This loggish, hoggish life isn’t
What I waited for,
However small it lasts!
The million prayers I whispered in Your ears, In Your sanctum sanctum, I hoped, would help me Trace the purpose You begot me here.
Your harrowing silence, Despite my noetic turmoil Earned for my uncompromising, Humanist stance that Your attorneys – Krishna, Christ, Buddha and so – prescribe, Thwarts my bountiful hopes To humanize a few Before You handpick me for Your final embrace.
Send me, O God, A divine response Some mystic way To infuse in me The olden zeal To live by singing and Making others sing Songs of praise for You.
Isn’t this the coveted dawn
That you longed for
Over those long summers
To live your remnant life afresh?
Look, your worries aren’t awake yet,
Troubles seem relishing their sadist dreams,
Sluggish vices are yet to bid the night bye –
As if sleep has numbed them all
Until your weak mind infuses
Into them fresh vigour again!
There, the vibrant glow on horizon
Preceding the Day’s King’s arrival
Brings in new hope
Clad in light and warmth;
And the soothing southern breeze
Whispers in your ears plain inspiration
Readying you to live like you must.
Dither no more, my friend, Set sails forthwith, At this opportune hour, For, rewards that wait ahead Oft come to the resilient few Who never count their tumbles Until they start anew and win.
Another year faded
Before my eyes,
Amidst gala celebrations
In the immediate vicinity.
Another mile covered,
Closing the gap between
The inescapable Death
And my tepid existence,
Amidst the funeral rites
Of the dying year.
Before my hopeful self,
Another avenue opened
Luring me to try again
To script virtuous deeds
That alone can stifle
The reverberating voices
Of the impending Death,
Impelling it to gratify its gluttony
Only by my mortal remains.
An hour before the dawn
When I wake up
To write the unwritten,
Words don’t listen to my call,
Thoughts seem yet relishing a deep slumber.
This rubbish that comes out still
Must I struggle to compose so
That you give it a go
And may inadvertently
Boost my poetic ego.
Adorned with unresponsive words
Resemble indifferent strangers with callous looks,
Crowding the clumsy creative space around,
Thus, aborting a timeless creation
For its no certain sin.
A divine bliss is
To have your inspired thoughts
Lead you to pick choicest words
To wrap themselves in, for, then
Your Muse cherry-picks you to be the lyre,
For some soothing, soulful lyrics to flow by,
Decreeing mellow music to multiply eternally.