The clock on the lost wall

Right there,
on the wall of lost time,
sitting is a clock.
Looking through the eyes of time,
everything and everywhere.

There isn’t solace,
but a sadness that keeps getting deeper with time.
If you know and look into it,
you will find it hard to understand.

The petrichor,
the dusky smell of wooden trench,
used long back to make its body.
The rare collection of colors put into it.

Wind in its own acoustic comes to make him feel the lost time,
like a golden memory which cherishes us to laugh and cry at the same time.
It does seem like how the bread of memory pilled with lost time taste.
Maybe there is no other beauty glow like the time.
It keeps the beauty of dusk and dawn,
the sun and moon, the dark and the day, the world and I.

“The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!” | John Keats

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,
Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise –
Vanish’d unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday – or holinight
Of fragrant-curtain’d love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight,
But, as I’ve read love’s missal through to-day,
He’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

source: Poetry Foundation


Books in Focus

Poem Excerpts : The drops of Fog

Writing on leaves,
the drops of fog
some sublime poetries,
of life & lies,
burning and dying,
true love in the eyes.

Read the full poem ‘The Drops of fog’ here.

One-line Poetry

“Heart whispers through the voices lost in silent winds of solace.”

“Never heard the Whispers of flowers, the stones remained stones.”

“In the lost tranquility, i still breath of unanimous trails towards peace.”

“Writing on leaves, the drops of fog, some poems of life, about smiling and blossoming, love in the eyes.”

“Written on her face, stories of her heart, can’t be heard but understood.”

The drops of fog

Writing on leaves,
the drops of fog
some sublime poetries,
of life & lies,
burning and dying,
true love in the eyes.

Escaping from the arms of clouds,
falling to the surface of grounds,
it cools the heat all around.

Scattered onto the soil,
it asks for an another life.
a life of time, for a lifetime,
nothing it says, but denies.

A Life with Lenity

Whimpers in the maze of tough thoughts,
A life with lenity.
A thought of seeking coincidence,
With wondrous epiphany.

A morning that seeks night,
But couldn’t.
A night that seeks dawn,
But couldn’t.

It stays within,
And asks quietly,
Whether you’re,
what you are
or not??

When not heard,
It stays where it belongs,
Like a snail in its shell.

क़िस्मत के तराने

कितने दूर है, न जाने कहाँ है,
मेरी क़िस्मत के तराने,
किस गफ़लत में गुम है ।
  
न कोई आस, न उम्मीद में है,
वो दूर कहीं ख़ुद ख़ाक में गुम है ।
  
एक प्यास जो इधर लिए बैठा हूँ,
जिस तड़प में मन हिरण बन फिरता है ।
  
क्यूँ रात भी शांत न शीतल है,
चाँद पा जाने को मचल क्यूँ रहा है ।
  
जवाब भी सवाल पूछते है,
सवाल भी जवाब नहीं है,
एक धुन ढूँढने की है,
एक रात आँधियों की है ।
  
अब तो ख़्वाबों की तस्करी है,
तुम छुपकर बेच दो,
मैं छुपकर ख़रीद लूँगा,
फिर चुप कर के सो जाएँगे,
एक नयी तस्वीर बनाएँगे । 
  
  
   

First Love

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.

A Masterpiece

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,
a masterpiece,
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,
hidden inside,
deep and within,
the structured, boundaries of flesh,
Craving, is a masterpiece.

Ashes of Thoughts

Stays somewhere,
little ashes of thoughts,
dawning in the middle
of some stray stars,
alone but surrounded,
by meaningless bushes
of burdens.

A walking thought,
starts running,
on some unknown roads.
irritated, hopelessly,
trying to escape,
from all the realities,
that caused enough.

A howling truth,
begins to kill,
every breathe in the flesh.
like an enemy,
of its own.

Hope, a myth,
breaking and germinating again,
and at last,
betrays us all,
a life stays with hope,
and dies, in hope.