Ways of Wilde

What is a story that we call solemn and grey?
But to fend for the ways when wanderlust is a taboo
for loving a lovable gay is to fall a prey
to the punishment which Oscar Wilde did woo

This world a panorama of thought and so
the picture is true worthy of love and hate
which side you choose, you might belong to
a sudden change in the man's fate

Oscar Wilde did call the society a prison
within which hardly anyone has a reason
to operate the apparatus of life with love
and make the solemn promise a Dorian dove

Rest a while with thoughts of a Gray
and happen to be with solemn silence you have may


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The Sparrow of light

A sparrow of golden hue erupts into flight,
A broken string of dreams impinge,
its penetrating colours in the nakedness of night,
there sits in the garden a saint without a cringe,
watching birds especially the golden sparrow of light,
What to say hello or hi as listened to cries of joy,
she found her long lost partner in saintly boy,
who flies the sparrow of light to dizzying heights,
is it a joke or a token of love falling slight,
the boy wore on his shoulder the sparrow of light,
how far the earth goes, she goes too,
without anything in hindsight,
Clever is he who cleverly sees the zoo,
with a bird called sparrow of light.

A face in the meadow

I wish to resurrect myself in the fashion of yesteryears,
Only to surrender to the copious love of sunflowers,
There stood at the wicker, a face beneath the shadow,
and was it a phantom, my lover or a needy widow?

Herself shy of a fortune right in this country town,
willowing on a break with someone's heart for meantime,
there was the onlooker preying upon my gaze full blown,
while I return with the paradise's nectar in pantomime.

Still she looked like a pal from the past birth, now a reborn,
A face in the meadow gnaws on the silence of the wild,
Only to be returned somehow weary as if a tired child,
There she stood at the wicker, a face of a thrush in the morn.

The Mind Uncaged

This is the world of ideas you form when the world itself dissolves

into nothingness and in the idea of nothing the total time elapsing

till you stop on a sunny day and watch the shadows forming on dust

of memories when thought over again and again while sipping gin

and from within the orbs the loveless fragrance enchanting the tongue

with bitter-sweet taste of the gin as many suns form around the orbs

a many-glided universes for the soul to emerge and begin to dance