Peace descends upon reading Milton

If peace be heathen, dross is the bearer of love’s flame

the love lorn eyes gleam in the twilight of such beam

hardly to keep his hands still, off each flower, each twig of his own

meddle to violence and raise hullabaloo like mother raises a child

I devote good many years of my life looking for nothing but peace

Damn those years, fulfill that vow of keeping pin drop silence

as if silence is God and the stillness the Christ’s cross

Let me drink the rose wine and say with a Portuguese hola on the breath

Speech is silvern, but still the silence is golden amid quiet symphonies

of Bach!

Measure by measure peace descends upon me

In emulation opposite to heaven!

The afterglow

On your cheeks there is a starry glow,

now in hiding and now reflecting light,

what do we need to know more?

But a dimple on the course and a bloom

that shall make me forget all the woes

Now, I was worried for the love that might be

in your lap, was for someone else whom I know not

but reluctantly did you loose

and like an open flower it perches on my bosom

your cheeks redder than rose wine

from those twin fountains I relish the love’s nectar

for you are a star, you know!

And I a savant of the stars in all their afterglow!

What shall I call thee, a pink damsel from stars what not?

On Corona

with these banal stories of Covid -19 by the way line

when the prince and the princess walk the masked skyline

the midgets crawl by the hearth in darkest hues

of corona and the deadly few,

those clouds rain that stroll past the love wounds

everyone alone and unarmed, but with a tizzy of corona

of her and him, shadowed like the earthworms

one love, by one side, one day by the blue dimes

together the newspaper say the daily toll that love chimes

And quietly the don flows through the disease times.

It’s pandemic, pandemic and the afflicted keep the social forms

when to stay six feet away is the new norm.

And in the end those who are warned stay warned

lest the corona take away those dead arms.

The maiden day

As is in the shadow of night, if the day does arrive,

I break the columns on the curtains to see the twilight,

none the derby race on the maiden day of the year,

the horses pass the stable, grazing like grasshoppers on the wind

and with them the dames, with wands in hands,

crowns on their heads swearing the supremacy to the sun

and in its glory was the day formed, the maiden day of the year of 2010!

The pathway

The path laid bare but spring’s laden full

before the sunlight that spread

the diaphanous bodice upon the tender earth

a man walked down to the nature’s awning and pull

All the thoughts under the lens of spring’s mirth

He wondered the menfolk were bounty hunters

or like the seasons, the souls that were fate’s punters

unable to decide, he walked on till the day’s end

and on reaching where the sun sank he bowed to gracious bend

And summoned the prayer that the dry leaves of grass did send

tender is the night, still tender is the moonlight

that folded his kismet but within sight

The Outlander

A big apple pie heart to become the apple of all eyes

need love, time and tenderness, without any fling or the flaw

that is in the character to summon Sophocles to murmur

about the tardy young lass of the countryside,

here in Kashmir, there is an affair with apples

for the apple pie-heart to become the apple of all the valleys

and in this hope I stalk the beaten pathways among the the hills

to Gulmarg and the border up the Chinese wall beyond which lies

the ping-pong ball and the apple bitten for the sake of knowledge.

Ah! the Eve took a bite, and became mortal, while I off her womb

climb the Chinese wall to see on the other end, an outlandish country

and a boy stood by me on the ground, and said hey Outlander, Would you

taste an apple for the kind, who plough the wheels of fortune on this land,

And I having taken a bite off it, wondered how the dragon looked like,

a curl or a twirl, a crouch or embolden smile, a hidden or beaten roar

and on the wits end my fancies flied.

Of the essence of roses

the scent of woman is perching on the air sprites

the love of the horses is running on air’s flight

as the zombie whizzes past me in the race,

the derby is shaken off with the pace,

Niggardly, the women raise the roses

to acknowledge the Jockey fallen from the grace,

the scent of roses is in the air,

nonetheless, in the garb of motion

I ponder over the essence of the roses

past the derelict but amazed stares and faces

The Popcorn

I, drawn to home cinema, pop the fizzing corn while watching the flick,

with Clark Gable wooing the flame off the Chinese waterfront wick,

the fizz, the bust, the pop, the cackle snooze me past the hands of time

with corn in reams, there is no life without a touch of zillion pop dime

there is a sudden flight of steps on the way to dungeon down

where Gods hide the golden flakes and whiskey they drown

I, woken to the gentle rhyming of feet, meander to the stash

and there Lucy sipping off dandy’s rum tasting the corn cache

The farmer came off the Italian shores, brought the wino

and a bag of popcorn for the heart that is mellow

The Gods would oblige with a sunflower yellow

As they bid the farmer with a blessing and a canto

to be concluded………………

To the scientist

When the end is the beginning of life,

life is a stagecoach dragging from birth to birth

An orphaned moon is all the scientists want

for there is the death of God in remembrance of which

I am invited to a meeting to discuss the aftermath of gravity

There is a grievous lady at the door selling perfumes

the scent of women men buy, but scientists are too coy

to feel sensuous though moon is a ball of women’s dreams

the dreams from which the reams of lives are strewn together

on a greeting card when the end is the beginning of life

And you say Happy New Year to the bygone days!

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