Reminiscence.

Reminiscence.jpg

I ravaged the bookshelf today morning
Turned all of them on their slender backs
and out fell those two unkempt darlings
Their red labyrinths undiscovered by age
A rose for you, my love
and one, for me
(Poetry credits: Ananya)

Strike On!

Strike On

Strike on child of ego altima
Strike on with the force of your yearn
Claim your life and claim your soul
And strike on lest you watch them burn
 Strike on to free your caged soul
From the furnace for a moment breathed
A sniff of air with the head held high
Is worthier than grandeurs bequeathed
No actions pure, no actions real
In this infernal ring of lies
As one man’s hammer is another’s anvil
And a deceit wins when another dies
Stop not for the muscle tear
Deny the loss of blood and hope
Count it out and sing along
Unchain yourself, loosen the rope
Strike on till you find your own self
And carve your own fulfilling mould
Raise your hammer at the glory hour
When black outshines inglorious gold
(Poetry credits: Manojit)

The oarsman.

The oarsman.
(Nainital, India – June 15, 2013)

I wish I lived my life like the oarsman

guiding my boat through the stream;

when I’d steer my way through troubles

however insurmountable they might seem;

Where every tug and pull at my oar

satisfies me of each little job well done;

and the end of each fulfilling day makes me

look forward to newer journeys under the sun.

Indictment

indictment
(Kolkata, India – June 15, 2014)

Of all myriad trappings offered by life

I am but a sentient aggregate

consumer of my own purveyance

A fickle result of complicity and strife

between my actions and my fate.

Yet, you relegate me to an image

in an evanescent meeting of chance

Naivete, or hubris I ask

when you subject me, as aliens gauge

my existence from your cursory glance?