Fake beauty…

Thy beauty so profound… like the roses at dawn,
To stand by your side, an angel be shamed…
All other fairness does look forlorn.
Yet, is it not evident, thy beauty so fake,
Fatal instincts that lie beneath…
Conspiring… trust seems to be at stake.
What use then of this beauty…?
That steals a man of its life…
Or leads to damnation?… humors me!
Yet I am lost in the maze of thy splendor…
Mine eyes see none, but thy damask cheeks.
Bosom swells with love for this heavenly blunder.
And though I be thrust into the flaming pyre…
From thy gracious looks, I shall not turn…
Better to burn, than be deprived of flaming desire.

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Sun or Lord…

How you shine with utmost grace…
Glowing vibrantly, yet swelled with pride…
The world entwined in your forceful embrace.
In utmost glory of your shining armor,
Resplendent… regal… flamboyant…
The skies you rule with deep ardor.
The lord they call you… but of course…
The power supreme, the life provider…
Master of the light source.
Patron of the divine arts…
A craftsman… A showman you are…
Ever reigning over our  hearts.

 

Forgotten

In the dark of the monsoon…
She sat timidly…frail and forlorn
Adrift in limitless thoughts…
Those good old days long gone.

Yearning for that touch… warm
The wind howled in a silent wail…
As the candle flickered tirelessly…
Memories dissolve…leaving a faded trail.

Into the misty gray she stared…
Eyes in search for that fairy tale…
Trembling fingers flip stained pages…
Tracing life through pictures pale.

“Hello Abigail!”… a voice resounds from afar…
A momentary turn… she slips back again
The armchair rocked… eyes cast a questioning gaze…
He hadn’t come… it was an expectation in vain.

Meandering

There goes the road… winding downhill…
Dusty…’tis a path that’s neverending…
Into the horizon… into the mist.. it melted
Like a mindless wanderer, meandering…

Aligning to the night stars bright…
Into the vastness it traversed..silently
Uncared, yet so pivotal to wordly existence…
It slithered past the eyes… stealthily

Into the gray it went peacefully…
Turning at the umpteen bends…cautious
As if a new thrill seems to await…
Alas there’s none… life’s so monotonous…

Distant lands beckon with eager…
Drifting… it strays towards colorful dreams…
Appalled…it stops, aghast at phony feelings…
Retraces… it heads toward unpretented realms…

Etching past thorny bushes… unhurt
Into the haunted wilderness it wanders…
Aspiring for a destiny… still undefined…
Like a nomad into the oblivion… it meanders.

The Brave Warrior

Amidst fiery battlegrounds,
Where wolves roam free,
She stood brave and strong,
Facing squalls of envy.

Fearless, she drew her sword,
Unnerved by deathly winds,
She charges ahead with vigour
Swiftly within an eye’s blink.

‘Twas a battle of filthy lust,
She fought with hallowed silence,
Wearing armours of virtue and trust
To end this smutty pestilence.

With fair grace did she lodge,
The pennant of pure victory
Though death she couldn’t dodge
But immortalised in human history.

A True Tale

Did you hear the cacophony,
Of men burly ‘n’ wearing tights,
Who swore by common ancestry,
In mature yet mindless fights?

Over sour ale did they chatter,
Questioning the fancy regime,
That gave not a full platter,
But doses of a hollow dream.

Their fists they banged with might,
While the tapers flickered with fear,
To an uprising that was alight,
For castigating the pitiless royal tier.

With pitchforks, axe and spade,
The bastion they stormed in a flurry,
With a war cry of profound hate,
As the horizon blazed with fury.

“Execute ‘em all”, they roared,
Dashing the china to smithereens
Stagecoaches and satin all burned,
Ending the loathsome regal reigns.

Man of Thirty

Sharp and graciously refined

Walking with steps speedy,

Symbol of elegance well defined

He is a man of thirty.

 

Sporting a bonny coiffeur

And a suit so royally navy,

Shoes shining like silver

He is a man of thirty.

 

Apple of his friends’ eye,

Candy of ladies pretty

Always with spirits high

He is a man of thirty.

 

Echoing a boyish charm

His laugh breaks all monotony

A personality so deeply warm

He is a man of thirty.

 

Carefree yet so matured,

Values and emotions saintly,

Making you feel assured.

He is a man of thirty.