English Long Verses
Condemned Hopefuls
The night has whispered,
broken words, mumbling slowly.
And I felt a thousand pains,
which happened in the past.
The poems I have written,
are they existential black letters?
The fears and freedom of,
Condemned hopefuls, will they last?
Quietly admonished by,
silent, hurt, and astounded voices.
Those glasses with vision broke,
with a needle of sharp suspicions.
Fiefdom of hunger-laden ants,
spreads like wild berries in the forest.
Condemned hopefuls believe,
the ice of innocence will melt decisions.
Masquerading red scars as roses,
impeccable intentions, also fall.
Creating freedom for mute souls,
the bounty of illustrious life is lost.
The iron is molten and pressed,
long ago, alone in caves.
Come see, a lone ember fighting,
Condemned hopefuls are tossed.
Broken, broken until unbreakable,
the struggle of angels in human form.
Striding in a direction with love,
who are these chosen people?
The light of conscience is still open,
with heavy eyes and simmering anger.
Condemned hopefuls left to die,
never sad, never tired, never dull.
Wonders of earth, children of dust,
these hopefuls are lonely pearls.
A good fight is in their destiny,
old souls with a twinkle in their eyes.
Freedom is like hot burning coal,
hands are burnt in this quest.
Lives are sacrificed with passion,
Condemned hopefuls were wise.
Millions rebelled, like waves,
rose and fell, rose and fell.
Rose, flew and won,
independence is their parting gift.
Freedom fighters, our shining gems,
forever hopeful, forever happy.
Never left, never coming back,
They are the Condemned hopefuls!
The Condemned hopefuls!
The Condemned hopefuls!
Ramu, Honey and Queen Bee
Honey, can I get some honey?
The loud voice of Ramu echoed.
His wife Shanti, stood up and,
the old fragile jar was opened.
Sunshine came out, with some joy,
and a drop dropped on Shanti’s palm.
She exclaimed, Honey is over honey,
and then, Ramu lost his silent calm.
The fondness of honey is ever fresh,
The nectar of life, how clichéd?
Ramu lost in thoughts, got sad,
Muniya consoled, it’s only honey Dad.
Ramu got angry, he had a tantrum,
It’s a pious antidote, for my stress.
Muniya giggled with twinkling eyes,
Shanti laughed, and said, let me guess.
There is a honeycomb, on that tree,
I know the lady master, the queen bee.
A prayer, a request, will suffice,
My honey will get, honey for free.
Ramu started boiling, like hot water,
Shanti went on with her, daily chores.
Muniya had a hysterical reaction,
Ramu went out, banging the doors.
Humming a song, he went to the tree,
With needy eyes, he saw a honeycomb,
Few were options, he climbed the tree,
The desire for honey was so strong.
Greed or need depends on the situation,
Ramu’s foolish quest was greed.
He prayed to the queen, “O mother”,
A drop will also, be my heart’s beat.
Such is life, intellect clouded by desire,
anyways, the queen heard his voice,
Startled she issued orders, to sting.
Poor Ramu had to run, had no choice.
Why the need, for only sweetness in life,
Ramu thought, like a philosopher.
He ran to the river, and had a holy dip,
The queen bee then retracted her order.
Ramu was wet with, a new wisdom,
Praying to the almighty, he walked slowly,
Honey or no honey, life is just fine,
He turned into a saint, slowly holy.
He shouted, “Honey I am home”,
“Please bring me, some salted bread”,
Poor Shanti and Muniya, couldn’t believe it,
Is this strange man, alive or dead?
In the honeycomb, the queen bee was happy,
She saved her home, from intrusion.
Who needs this, honey more in life,
What should be the right conclusion?
Random Abstract Memories
Plethora of lamps, but no ray of light,
My hands are dark, but my heart is bright.
Shivering quest, nomads searching land,
Horizon is in sight, with snow and sand.
I found a lamp, of hope and devotion,
My hands are dark, with no commotion.
Life is beautiful when flowers are free,
Oh! What joy, of just blooming on a tree.
Kindness in a heart is a precious gem,
Some things our mind, just can not stem.
Butterfly imbibes colors, of fun and joy,
The true one is purely a ploy.
Heart gathers dust, which could be gold.
Looking beyond words, one gets bold.
What is to be learned, in this crazy world,
Here lies are celebrated, and the truth is curled.
Deep down we know, our real thoughts,
This rope of life is, created with knots.
Grey shades are common, in every soul,
Why only white be, considered whole?
Triumph comes when all doubts die,
In search of true love, success will cry.
Golden senses are lost, in eternal quest,
Normal desires are, in a state of rest.
Inhibitions arise out of, a varying mind,
Sweet memories are the pearls we find.
Glittering stars carry, dreams of space,
Drowning in oneself, we find no face.
Anger can subside, but the pain is a fire,
Truth is only felt, words are just mire.
The quest is eternal, running in veins,
Life is essential, when free from chains.
Myriad feelings, enhance expression,
Musings of a mind, are pure creation.
Quintessential silence, sometimes roar,
The thoughts of desire, sometimes soar.
Neverending love is, an unfulfilled dream,
One which never stops is a pious stream.
Gathering the fears, climbing a mountain,
I wish to find, an eternal joyous fountain.
Flight of shine, running through eyes,
The deeper I delve, the higher I rise.
Am I awake? In this mesmerizing world,
Lessons are learned when love is served.
Am I free? when all thoughts are chained,
Wise bounties found, are already claimed.
Am I lost? In this new puzzle of feelings,
The prize of the heart is in new beginnings.
Love and Quantum Entanglement
There is a super secret,
which has now been discovered.
The universe is made of love,
Yes, love! You have heard it for ages.
In scriptures, gospels, stories,
legends, experiences, and in,
your loved one’s eyes,
What better place to find it, isn’t it?
Are we entangled among ourselves,
with this superglue called love?
Well, science is meeting the mystics,
and exploring this newfound love.
rechristening it Quantum entanglement.
A feeling here on earth, even a voice,
affects an atom in a star billions,
of light years away. How magnificent!
This illusion of separation,
this mortal body, this small mind,
all are momentary phenomena.
A bumble bee, flying making a loud noise,
is affecting a fish inside, some deep,
spectrum of the blue Pacific.
A fragrant rose, emanating love,
reaching that wounded soldier,
fighting a futile war, of divisiveness.
A feeling of ecstasy, in my heart,
affecting some alien life,
in some other galaxy,
some other world.
leading to a burst of joy.
So much healing can be done,
so much pain can be subsided.
This chain of connectedness,
the greatest myth of aloofness,
vast unrelated energies, finally,
finding their connection.
All those fancy words of,
knowing oneself, finding purpose,
soul searching, and being a spirit.
It’s finally coming to a conclusion,
that too scientifically!
Love, the language of the mute,
is the celebration of white doves.
It’s the sound of that cuckoo,
dance of the peacocks,
cuddle of that stray dog.
All are entangled, affecting each other,
and that atom many light-years away.
Love is what lovers and poets call it,
Quantum entanglement is what,
modern science calls it.
Love is what mystics and singers call it.
Quantum entanglement is what,
logic and intellect call it.
I reside in you,
You reside in me.
I am you.
You are me.
This is love!
Forever entangled!
Doomsday Bunker
I sometimes wonder,
have I forgotten my shield?
Well, every day seems like,
a Doomsday to me?
Metaphorically, not literally,
nevertheless, seems true.
This tyranny of omnipresent,
all-pervasive time, controlling
my life, through a silent roar.
It passes and passes, and
abruptly stops, with misdeeds.
Is human nature naturally,
gravitating towards violence?
So many words of grandeur,
talking about love, compassion,
humanity and freedom.
Aren’t we ticking time bombs,
or atom bombs of a false sense of,
self-righteousness laden with,
a syrup of hypocrisy and a,
dash of moral corruption?
I mean nothing less than,
a Doomsday bunker is required,
to shield my loved ones from,
the violence and subtle aggression,
which is not always present,
to our naked eyes, deep-rooted,
in society and its predicaments.
Monstrous feelings, and ill-fated
brutal onslaught of chattering minds,
at the cusp of life and its morality.
The truth is a vagabond, a beggar,
in this era of deceit and lies.
My salvation, our salvation,
rests in raising a Doomsday bunker,
of unknown angels, and humans,
saving us, shielding us from,
those eyes. Those immaculate,
integral souls of this garden.
What is life, without a will to,
create something better?
What is life, without a desire to,
protect our legacy, our conscience?
What is life, without a drop in the
eye? Perhaps the most,
important question in life!
The Doomsday may be eons away,
but this melancholy is no less.
The fire of nonchalant lives,
extinguished by these hands,
made of a plethora of screams.
It’s talking and saying,
We all need a Doomsday bunker.
The Last Bus at Night
The Last Bus at Night
My solitude, my eyes, and my feet,
walk down a slippery path alone.
The remnants of hidden memories,
are pouring, like feelings unknown.
The wanderer, in me, is quiet,
but the seeker is always alive.
I wait endlessly, at the crossroads,
looking for the last bus at night.
Here it arrives, screeching loudly,
empty seats, resonate with my inside.
So many seats here could be filled.
Why not one soul, can this heart find?
I’m astonished by my patience.
Why do I wait for the last bus at night?
Am I subtle, or am I brittle? Do I exist?
Yearning for peace, in search of a fight.
The driver of the bus is very tired,
living a boring story of his own.
I can see in his eyes that emptiness,
he can control buses, but not unknown.
Life is foolish, the least I can say.
Why do good souls get the last bus?
Maybe their wait is long, fateful,
with love, pain and lost trust.
The day was long and tiresome.
I need to go home, like a bird.
The lonely roads are haunting,
but the last bus can’t, quench this thirst.
I saw a soul like me, at the stop,
when I went close, it had my face.
How scary, how wonderful, why?
Such is this world, new heart, same face.
Alas, I persisted, with my naivety,
I thought this bus would now stop.
Well, life has different expectations,
what seems clean, has an old spot.
Those lights, shining from a distance,
and I remember my first love,
No connection, no link to the heart,
but a hope, lonely hope of a touch.
As the last bus approaches slowly,
the pounding is unexplainable.
I will reach home, in a real sense,
that my secret abode is available.
Why do we wait for the last bus?
Why do we wait for something better?
Are we lazy, or opportunist souls?
Can’t this periphery, find some center.
Driver don’t honk, the night is dead,
I felt the bus is my companion.
As I entered the bus, it embraced,
maybe this bus ride will be really fun.
Life goes on, and on, and on, and on.
So why wait for the last bus at night?
Why not take a taxi, Ola or Uber?
Maybe on the last bus, tears can hide.
An obscure bus, so unknown, so alone,
traveling through deserted routes.
This bus runs on fuel and hope,
with a feeling that, lovingly sprouts.
Somehow, life is also like this bus,
going through some charted roads.
Paths are known, but travelers are not,
interwined with fate and destiny’s ropes.
The driver does rash driving, at times,
leaves few passengers stranded sometimes.
But on his last route, he is considerate,
because he knows the pain of lonely times.
Slowly, the last bus reaches the final stop,
and the driver is sleepy, hungry, but alive.
But he has no thirst, it’s already quenched,
as his lone passion in life, is just to drive.