A mere coincidence of looking into each other, can define a night full of stars. - Gautam Kumar
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.
“Stays somewhere, little ashes of thoughts, dawning in the middle of stray stars alone but surrounded by meaningless bushes of burdens.”
The way she passed the bridge of my memory,
I lost my way out of the senses.
The lights of courage in me was diminished,
Flaunted by the winds of first love.
Her gaze of glitters stared at me,
Like she holds secrecy of wings,
A breath that dissolved in me,
felt like a fragrance of undiscovered life.
I hated being intimated my own thoughts,
But it does happen to me,
Like a life that was not the same ever since.
She could have seen me,
A glimpse of me to her,
Or a never-ending gaze,
Could be something there,
I must have done,
But that moment of love,
Is a love that loses to win.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum’d,
And men were gather’d round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other’s face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil’d;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d
And twin’d themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour’d,
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur’d their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer’d not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak’d up,
And shivering scrap’d with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’d
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before;
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.
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Sitting besides the blue-ish river of Atlanta,
Staring, the filled sky with grains,
Glittering in the nights.
He beseeches for a masterpiece.
A thought, that can change,
his life, before, it ends.
Carving, through the muds of soil,
he began his journey of life.
Some emotions, like an ocean,
with devotion, and his imagination,
created some wonderful creations.
Dolls, to play with,
Sculptures, to decor with,
Utensils, to cook and eat with.
Love and emotions put into it,
to live with.
Paving ways to the thirst of his creativity,
to accomplish, its starvation,
to achieve its thoughts, of giving life,
life to the cluster of soil and water.
Now scattered, within itself,
asks for relief, in search of something,
to mark his name,
in the history of this world.
Never found, was a masterpiece.
Found, was never a masterpiece.
Life squanders, to a limitless,
infinite, search for the pearls.
Never seen but catching,
Attentions of all, calling,
deep and within,
the structured, boundaries of flesh,
Craving, is a masterpiece.
“Pour the wind, with the fragile limbs of yours, the rhythms of life, and let other breathe on them,”
The divine ride of my bicycle through hazy humanity,
innocent replica of tomorrow how dim witted!!
slow-thicken and twisted, lullaby of lies we heard,
melody of myths, each passing day subsides.
the goodness, the beauty and the morale of life.
ashes, ashes, all fell down.
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