A serendipity or a conspiracy,
It's spring n' summer together.
Of the leaves that stirred beneath,
Turned out to be the cherry blossom however.

Every glimpse was a gust of wind,
Showering upon the flowers of serenity;
Every flower was His blessing,
Slowly and steadily, carving the carpet,
To the divinity...

-

August ended like a journey in the local train,
September is here, like a station,
Crowd is vacating, packing in the jostling;
Ample space for Vada Pav and whistle vendors.

-

...

-

Roller coaster of
Endless endings, not ending
Apparently though.

-

Straight as jalebi,
Are love and life, coupled up,
Dripping adventures.

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~LAST WISH~
Wrapped in a blanket of crimson,
Tangled up in the puppet strings,
My mother is crying freedom.
The vault of 8 by 2.5 is what,
On the either side, we won,
Parading n' parading.
Now it's not for my country,
No, she doesn't want this.
My last wish you ask,
I say to hear the suppressed bellow,
That she wants peace,
Outside and within.

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{Confession}

Now if I tell you,
Would you believe me?
Will you help me kick off
The ball in my throat,
Or will you just pretend,
And push it up, killin' me?
Will you become the Macduff?
Or becoming lady Macbeth,
You will drag me closer to the hell—
I do not suspect it to be somewhere else,
But here, in oneself.
Like the Satan, will you incline me more towards it?
Or like the angel of Cindrella,
Melting the monsters,
You'll ease the healing for me.

Like the Earth, still accepts me,
Will you just not judge me!?

-

|•Wildflower Meadow•|

Mosaic of colours, class and cast,
Some are daisies, also some asters and perennial sunflowers,
Knitted together
With yarn of concord,
Complex, yet interactive,
Imperfect, yet exquisite.
Not only idyllic with blend of scents,
But also a cover for life,
Fostering rapport.
The li'l ones of the golden Sun
Frolicking with the revived bugs;
What a sight to behold!
And so I ween we are the wildflowers
In the meadow of God.

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|•Father's Nightingale•|

Twain screeches—
A duet of pain and life,
"It's a girl!", he whooped with delight.
As he had already prophesied,
With her melody,
Bringing along the dawn of euphoria,
The nightingale arrived.

From the first look while resting in his lap,
To the Everest of her success,
He was always her sky,
With the horizon of grace;
Rain of smiles from the clouds of sacrifice,
And sunshine of love,
Arising the rainbow of—
New beginnings, luck n' hope.

A father is an unsung warrior,
An epitome of Lord on Earth.
Be it a gloomy day or a heart break,
He was her tree of bay.

-

My heart comes with an alarm,
Rousing my pen,
To paint my soul yellow,
With the ink of grief.

My poetry becomes the sun,
Evaporating my grief from the words,
Forming the clouds,
Which rain evocation on the readers.

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