To My Alarm Clock

Every morning I lie there

innocently sleeping

when the peace is ruptured by a

horrible beeping.

My serenity ripped asunder,

Sudden and drastic

By this evil, demonic, red eyed

Piece of plastic.

I roll over in pain and pound on

The snooze,

Groaning, moaning, thinking

‘What’s there to lose?’

‘Don’t make me get up, just nine

minutes more.’

The same thing I’ve said every

morning before.

It’s not that I hate mornings or

dread the new day.

It’s just that I loathe waking up

in this way.

I’d much rather simply rise up

with the light,

glowing in the window, chasing

away the night.

But the sudden screaming, the

Incessant fuss,

Makes me want to yell and cry

And simply to cuss.

Especially the knowledge that all

Of my sorrow

Will be replaced the same time,

Same way, tomorrow.  

Foes for Friends

There the knight stood,
with the remnant of her armour clinging onto her.


A glorious warrior was she,
now reduced to a disheveled and helpless prey 
to Death's slaughter. 


Gripping her rifle
that is stained with blood, 
she's now no different from the lowly footmen
whose bodies now strewn across the field.


She sneered at her foolishness
as her knees buckled
under the pain of her gaping wounds.


Benovolence had been dispensable.


The weight of her fully loaded weapon
crushed her ego 
like a mocking laughter.


Ripping off the metal plates 
that clung onto to her,
she willed herself to get back to her feet.


With gritted teeth,
she rose up
and took a aim.


She did not hesistate.
Vengence was in her veins.


She strode towards the battlefield
and stuck a gunpoint at their heads.


Who cares if the rifle is a long range weapon?
Nothing beats a close look 
at their cowardly face of defeat.


The warm blood that splashed 
on her face
cleansed the murk of her past defeat.


But back in reality,
the fallen warrior is still sprawled
on the ground.


She felt the chill of Death at her temple,
as the enemy cornered her
with a gunpoint on her head.


"Do you have a death wish?" 
the Dark Knight asked his hostage.


A bitter smile twisted across her lips.


She might as well end it gloriously.
She closed her eyes.


The gun lifted from her head
as the cold grip of the iron gloved hand
seized around her wrist
and brought her to her knees.


Her eyes fluttered opened in surprise
as Dark Knight made his proposal.


"What would you say if we have a merger?"


His meanacing grin 
could hardly be concealed behind his helmet,
as his deathly gaze 
burned into her dilated pupils.


The wind howled, 
mourning the death of her fallen troops.


But no tears were shed.
The sole survivor lowered her head onto the floor,
in a subdued bow
to her new master.


The victorious roar from the Dark Troops
hardened her heart 
as she slumped feebly across the enemy's horseback.


There will be time 
for revenge. 


Right now,
they are allies.


But only for now.

How green this lawn was!

How green this lawn was
Two years back, when did I trespass
Thick green on each blade of grass
shining in sunlight and dancing at each wind cross

Alas, there are patches in yellow
so many that the land piece looks fallow
Paining and placing me in sorrow
How I wished the entire scene changes tomorrow

I asked the trim and erect watchman
Keeping vigilant near a portico van
What happened to this graceful lawn
So well kept extending greenly greetings each dawn

Was it because the soil turned hostile
or was it because the ants established their domicile
or was it because of the chemicals those weed sterile
Tell when soon the lawn will get back its soothing smile

Oh, sir, are you in this world, ever on galloping
Economically marching ahead and developing
Where is the time for anyone to attend this soil topping
We are on the progress mode nothing be stopping

We know what are our gainful spending
And where should we stop depending
And which are going to keep revenue sending
There is no end to this economical expanding

In this great economic value addition
Everything is in cash denomination
No longer loyalty, love or passion
All aim towards cost-to-the-company reduction

Growing trees is no longer a feat
Nature care has to take a back seat
We are preparing for those days ahead so sweet
When this lawn will not be of grass, but of currency sheet

Call To Heaven

I made a call to heaven one day,
to tell the lord all I had to say.
The line was engaged time and again.
I felt I would somehow no longer be sane.

Suddenly the call was picked up by him.
My face began to glow even in the dim.
'What do you want my child?' He said.
'Feel free to speak all that is in your head.'

'Problems,' I said, 'always engulf me.
Beauty and joy too elude me.
Strength fails me, I go weak.
My future appears grey and bleak.

Give me riches, give me gain.
From my life, excavate all pain.'
I spoke so fast, yet so clear.
Wishing and hoping, everything he'd hear.

My heart bet fast, as I waited in anticipation
to listen to the lord's conversation.
At length he spoke, loud and clear
soothing and comforting, allying all fear.

'Dear child,' he said. 'Can't you see
no one from problems can ever flee.
Just flip the coin and you will find
on the other side, joy and peace of mind.

Infinite power within you lies.
Aim for the mountain top, not mountain sides.
You become what you think.
Your ideas and thoughts,
appropriately shape and link.

Nourish your mind and your soul
always for yourself, a goal
strive for all you wish to attain
yours will be the world, and you can only gain.

Thus spoke he opening my mind's eye.
Rejuvenating my bulldozed spirits, giving me a high.
In conjunction with him, my power became manifest.
Every conceivable limitation was laid to rest.

It is in you I now say to all
To climb the ladder, or to fall
To see the pleasures, life has in store
And build on your strengths, everywhere you go.

The Nature's Song

Trees huge, tall and wide away from me drew
Oh! Tree I asked, "What did I do?"
"Ugh! Greedy man for the need of your brood
you took away my leaves, fruits and wood.

So I called to the wind but away from me it blew
Oh! Wind I asked, "What did I do?"
It swung around and said, "You blackened me, you filthy bloke,
by your vehicles that spit soot and smoke.

Then I turned towards the animals that drew away from me too
Oh! Animals I asked, "What did I do?"
They replied, "We gave you O boobies many a thing to use
but our resources and us you have indiscreetly abused."

Then I bent down to the pond but away from me it drew too
Oh! Pond I asked, "What did I do?"
"I filled your thirst but you filled me with all kinds of dirt
you ungrateful man", curtly it blurt.

An Indian Love Song

He

Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon
of thy glory and grace,
Withhold not, O love, from the night
of my longing the joy of thy luminous face,
Give me a spear of the scented keora
guarding thy pinioned curls,
Or a silken thread from the fringes
that trouble the dream of thy glimmering pearls;
Faint grows my soul with thy tresses' perfume
and the song of thy anklets' caprice,
Revive me, I pray, with the magical nectar
that dwells in the flower of thy kiss.

She

How shall I yield to the voice of thy pleading,
how shall I grant thy prayer,
Or give thee a rose-red silken tassel,
a scented leaf from my hair?
Or fling in the flame of thy heart's desire the veils that cover my face,
Profane the law of my father's creed for a foe
of my father's race?
Thy kinsmen have broken our sacred altars and slaughtered our sacred kine,
The feud of old faiths and the blood of old battles sever thy people and mine.

He

What are the sins of my race, Beloved,
what are my people to thee?
And what are thy shrines, and kine and kindred,
what are thy gods to me?
Love recks not of feuds and bitter follies,
of stranger, comrade or kin,
Alike in his ear sound the temple bells
and the cry of the muezzin.
For Love shall cancel the ancient wrong
and conquer the ancient rage,
Redeem with his tears the memoried sorrow
that sullied a bygone age. 

Writing Poetry Is A Cosmic Trip (Italian Sonnet)

Writing poetry is a cosmic trip
There are infinite possibilities
Its like sailing a ship upon the seas
You never know what will roll off your lip
There are times you have to shoot from the hip
It's easy to write about birds and bees
Its hard when you write about ticks and fleas
People want to read what's modern and hip
Most cultures change as time goes rolling by
The arts are constantly evolving too
The artist must always be flexible
He must be like the fox cunning and sly
A poet is a master of word cull
He should not think can I he must just do