Hand in hand, grasped tightly,
Through the mellows and the fields,
Looking above in the darkened sky
With the stars sparkling bright
Making it the perfect night.
The warm breathes of lovers
With love bursting through
the moon light….
Dressed in torn clothes,
With a grimace of the face,
Uttering words of plead,
Roams around the old hungry beggar,
His skin wrapped around his bones,
With hardly any flesh in between.
Asking people for few coins,
So that he can feed himself some food ,
What else can he spend his money for,
A few coins won’t buy him anything,
Summer, winter or rain, everything is the same,
No shelter on his head, no place to reside.
“Why don’t you work? ”
“He’ll spend the money in evil”
Are the remarks of the miserly people,
Who spend their life in comfort and peace ,
Who cannot comprehend what poverty is,
Hiding behind sarcastic remarks,
All they do is save their money,
For who likes to give things for free?
In this world of greed and lust of money,
With a hope to get some pennies;
from the comfortably living wealthy beggars,
Roams around the poor hungry beggar.
A dehydrated champion
splashing some water on his face
standing tall amid a fierce attack
killing every deadly blow with beauty
slashing at the low ones, cutting the high ones,
like an artist giving life to his canvas.
an undeniable promise of a bright future
with high hopes and big wings,
gliding through the clouds of success,
yet another day it was, holding strong he was,
one moment of rush and he fell on the ground,
waves of panic and worries flooded all around
with the prayers of the whole world behind
undefeated all his life, he lost his final fight,
but in a much better place, now he resides,
away from all the worries and troubles of this life,
in the hearts of ours he willl always reside,
as a young man with an overdose of talent,
Rest in peace dear young lad,
you’ll forever remain not out at sixty three.
What is in your fate, will be in your plate.
It is nothing but a waste of time,
comparing yourself with others,
being happy at their loss;
and sad at their gain.
This too shall pass,
Yet another assurance to give,
But, still the same old chores.
A mundane soul wanders around,
Buried under mediocrity and overwhelm,
Breathing upon self condolences
That hardly last any long
A search for self peace, becomes
yet another matter of stress.
Never mind the extra burden,
A detour, a short break, little smiles,
Few moments of delight,
But, everything becomes null,
As arrives yet another dreadful night,
For tomorrow anxiously awaits,
The same old mundane routine.
This too shall pass, this too shall pass,
the feeling of hollowness,
flowing through the blood.
resonance of a palpitating heart,
striking in the empty body shell.
fear gushing through the vein,
choking every cell of hope.
in the darkness of a brightly-lit room,
continues the vain search for life.
Through mediocrity and self doubts,
Vandalism of our own true self,
Through the judgemental eyes,
Self inflicted humiliation and defeat,
It is a story everyone lives from within;
Only few of them escape,
Rising above every self limiting,
Energy draining, negative thought,
No audience, no panel of judges,
Amidst a dead, pin drop silence,
Applauding their own piece of art.