Hope

When smoky path glistens dry eyes

Silent meadows drown noise inside

All wisdom lays to rest

And  steps falter each time.

When hands drop fragility to numb heart

And dreams pause to let life afloat

All clarity obscures within foggy haze

And fear grips each breath.

Hope rears  within mammoth turf

To return magic to the wand

All  winds  regain lilt across

And tulips blossom each morn.

Stir

Words aplenty, not one to speak?

Crowds breathing, individual dying.

So much to feel, what numbs us though?

Thoughts to share, fears lurking deep.

Forests to traverse, what enchains the beast?

Groping hands, empty souls.

Rains to drench, why desert winds surround?

Sunlight to kiss, darkness abound.

Skies to rejoice, why horizon eludes?

Open palms, everything anew.

Drops

Drops filling empty urn

Soothing pain long due

Ending thirsty journey

From pond to brook

Each pebble shiny grey

Corals and crabs bristle

Mystery fish breathing bubbles

Reaching surface molten gold

Drops brimming full urn

Aggravating pain long due

Wish

Meet her on the horizon

As doting sun peck the earth

Hold her hand on the hillock

As tender wind brushes the valley

Walk with her on banks of Ganges

As arduous waves caress the sand

Whisper to her in the meadow

As the pansies whistle among grass

Cruise with her to the stars

As the fond night breathes moon

Brim her with resplendent dreams

As the time skims through warped life

Bend

It’s not the end

Just a little bend

Can heal it with kindly heart

Can fix it with tender touch

Can wash it with melting tears

Can hold it with renewed faith

Can resurrect it with loving care

Can forget it with this dying night

Can rejoice it with that new day

It’s not the end

Just a little bend

Bazaar

Pals stride a few miles, she follows them

Through the lanes and by-lanes of bazaar

Spirited shops all at display

Of their finest masks and hoods

They pick a few and wear with aplomb

She gazes at new strangers so close

All smiling cold but sulking deep

Steaming pots curdling simper

Those sans mask wander alone

Through the highways of desert

Spreading affection and silken red strings

Soon to be lost in maze picking up veils

To breathe and live, to walk a few steps

Through the lanes and by-lanes of bazaar

Conversations- 13

“She may say a thousand chapters to the world. But it means nothing if you don’t hear a word. She may paint blue and green oceans. But it means nothing if you don’t add a drop. She may stumble and fall and be picked up a million times. But it means nothing if you don’t lend your hand. She may sing an album. But it means nothing if you don’t contribute your lyrics. She may think a forest of ideas. But it is all worthless if you don’t approve. She may dance a ballad. But it means nothing if you don’t lilt. She may walk a thousand miles. But it means nothing if you are not along. She may hear the cacophony of the concrete. But it means nothing if she can’t decipher your silence.”

The lone Mynah whimpered to the indifferent Moon about the starry-eyed Earth.