Dancing in the Rains

Deep behind the branches, lost in the amaze of the transcendence of the sun,
There lay rest the shadows of those moments and the hidden fun,
Amidst all the odds, the gazelle was free within the boundaries,
Spirited, wild and free, ran across the jungle to catch a glimpse of the frivolities,

Laying off to the turns of the waves of the center lake,
Sipping the thirst momentously with the thought of a much needed break,
Miracles and the constant efforts of fighting the way through,
The game was ongoing and the sufferings were a result the chances he blew,

The glared bridge beyond the trees through the passage of darkness,
Contemplating between the inner desires and strings that bind the lives aimless,
Fielding the love, yet insipid, lacking the essence of the lost times,
The heart had become too weak to battle the self inflicted crimes,

A stray walk, crunching the leaves, and collecting the air as chances went by,
Laying the dead to rest, detest and arrest the thought to die,
The story had yet to be written, free to snap up the chains,
For he could understand the real joy of dancing in the rains.

Reality

Pretty much high to note that how fast the time flies,
We have moved too far to catch upon the butterflies sitting on our backs,
Love and the catch that follow after it are the turn and burn of the soul,
It’s just a phase, hold on and try to grab my wings, I’ll be cool.

Tell me what you want to say, more than trying to be afraid,
Pull my hair, and raise the flag too high to get me to the deepest grave,
Millions miles may wonder the journey we put to rest,
There are very few in this world ready and build to give this big test,

Picture perfect moments we've spent, to the jinxed glories we've have sensed,
It’s all the righteous and the absolute defined in the books,
So what we fought and cried, the crops are always dried before they are tried,
Governed by the love we spun, there was nothing more and nothing less to hide,

Strict to the love, spent under the shades of the twisted demons of past,
Cover and degrade the burnt pages of the stupid files, boom and blast,
Catch my reflection, jump and sling on the branches spun for you,
Fly with patience to the heavens, for our love is always true,

Bleached Soul

Jump, hop, slip out from that narrow hole,
those never ending dried up basement vents,
cracks and vents blow the steam out of you,
the drugs help them to widen there horizons.

Lost control to the steering wheel,
eyes were red shot and blood gushed furiously,
the white powder, a gazeless stare, million thought,
endless instincts but the small brain.

Destination is far away, the route is wide,
fuel is full, the tyres are empty, no air,
shaken stirred took on the wheels with a flair,
With the bold step he took he felt a new divide.

High, from life, from the pages he left behind swirling,
embarking upon a new voyage, full of twisted empty barrels,
got many blind and countless stares down the road he took,
but with one mission in his mind all these surplus he clung on to the hook.

With the sun overhead and the screeching of those empty tyres,
made sure he never lost control of the handle,
his mojo was way above the level to wrangle,
his feet touched the ground and leveled the air above his head.

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)

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.......