On death

Upon the hand hold on to the wick of light,

till the candle slowly feasts on its height,

Oh! that is what death does to soul,

melts away the earthen bowl.

On a dreary day when all was awake,

you went into darken sleep hardly to remake,

any thing worthy or any fake.

I vow to have you walking and awake,

to remember only the silken route,

taken by the death on to the fortune suite,

where it will align not to any witch or God,

But to say recline here as forever lost.

Death has done what is the magnificent cost,

for the beauty to pass into oblivion,

for ever and ever to lie in recess of the heart open.


April Moon

I am the sullen ridge over the dolorous waters

who but I will drink from the deluge

a placid face to the eyes rolled I part tenter looks

upon my face upon the bobbing water

I stare at the silvery streak of pale moon

the long lost class of thirty five years hence

stares back in silence over the floating water

as if the time has spun a dark noon

which is upon us to tell the fate of a passing girl

who obliged to the task of heavenly care

did indeed sideways her heart flung

but her smooth kiss to the water does bring

a summer nest in which to cosset love

and lie forever till eternity is brought down

by April soon.

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

Is imagism a valid poetic device?

Poetry as it seems has no end to itself, it continues almost into eternity such that the poetic muse began with the first rain the man has witnessed and would go through till eternity. Thus the poetic muse is divine in regard to the spirit it endows the life with, whether consciously or unconsciously. Now the natural question that arises is, is the poetic muse with the imagism it stresses on has any relevance as a literary device?

Should we trust the musical notes which on number of cases go far-fetched in making the phrase sound musical? Or should we improve upon the sentence structure instead, by introducing a rhyming sequence? Still the most powerful question is, can the language of logic be reinvented to suit the case of metronome?  The blank verse is actually emptied of meaning by relating predicative logic. The emotion of man thus is undone.

On this day the saints stood away on the plank bemoaning the nagging fear, Stephen Hawking is true about the Godless universe but from where the material of our cognition came from was big bang. But from where the matter pops up so far nobody knows. may be the God is not redundant and in verse there has to be a patron saint of the poets.

If only imagism could portray the necessity of Godly experience, it might still be a useful literary device.

Being a Don for good

I am going to retire in a day or so from being your lover

while I bid time in hell’s inn is no mean joke

that to stay on and on forever is a tale of charismatic bluffer

I must be afraid that love is a second hand toy for a moony bloke

who would rapture at the first delight

having found a gem in the sands of pastime

And close the call with a shrug of being a penny-thug.

And you want him as your trusty folk