A SCENE

Through the still night
A shrill voice broke,
That echoed and reverberated
And froze the dead in their graves
A morbid one
Or a nightmare?
A cataclysmic scene
That prevailed outside
When a renegade intrigues
Like an inimical rogue
Whose ferocious and rough
Disturbance
Obstruct the solace.
Optimistic of the shriek
Of those in dark locales
Relating to the gruesome.

A CONSPIRACY

Beware of men,

Those social beings.

Their human quality is in distant land,

With a masked outlook

And creamy words

They flatter

To deceive for selfish motives,

To quench their carnal urge.

Again behind that look

Lay a trap

To capture

Those innocent beings

For selfish motiv.

An evening under that jasmine,

That spreads

Is fragrant smell,

Was a blessing

On a happy couple.

One with a sense of guilt

The other innocent one,

Mutually set to harbor

Their longing desire,

And in him a burning passion

Merged into one

They lay sprawled in dust. 

             CHASING LOST DREAMS
how and what do we write?
are they musical and rhythmic,
sweet and simple and easy to follow?
These days
'tis symbolic and abstract,
vague and puzzling
in days we see.
pondering over to decipher,
those scattered lines
that lie in bonds,
as a spongy fruit
within the hard shell.
tender is your heart
where the beauty lies
not on your smiling face 
nor the disdainful one,
but from your innocent blush
that hold the key
to  the secret
that lie hidden
in your chastity
embedded with love
and sincerity.

        THIRSTY

Hoping for and not getting
A glass of water
In this sultry summer
He stood deprived.
The air was dry
And blew across
Made him restless
For want of water.
It slipped like an eel
Under his hand,
For it seemed unjust-
Beyond the law.
He held out
Both his hands in hope
To hold and feel good
To quench forever.

            A TRIP

Long and slender, t.

hey sat to fill,

Squatting in wonder, stared n still

A slit on the side and thrown to waste,

Waiting for the ride, Making into a paste.

Watching with hunger, honor to the first

Coming in number, quenching the thirst.

When the show begins, in goes the devil,

Visualises some designs from the pant it came from.

Floating in the wind, a swirl of the head,

That wandering mind, was as heavy as lead.

Racing thro' the heavens, on a carpet so large,

Seeing in sevens and water in the barge.

Part of a measure, that works so good,

Giving pleasure and taken as food.

All so melodramatic each of the members,

felt so dynamic, as they fall into slumber.

FRUITS OF REVOLUTION

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           PATRIOT

His strength and vigor was imbedded

When traficking in danger

To answer those stealthy calls.

For him

It was a novel piece of adventure

Figuring in historical pages

To be stored on reference sheves.

Honour was his motto,

Together lie embedded for generations.

A glory on every task

And led a simple life.

Sun and snow were his mates,

Tempting the young blood to follow.

High in the sense of valour,

Opting for more to come.

Opinion in circles differ,

Among those who lie

Beneath the barren crust.