Wither Away!

 

“Pressure makes things grow more”c7d314cd05de08c71c1733036643353f-2.jpg

 

Is a ridiculous myth!

That’s a terrible bore.

The flower could have

Lasted a little longer,

had the tools Blasted

the warmonger.

Instead, they played

Filthy games

With the hues and shades,

of the colorless petals.

c7d314cd05de08c71c1733036643353f-1The pressure to bloom

In fifty seconds.

Was on the bud.

For ready was

the suit of the groom.

And the flower on the lapels

was to be

the exact shade of Canadian Maples.

It was of course too much to take.

And as the huge cake

They took to bake

Something ugly happened.c7d314cd05de08c71c1733036643353f-3.jpg

The man blamed,

the half opened flower

because it died

before the ceremony

of the marriage.

But none could know

How had it cried!

In the solitude of night,

Before his eternal flight.

Advertisements

The Standing Waters

Ground-is-like-a-sponge-after-2nd-snowiest-March-2-1

We are all entrapped

In the unpredictable prisons

Of our insecurities and wishes.

She walks a different walk

in foreign tongues she talks

Every single day,

She is a different shade of grey

They hate her for the reasons

Of her unstable treasons.

 

But that’s just her.

 

They have their issues too.

I saw a man happy once

Next moment he was found

Shouting in a pitch unbound.

 

Then there are others

Much much worse.

All smiles,

Sweet words

in piles.

And a bitter taste,

In my mouth is raised.

 

I saw them all,

Yesterday.

With a ball of ideas,

They played.

In a field of thorns, flowers aside.

Their goal was to commit suicide.

 

You ask of me?

But I am just fine

Far above the imaginary line

Of wrong and right.

I have seen it all,

Felt it all.

And I no have height,

From which to fall.

 

My wishing well,

Is so empty,

There is no space in it,

For heaven or hell.

A blank page;

No story to tell.

There is nothing to dread,

From someone so dead.

The Man under the Tree

Man-under-tree

I cannot be certain

Of how and what happened.

The other day,

or was it the night?

Perhaps a movie

with the old theme,

Of a Dr. Jekyll

And a Mr. Hyde!

or was it because

of the two pieces

of the cheese laden pizza?

I don’t know the reason

but it happened so

I found myself split in two;

a man who was a farmer,

And I in my home.

We were both the same

But different each.

How we reached,

each other’s thoughts?

I really do not know!

He said he was not happy

as he sat on the grass green

in the village

of his town

I was on my bed

In front of me, a TV screen

in my hand was a cup of tea.

I was happy that he envied me.

then he said he was sad,

I told him a poem to write

or a great picture to paint.

he accepted my offer

and drew the beautiful site,

Scattered around him

Too vivid and yet faint.

I felt a pang of jealousy

for I found out

a skyscraper hiding my moon

and the air wasn’t either

Free of pollution.

we talked and talked

till the night

passed on.

He told me he was hungry.

I asked him what he’d eat

he showed me fresh butter and cream

and soft bread as I could only dream

I looked  down at my platter,

dried beans, nutrient less meat

right out of microwave appeased me.

 

I told him

he was blessed

a man he was, free

standing under a tree.

for all my sources of shade

had long come under the blade.

My only protection

against the heat

were ACs.

he could not understand

and left me as he said

“you are indeed

a thankless weed”

The Failed Experiment!

Shay_mouse-and-man_360

You were the red cherry,

Hanging on a tree.

I was the snow,

Covering the hills.

I wanted to fall

On top of you

To form something pink.

 

A pink house,

Probably,

With a garden,

Not of your thorns,

And definitely not my roses

But

Of OUR lillies.

 

It was simple maths,

Genetics and Stats.

 

The science however

Did not work.

The grand experiment,

All went wrong.

 

And I was left alone,

In the darkness,

That was not my own

 

But neither was it yours.

There is no one to blame.

 

Perhaps the theories

should be checked

On mice,

And not on men.

Tell that to Mrs. Whiskers though,

She lost her hubby,

And seven children

To the noble science

And chemistry.

What a Tragedy!

When the Curiosity Burns!  

 

sky-404061_960_720.jpg

A bird once sang,

Outside my window,

A song too sweet to understand.

I heard her and applauded,

She bowed with her wing.

This became a routine.

Then I made,

The fatal mistake,

Of asking her,

What she means,

When she says,

La la la ummm?

She got offended,

And flew away.

Never to return.

I waited for her,

But not for long.

 

Then a breeze,

touched my cheek.

I giggled.

This again,

became a routine.

One day I asked,

From where she came?

How she felt

In the foreign lands?

She rebuked me

For having

racist thoughts.

Never had I,

Since found her,

Blowing my hair.

Here and there,

And everywhere.

 

I missed the bird.

And now the breeze.

Next I fell,

For the glorious sun.

I then asked him,

A million whos,

Whats, and whys.

He loved filling,

My curiosity.

Until one day,

I asked of moon,

For I thought her beautiful.

The sun turned hot,

Hotter than usual.

“She steals my light

And shows it off

Around the world”

He said of moon.

His jealousy burned me.

And the regret killed him.

We were too close,

To save each other.

 

The moon,

However,

Shone that night,

A little too bright.

Footsteps

fading-human-footprints_318-38519

The noise of the sea,

Could not reach them.

They only heard,

The crashes made,

at the beach.

 

He kept on walking

With rapture.

Leaving behind

small traces,

For a man of great stature.

 

She followed him.

Careful to fit,

Her big feet,

Into the marks he left.

 

Oblivious of the tumultuous waves,

They walked on paths,

That life paves.

 

But then he turned,

saw her,

and smiled.

“Dont follow me like that”

He told her,

She obliged.

 

He kept on walking,

But now backwards.

She kept on filling,

his footsteps.

This made new images on the sand,

Resembling not their separate feet.

But something in between.

 

She knew what he had meant.

He did not want her lost,

In between his footsteps

On the sands of time.

 

Time

passed.

Scene shifted.

 

The two of them

Still walk on shore

But their footsteps

Are not followed.

Only the ruthless

Tides now meet

The small imprints,

And the large feet.