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THE STORM


Right before my very eyes,
A storm gathers every day.
Hell breaks loose, vultures feast,
Little birds get trapped.
I do nothing but walk away.
Courage eludes me, fear numbs me.
I try to save my skin,
Yet the aftermath haunts me,
Nags me, reminds me of
The blatant display of cowardice.
Nests break, hopes shatter.
Before they pick themselves up,
A new storm gathers.

Comments

RiĆ  said…
I could picture it while i read it.
Saru Singhal said…
Lovely. Loved the way you weaved the poem around storm, though symbolic.:)

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I cannot remember my mother,
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a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
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I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
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~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
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Another journey, another dry spell. 
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P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017 


WAITING FOR YOU

Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.