We all have a friend in common in our lives and that is solitude. And how blissful it is to have solitude in times of introspection.
We ask this friend of ours, come whatever may don’t ever abandon us till we are alive and let only death part us away.
SOLITUDE FORSAKE ME NOT
In you fellowship, oh! My friend
I feel complete and content
Masks of deception are pulled out
Thoughts flow quitting apprehensions
In times of hardship
When no one cared
Abandoned me in despair
No one lend an ear to my woes
All friends turned into foes
You oh! Solitude, stood by me
Instilled hope and solidarity
Enlightened my soul
To connect to LORD
Recognized my potential
Re-ignited my spirit
Sowed faith
Imparted confidence
Acquainted me, with my lost self
Obliged I am, for you support
Request you in the name of GOD
Solitude Forsake me not
Solitude Forsake me not…
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
LET ME BE ME
In this competitive world where everything is relative and comparative. We all at some stage or the other face comparisons with those ahead of us and better than us. And sometimes it gets so worse that you cry, yell and say –LET ME BE ME. That’s what this poem is all about.
Let me be me
Brimmed with dissatisfaction
I am unable to achieve
The hard-work, not getting paid off
Luck deceives
Burdened with expectations
Competition so fierce
My in-capabilities choke me
I’m unable to breathe
I dwell in darkness
Lights blind me
I run away from my shadow
I just want to be lonely
Compare me not to anyone
I am not worth it please
Release me off, this juxtaposing showcase
Let me be me.
Let me be me
Brimmed with dissatisfaction
I am unable to achieve
The hard-work, not getting paid off
Luck deceives
Burdened with expectations
Competition so fierce
My in-capabilities choke me
I’m unable to breathe
I dwell in darkness
Lights blind me
I run away from my shadow
I just want to be lonely
Compare me not to anyone
I am not worth it please
Release me off, this juxtaposing showcase
Let me be me.
VOICES AROUND
This is a poem describing the state of a writer at times when he feels the urge to write but can’t figure out what to write. At night when all are asleep and it’s silent, he concentrated on the pin drop silence as if it’s going to tell something to him and he is all ears to it. Suddenly silence brims him, he senses peace, which puts him off to bed.
VOICES AROUND
I picked my pen, to write few lines
Give words to thoughts and feelings divine
Still not sure of what to scribble
No bold issues, no striking titles
Yet something inside, tells me to go on
Listen to the voices around.
May be they have something to say
Some secrets to disclose, some messages to convey
It’s rare, when they break their silence to words
Violate rules, take time to converse.
As I lend an ear to them
They engulfed my soul, with warmth of content
Giving rest to thoughts
Putting feelings on hold
Evacuating Black Chaos within
And brimming it with White Peace
They put me off to bed
A slumber, so calm and deep.
VOICES AROUND
I picked my pen, to write few lines
Give words to thoughts and feelings divine
Still not sure of what to scribble
No bold issues, no striking titles
Yet something inside, tells me to go on
Listen to the voices around.
May be they have something to say
Some secrets to disclose, some messages to convey
It’s rare, when they break their silence to words
Violate rules, take time to converse.
As I lend an ear to them
They engulfed my soul, with warmth of content
Giving rest to thoughts
Putting feelings on hold
Evacuating Black Chaos within
And brimming it with White Peace
They put me off to bed
A slumber, so calm and deep.
FESTIVITY
It’s that time of the year again, with festivals doing the round. “Festivity” –it’s all in the air and is contagious. Sparking enthusiasm, and fission reaction of energy, exaltation and celebrations. When markets are alive, crowded and full of alluring gift packs of candies, chocolates, biscuits, dry fruits, juices, chips etc. and as you pass by these series of shops in the nearby market, glancing each and every item on display, with eyes wide apart, you wish that the guests this time come to greet at your place not with those traditional sweets and dry fruit boxes but with your favourite chocolate and cookie boxes.
Next best thing that arrests your attention are those twinkling-blinking lights that teasingly beckon you. That reminds you of your science lessons of parallel and series connection in a circuit. The reds, the greens, the blues and the yellows, function together in various permutations and combinations as if doing a jig.
Then you have the candles and the diyas in such artistic and innovative new shapes, sizes and styles, that it seems as if they too have undergone a makeover. They have so much of finesse that one would think time and again before lighting them and letting them melt down. Rather you would prefer placing them for a display on the side table or a showcase in the living room.
“Aapke paas rangoli colours honge?”
A girl enquired. She seemed to be in her early teens, slim, fair complexioned, with captivating hazel coloured eyes and strawberry lips, wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of dark-blue jeans. Standing adjacent to you while you admired the diyas. And that suddenly reminds you, how the maharashtrian aunt, on the third floor of your building would make rangoli. She would take less than five minutes to do it. From the left side of the door to the right. Her hand almost moving mechanically and in an automated or programmed manner. The design, the pattern, so clear in her mind that as if she could see it there on the floor. And while you would wonder what she’ll end up making, she’s almost done. Wow! That’s superb.
“Iske kitne hue?” the girl enquired, with a smile of content on her face.
“Eighty rupees” answered the shopkeeper.
Pulling out a hundred rupee currency and taking back the balance amount of twenty along with the bag of colours, she walked out briskly.
Suddenly there is a loud thud, a lot of smoke that you see and that irritates your nostrils and itches your throat as well. And the next thing you hear is,
“Oye ab main jalaunga”
“Nahi, pehle main ye bada wala bamb jala raha hun”
Oh! There you go, two kids so excited about crackers. Ofcourse, why not, even you have liked them all through the childhood, up till this age of twenties. The best being the rockets/sky-shots, that would go high up in the dark sky and come down, spreading into different directions as though forming a temporary parachute of lights and sparkles.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, feeling calm yet so geared up for the upcoming festivals. Almost intoxicated with “Festivity”.
Next best thing that arrests your attention are those twinkling-blinking lights that teasingly beckon you. That reminds you of your science lessons of parallel and series connection in a circuit. The reds, the greens, the blues and the yellows, function together in various permutations and combinations as if doing a jig.
Then you have the candles and the diyas in such artistic and innovative new shapes, sizes and styles, that it seems as if they too have undergone a makeover. They have so much of finesse that one would think time and again before lighting them and letting them melt down. Rather you would prefer placing them for a display on the side table or a showcase in the living room.
“Aapke paas rangoli colours honge?”
A girl enquired. She seemed to be in her early teens, slim, fair complexioned, with captivating hazel coloured eyes and strawberry lips, wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of dark-blue jeans. Standing adjacent to you while you admired the diyas. And that suddenly reminds you, how the maharashtrian aunt, on the third floor of your building would make rangoli. She would take less than five minutes to do it. From the left side of the door to the right. Her hand almost moving mechanically and in an automated or programmed manner. The design, the pattern, so clear in her mind that as if she could see it there on the floor. And while you would wonder what she’ll end up making, she’s almost done. Wow! That’s superb.
“Iske kitne hue?” the girl enquired, with a smile of content on her face.
“Eighty rupees” answered the shopkeeper.
Pulling out a hundred rupee currency and taking back the balance amount of twenty along with the bag of colours, she walked out briskly.
Suddenly there is a loud thud, a lot of smoke that you see and that irritates your nostrils and itches your throat as well. And the next thing you hear is,
“Oye ab main jalaunga”
“Nahi, pehle main ye bada wala bamb jala raha hun”
Oh! There you go, two kids so excited about crackers. Ofcourse, why not, even you have liked them all through the childhood, up till this age of twenties. The best being the rockets/sky-shots, that would go high up in the dark sky and come down, spreading into different directions as though forming a temporary parachute of lights and sparkles.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, feeling calm yet so geared up for the upcoming festivals. Almost intoxicated with “Festivity”.
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