Thursday, July 21, 2011

Marching Orders

Marching ants, vibrant sunflowers, flowing waves of birds,
everything was not so complex as a flock of herds,
life was never that easy as it is hasty,
the flow of events turned out to be nasty.

Spilled coffee on the teak,
life was flowing at its maximum peak,
movement of every single entity around me,
could feel the flow of every drop of blood gushing through thee.

Burst car tyres, bent rim, shattered glasses,
life flashed in front of me in few moments,
mind has lost its synchronisation with the brain,
things have slowly started flowing down the drain.

Teardrops, like the perennial raindrops was a sight,
life was turning , running like a turbulent flight,
dropped the coffee mug, shattered , scattered,
kept everything, every second of the spent life aside.

Marched forward away from the abnormalities of those formalities,
far away in those jungles high above without any tragedies,
the smile was back in those peaceful surroundings,
missing was NOW the hustle bustle tangled boundings.

End was near, not yet close but not so far either,
torn clothes were better than the ripped soul I had,
puzzle was complete so was the destiny's marching orders,
it could have been easy if those sane moments could've been pondered.

"Mortals block their emotions in such a way as,
Birds flock their feathers in a motion."
--Nishant (19/01/11)

Fools Gold

The inner feelings of a funny man,
running desires of virtual dream land
blindly following the sandstones of that desert
He could feel the orange sky overhead.

While they wondered he could imagine all the fabrics beneath him,

slowly and slowly running down that stream,
blood was so pure he could feel it reach the shore,
Gushing through the last hole of his body through a benign force.

thrived for that last breath of the air, 

freedom was all he could imagine in that air, 
all he could see in the sky was that image, 
blindly following the figure of the unfolded sinner.

Desperately seeking the advice of the deep beneath the unrest,

hide himself from the creepy crawlies in that shady forest.
Met a man who taught him to fight,
and the man joined the forces to ward off his plight

trained with the rest of them to fight,

came out with brave laurels and worthy sights,
got appointed as the leader of the troop,
with this early rise he marched forward for the route.

Shinning down that glory road of the jubilant movement,

we march towards that road to freedom,
follow me soldiers ill lead you to glory,
as the sun shone there was no one to stop them getting victory.

Wonders and surprises that carried there way,

the prizes and the loots they merried away,
were not enough for the sole souls of the dead bearers,
there wasnt a single one who felt his soul lighter,

The captain asked his men is anything left,

they were all so greedy that wanted one more theft,
the tavern they looted was nothing mere than a rotten ,
there find was just some books and leaves which carried a curse.

He lost men for every road they travelled,

it was the work of the curse that made every stone a gravel,
carried the dead soul on his burden,
without food and water every step seemed a hurdle.

Reached the end of the route and found that old man with his flute,

Said the old man with utmost wisdom,
cut loose the greed and the curse would be freed,
blinded by the greedy motivation, he found it a hard inspiration.

With the blow of the air in the flute,

the magical old man, brought back the miserable past of the destitute brute,
realised the effect of the events , the loner , the wanderer,
gave back the loot and set himself free from the greedy truth.

The Fragile Cocoon

To be born free or dead alive,
the uncanny mortal won't be free,
from those unwanted parodies,
time won't freeze neither his formalities.

Unrest his feet touch the ground every time he is in the air,
blindly following the instincts of his basic needs,
he develops an unwanted mystical flair,
covering them under his rusted deeds on which he feeds his greed.

Passion driven his desires uncover his calls for success,
throughout the way wanting unlimited access,
access to things he wants to lay his hands on,
were frozen beyond his high rise emotions.

The words were written as deep on the stone,
he was not the king sitting on the throne,
the sooner he could realize the better he could digest the fact,
he was just another of the god's made draft.

Death is not the end of the journey,
neither the life is the complete road,
there is a long highway one has to board,
death is just a tunnel between the life and the highway.

"Paradise built upon the fiery eyes wide dreams,
tend to end numerously in shouts and screams."
---Nishant (18/01/11)

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Utopic Illusions of a Baby

Rain drops scatter my imaginations around the blades of the windmill,
They slowly churn away the wind as they sway away under their flawless motion,
The drops trickle down the blades as a magical potion,
These small prisms spread themselves throughout the greens as a free will.

Blends under the shadow of the trees,
Those finest dried leaves those are free,
Crushed under the finest whispers of laughter,
They find themselves deep beneath the graves of thee dead.

Undone by his deeds, found a way to freedom,
Broke those chains to move him away from the boredom,
Wandered to new horizons in search for new sensations
He had a motive to fulfill his life's frustrations

Sleep deprived, rumbling, rustling walking alone in the streets,
Was a man, with no desire, desire for success,
Under the ever moving sky was his never moving head down,
Just to find those crushed leaves bringing them back to the ground.

Anonymously carried himself through the hustle of the towns
Realized beneath the shade of the happiness there were many convincing frowns
Simplified his emotions to meet the needs of the protest,
Walking down those materialistic streets was just like a test

Surreal yet it may seem, deemed as crazy by the rest,
His demeanor was as hard as a rock,
For the miles forged under his feet he had to bear many shocks
Closure, without the joy or pain, he painted his road to his identity

The final destiny, the final moment, magical
Yet it may seem, was his final frontier, yet so simple
Utopia, his elixir of life, which he kept searching for,
Happiness and sorrow kept burdening him all the way along,
Yet he found a way to move on and on and on.......