Willowy Winds

I don't want to Preach . But that's ultimately we all do right . Making your point across and hoping that someone might change his view accordingly is what a preacher desires. So in a way I preach too. I don't want people to admire the choice of words or the beauty of the thoughts . It will make me happy if they can admire the value of the thought , and themselves play host to a different thought for just a while . That is enough for me , That will make my words worth something , if anything .

I loved both images ...hence kept them . I know I know ..both are not needed ... 

GOD OF THE WALLS

As I strolled across a tiny little beach;

Away from the busy town, on the foggy Sunday morning.
Churches and Temples were ringing their bells;
Little crowd had gathered for weekly rendezvous with god.

I sat on the rock watching those people;
Rich and poor and young and old.
Swallowed by those Triangles and Sphere edifices;
Home of the gods, as they are called.

I shifted my gaze to the mighty ocean;
Roaring like thunder on this lonely beach.
I see the god, in the wonders of nature;
The peace which it gives, says I am not wrong.

The god doesn’t sit, behind the brick walls;
To watch empty faces churning mugged up words.
God is here in this mighty ocean;
sermonizing in winds, and the songs of the birds.

He doesn’t need your prayer or devotion;
your gifts, your time or your big donation.
He just wants to see the love in your eyes;
for the beauty of nature and his beautiful creation.

Feel the god in the whispers of the wind;
The wetness of the rain and the freshness of the dew.
In love of your beloved and embrace of your mother;
In smiles of your little kid, is the god I know.

Open your arms wide and feel the rain falling;
Closing your eyes in the pleasure unbound.
Lie on naked soil and gaze the stars smiling;
Bring back the lost Innocence, to see the god around.

FLIGHT OF A BROKEN FEATHER

Some times interesting things happen suddenly . For days I have been thinking of writing something , but could not get anything meaningful in mind . May be other things were too much of a distraction . But then suddenly , when I had a rather rough day and my mood was somber and those previously entertaining distractions seemed a bit vulgar for a dark mood ,  I started typing and then somehow words started acquiring meaning. That usually happens as  I have mentioned before numerous times.So here is the outcome . Also I am going back to home soon . As always I am sure I will have enough experiences in that one month to act as a fodder for further pieces like these . But for now this is the only one .

Color of the Shadow

Have you ever seen yourself , Like in a  Moonless night  ;

With stars twinkling around , too distant to guide u home.

I have seen the stars , and flirted with the twinkles ;

But I am too tired to carry on . 

                                

Have u seen yourself , like a tiny rain drop ;

Fallen from the sky , losing itself in muddy waters .

I have drifted in the sky , thought that’s my home ;

But the mud of life is too hard to fathom .

Have you seen your thoughts , like a broken feather ;

Which promised to fly , but wondered somewhere alone .

I have fancied the flight , in those broken dreams ;

But the devil of time , has swallowed them all .

Have you ever walked across , a sleepy silent river ;

Which drifts along slowly to somewhere far away  .

I too find myself , crawling tardily day and night  ;

It’s a journey without a path ,  or I have lost my way .

Have you ever seen a stone , shaped into an idol ;

Beaming with raw  pride , as people  pray and call .

As I see  the world , closing its eyes to worship;

Is it a soul in search of  god , or a man in search of soul.

Have you ever wondered , why the words of silence;

Makes so much noise in your own battered soul .

I have looked for words , that can break the spell of silence ;

But they all lose their meaning , like an empty wall .

Have u ever seen the light , passing through a prism ;

How it breaks in colors as the beam pass across .

I have seen those colors , But they still make the  shadow ;

And the color of the shadow is the same that I know .
 

Have you ever find yourself looking out to the skies ;

Gazing at the heavens with a thoughtless mind .

My visions are now blurred , and thoughts don’t guide me anymore ;

Just waiting for the first ray of dawn to arrive.

Caravan of a Nomad

Anarchist : I shall continue in the same post rather than adding another one. This is one of the product of what I was reading . A set of political ideologies , out of which Anarchism was one.Although , this one goes a little beyond propagating a belief. It's just an attempt to read the mind of an outlaw , on the brink of a crime in the eyes of the state but what to him is a revolution.

Outcome of Mundanity :I had given up on writing as such . Not been doing it for so long . Yesterday I did tried to pen down something of worth . Tried for at least two hours . Deleted at least two poems , which I wrote and didn't like . Then I left it and went to sleep. But I could hardly sleep . As I stared out of Window , some thoughts came which made me want to write again . Though I didn't like the outcome as there was so much in my mind to be covered in one piece of poem . It came out as a rather jumbled up integration of random thoughts. But since it was after a long time , that I could write something that made sense , I decided to to put that in my blog .


Anarchist .

Swift as a horse on the racecourse ,

Keen as a dog , on a trail .

He was moving with hasty steps ,

The movement he believes mustn’t fail.

He has been waiting all these years,

His heart is pounding but he stays strong .

The cold winter is unleashing a chill ,

But the thrill in his heart is making him sweat.

The time has come when the lesson be learned ,

The server has served , and has served enough.

The revolution is knocking on the door ,

Retribution is a word that must be heard.

He has suffered and since wore the hatred,

the hate that cripple his once righteous soul.

The hunger and cold has made him rough ,

Weak have died , he has been told.

He doesn’t believe in the rule of the law ,

As laws were made by the people with flaw .

He believes in his right to follow his heart ,

The moment has arrived to put it to test.

He doesn’t believe in the word of god ,

His god had died a slow silent death .

If he can watch children die of hunger,

He says such a god , is more of a wretch.

He doesn’t believe in Left or right ,

The lust to rule consumes them all .

The rule of the people is never in sight ,

To rule out the rule is his taken vow.

He has arrived , where the stage was set ,

With people having gathered , to listen to his foe.

Sun has been hiding behind the clouds ,

As if afraid to look to what might unfold.

Taking a deep breath , he recedes in the crowd .

Wiping the sweat off his palms ,

He looks to the skies , the one last time ,

It won’t take long  Mother , to be in your arms.

He looks at his watch , as his man take the steps ,

With the applause of the blinded sheep’s sounding out loud.

He checks his pocket  and holds the weapon tight ,

As the man on the stage takes a bow .

Swift like a light , he picks on his weapon ,

And shoots at the man three times in a row .

Crying out revolution , as he makes his kill ,

Among the shrieks and sounds that followed the fall .

As death followed in bullets , he smiled to his last breath ,

Quenching the pain , by the joy of his deed .

Later in times to some he was a villain ,to many a hero

But to us an Anarchist who bore the seed.

 Outcome Of Mundanity

It was a day like any other day ,

There was nothing that happened , there was nothing to say .

I wondered alone , as I landed on the bed ,

Isn’t this routine , is what I dread.

How many days , are just so alike ,

When we all say that we have a short life.

Why can’t each day be an event to remember ,

laden with doubt  , but not dreary or somber.

A hour hand is ticking , so is me ,

We both start together and end where were we.

Time has changed but we stay the same ,

Spending the day , in the circle of frame.

As I stared out through the shabby little window ,

watching  the clouds ,gently moving across.

I made out a face of all those patterns ,

And it was smiling and playful , with a childish glow.

I envy those vapors that makes these clouds ,

Being carried across over  the flight  of the wind,

Not knowing where they will reach when they chose to be the rain ,

Being sprayed over the gods , or flowing in a stream.

As I look around , I see all these people ,

So happy and contend with what they do .

They have chosen a road , en route to their deaths ,

Comfort of the journey , is the consolation they know.

I want to cross over , the paths and the routes ,

And see the world in its best and the worst.

I don’t want shade , on the road of my travel ,

It kills my shadow, the only one I trust.