless thoughts, wondering why,

O why is it that time does fly?

Amid the droll existence of life,

hour after hour of misery and strife.

To just one question we eventually arrive,

O why is it that time does fly?

Ill thoughts we think and curses we shout,

jealousy, anger, and spite rearing their ugly mouth.

Too late it is when you begin to doubt,

O why is it that time does fly?

Demons in head, reflecting thoughts hazy,

numbing mind, making the body go lazy.

In times such as these the question seems easy,

O why is it that time does fly?

Futile attempts to scry the future.

Hoping to redeem a life sewn by suture.

Questioning the past once the present’s a caricature,

O why is it that time does fly?

Dark clouds rumbling and blanketing the sky.

Cold, biting wind raking the land dry.

With a jolt I awoke, and wonder with a smile wry,

O why is it that time does fly?

Despair

Dark is the hour
when happiness tends to flee.
Leaving behind a gaping hole,
absorbing all the glee.

Dark clouds on horizon,
threatening thunder and gale.
Where does one gaze,
searching hope should prayers fail.

The fading light mocks you,
taunting with cynical smile.
Nightmares come to haunt you,
bewitching with their guile.

Dreams torn asunder,
your descent's painful, slow.
The gaping abyss beckons,
to deal the fatal blow.

It's claws grabbing at you,
rending you beyond repair.
Always warring blissful happiness,
is the omnipresent despair.

On a rainy day...

Rains - to most of us - are harbingers of joy. When the heavens open to let through a downpour of relief, they inevitably herald visions of lush, sparkling greenery, rich white, flowing water, and monsoon trips.

Living in a city however, means muddy roads, potholes, dirty sidewalks, and of course increased density of traffic. This short piece was a result of being caught in traffic during heavy rains.

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Pouring down in sheets,
splattering against the road.
Caring not for the earth beneath,
the heavens opened and roared.

Confined in the three-wheeler,
a haze covered the sight.
Like a phoenix rising from ashes,
imagination took a flight.

To the lush green farmlands,
savoring the touch of life.

Dancing in the sweet nectar,
filled with heavenly delight.

To the high and mighty mountains,
dressed in lush green coat.
The canopy of wispy clouds
caressing as they float.

To the tall steep falls,
nestled in mountain's womb.
Water daring the heights,
yet not meeting its doom.

To the angry roaring river,
shackles broken, set free.
Sweeping away one and all,
who dared not to flee.

To the rambunctious childhood,
danced away in first rains.
Feet splashing in the puddles,
not bothered by the stains.

Blaring horns and pungent smells,
clear the mist that led astray.
Leaving behind a smile on lips,
on a dank and muddy rainy day.

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Betrayal

'Pon the cliff he stood so proud,

bethinking glories in the days gone past.

Victories won with blades flashing hard,

smiting all who dared to waylay his path.

Riding with the valorous, more brothers than comrades,

honoring the mortals immortalised by their deeds.

Fair he was, to foes, broken and defeated,

winning over hearts with kindness befitting a king.

His foes vanquished and kingdoms conquered,

he dreamt of ballads sung to honor their deeds.

Thus stood he, lost in glories achieved,

looking over his lands stretched beyond mortal sight.

The hand laid on his shoulder, to a brother belonged.

Alas! T'was too late to know the purpose of the hand.

One hand fastening on his shoulder,

the other driving in the blade.

Grief overwhelmed him, driving away the pain,

As the blade pierced his heart ringing his death knell,

his eyes seeking answer, met with the betrayer's.

Regret he saw first, overcome by jealousy.

'O my brother!' said the King, 'may you be blessed and live a life long!

Remember though that jealousy is unworthy of a king to be.

I beseech to thee to leave it be, for a mighty heart befits a king.'

And then he fell down the cliff, plummeting down helplessly,

till he was but a speck of sand, lost in the dunes of eternity.

In Hibernation

'Tis a time to slog not to frolic and play.

Thus says the clock commanding attention.

The mind struggles on, wanting plenty to say.

Mourning the days of coerced hibernation.

Random Musings

A lonely Drop in the vast ocean,

Tossed and turned and by the wind blown.

Journeying seven lands, over mountains and stones,

never in control, I wonder does it ever moan?

A Beam of sunlight bringing hope to all,

clearing the shadows wherever it falls.

Warming all hearts, gladdening all spirits,

who gives her the joy that she rightly merits?

The delicate Lotus standing tall amidst the filth,

Praised by all, it floats unnoticed, adrift.

Beauty it radiates, shining pearls on its leaves,

Surrounded by squalor, does it rejoice or grieve?

Standing proud and majestic, towering above all,

Unyielding to nature, come summer, spring, or fall.

Thus stands the mighty Oak, sheltering the lost wayfarer.

Neither tales nor songs speak of the behemoth’s valor.

Random thoughts drift ‘cross the mind,

Queries aplenty, no answers to find.

The many hues conflict, in the cauldron they strife.

Is this why they say it’s a wonderful life?

Life at a stop

For anyone living in the city, traffic jams are as much part of our lives as getting up, having food, going back to sleep, and other such mundane things. Curse them, bless them, or just sulk and ruin your mood, the one thing that you cannot do is ignore them. This poem was penned down while I was caught in one such traffic jam.

I sit in the bus staring out the window

Wondering at the chaos and the melee under the streetlight's glow

The cacophony of noises makes my head go woozy

The smoke and dust make everything seem hazy.

The sun is setting and the tempers rising

The bikes find their way while the cars keep on honking.

A stream of expletives here and the waving of fists there

Frustration, despair, and anger cloud the very air.

Like a matador in the ring, the signal waves red

Standing tall and stoic, it makes you wither under its gaze

It has a will of its own and cares not for the throng

You can do naught but wait 'til it waves you along.

Put one foot wrong and the guardians come calling

They make you beg and whimper, till you are a sight too appalling

Portly and bumbling, they form a strange tribe,

law-breakers they call us though they don't say no to a bribe.

A moment's hesitation and you miss an opportunity

to snake up your way through the rabble of the city.

A scratch on the fender, a dent in the door,

each scar on a ride speaks tales galore.

Mundane things in life can pose great ironies

Raising questions strange which forever remain mysteries.

For the answers lie in the very essence of human nature,

which after thousands of years is still a conjecture.

Life's too fast, there's no time to smell the roses,

is the reason often offered for the lack of reposes.

And yet caught in the slow lane raises angry voices,

and makes one wonder about the sanity of the masses.

For isn't this a time to sit back and relax,

listen to a song till reality pulls you back.

My mind whirls in confusion, these thoughts clattering inside,

as the signal gives a nod and we carry on with our ride.