At the end of a rainbow

Lucy found her diamond sky

A sunset

I see you
in the glistening wet glades.
Even hardened woods
blush into pinkish shades.
I long for you to stay
and bring the silhouettes to life.
But you cast the last ray
as I turn my eyes to the sky,
murmuring a promise of tomorrow.
And, I wonder, could you ever lie?


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Amidst charred ruins, a seed takes root.
Flags hang in shame, for the carnage in their name.
Generals stripped of their arrogance, what can clothe them now?
Maybe a common embrace, and the shared pain of loss.
The astronaut still finds the Earth draped in light,
even as the night wears on.
Sunlight doesn’t flinch from touching the scarred skin,
Perhaps there is a right for every wrong.


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The shame of victory

Was walking along, lost in thoughts

when I chanced upon those men,

their eyes fixed on the ground,

with a hungry gaze searching for something.

“What is it?” I asked, trepidation building up.

“It is vicious” said one, “poisonous” said other

“Crawled away so fast, must be deathly” quipped another.

Then my eyes fell upon their prize, a small being seeking refuge.

I shuddered at the sight of the ambush and pleaded to let it go.

“Yes, we will take it somewhere else, give a bag if you have one”

I fumbled to take out what I thought would save the poor soul,

but a deathly blow had already been dealt.

I gasped, asking why did it have to be done?

Its body writhing with pain gave way to a corpse lying still.

“It would have died anyway, it fell from a tree,” they said,

all the while barely wiping the look of triumph on their face,

proud to have killed the “vicious, poisonous” being,

“But why kill it” I ask again, helplessly staring at them,

A bunch of vicious, poisonous beings celebrating a murder.

I touched its cold body, but the world felt colder still.

Consumed by shame and guilt, I continued walking,

lost in thoughts, grief, and anger.


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A strange silence

It is not the screams that keep me awake at night,

Nor the haggard faces in a queue.

Animals being killed numb me not,

Nor the bruised bodies nursing broken minds.

The apathy, however, sickens my being,

It numbs my senses to know

That there won’t a helping hand for those who fall,

Nor a sigh of grief for those gone.

No anger for justice long lost.

Not even a pause to see if we are at fault.

Only a strange silence echoes in the dark.

A quiet horror of a blinkered life,

till it blinds the soul out of us.

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A voiceless speech

There it stood, even when it was hacked.
For roots run deep; not fast, not away.
A hundred years had passed before it,
a hundred more could have followed.
But when a road had to be carved,
like a stake through its heart,
What can the voiceless say?
Voices were given to deified stones instead,
with chants that could kill or revive.
But never will roads pass through it,
rarely do mortals and gods collide.
So, they rather hacked a muted living being
to pave the way for a promised tomorrow,
among spectators many, and mourners few.
For, who could partake a dying tree’s sorrow?


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I am not free, though the space stretches endlessly
I am tired, yet I am restless
of the forced linearity,
the imposed definitions,
the false security.
The haunting shadows under scrambling footsteps.
The blaring neon signs.
Those scattered minds,
those prejudiced eyes,
those greedy hands,
those hungry lips.
But wait! Am I not standing in front of a mirror?
Then who do I see staring back at this madness?
Shatter! The sound of breaking glass.
Now I only have a wall to break.

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Nocturnal soliloquy

Her eyes stared into the endless darkness,
memories and desires melting into indistinct yet clear shapes,
a figure dancing in the distance, imperceptible yet tangible to her senses,
a beckoning into the unknown, lingering notes of a music that left her wanting more,
yet the first rays of light scare her fantasies away, like dust scattered in the wind,
a cramped back greeted her, yet could it hurt more than an aching heart?
Did she ever wonder she would get so hopelessly caught in the quagmire of past,
a prisoner of her own thoughts, a refugee from a tomorrow she could not face,
a mirror that refused to look at the wrinkles, a denial of the time that no longer waited for her,
A solace sought in the land of dreams could only be as real as the echoes of laughter in her mind,
yet what was reality to someone who preferred the transience of waves lapping on a beach,
who would be enraptured by the fleeting beauty of a bubble,
the momentary dew drop glistening in light? No, reality would be a very pitiful substitute indeed,
so she returned to her abode, the dancing queen, this time the music lasted forever.

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(Published in a children’s magazine Bodhi Tree, April 2013). Wrote it for them as much as for finding the child in me!

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Spirit of Eternity

In the shadows of multitude huddling under light,
In the lull before storm in the darkness of night,
In the hint of a smile on the lips of a bashful bride,
In the wide-eyed wonder of a small child
In the myriad wrinkles of a face by death’s side,
In the starry seas of the infinite skies,
In the fluttering wings of a newborn butterfly
In the deafening silence of a man’s last sigh,
In the promise of life in a baby’s first cry,
throbs the heart of humanity, an eternal dream passing by.

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Just a pretty picture please!

The little boy was thrilled, what a day at last.
there was magic in the wind, the stage was cast,
to view the wonder of a camera in his tiny hands.

What a sight it was, to see the tiny tot walk
to capture the clouds, the flowers and flying stork.
But Alas! Such tragedy it was, to see the poor boy cry.
for everytime he pressed the shutter, there was a bus driving by.

The flowers lay hidden amongst the tall towers.
The clouds were lost behind the smog.
Cars crushed the green grass beneath
That was the hardly the picture he sought!

The beauty he imagined melted with his thoughts
For the camera brought with it an ugly reality
Of a world that didn’t exist before for him.
He tossed the machine for it had ruined his dream
of a pretty picture, unreal as it seemed.