Tuesday 11 March 2014

The Creator


A word little..in which vastness lies hidden beneath.. The inextricable love,warmth and care.. Maa.. Your presence is itself a melody. Sugar is no sweeter,  I opine.

Leaning against the hollow wooden bark..I ponder..and seek Your arms, Maa.
Such deep rooted is Your love...Put it on a beam and observe it gets snapped. So heavy is the value.. Any gravity can not alter its dimensions..Even God takes a bow.
Change is constant, they say. But is it,really? Or did I just find an exception to this adage? Or maybe not. Your love increases.. Increases exponentially and every elapsed second is the witness.
The Sun Supreme wins against the leaves' sieve. My shoulders sense the scorch. And I look for the pacifying touch of your warmth which lets disperse every vagary. Hence defeating the Supreme again. And I assume this would happen a million times more.. perpetually.. till the mortal life's existence. You are The Power, The Creator. You will win. Always.
I let my hair prance to the rhythm of the breeze.. wishing you would come to do my plaits, plant a kiss and say, " I missed you at the table girl.. Let us dine together. " . And I dream myself savoring the magic in Your hands.
There are times when I commit a wrong. Everyone does. Your proverbial light guides me, Maa..The worst of your lyrical rebukes are darn more soothing than the harsh world outside. Yes, they do not bother.. At all.. They are mean. Period.

Beside me, a mother pampers the babbles and coos of her child.. The world around me turns moist as I stay numb to the inhumane world. A force pulling it towards gravity.. I let go and it dampens the page of my diary. An ink blot in your reminiscence.

A grumble of pang synchronized with the fourth note of the musical octave. Possibly the call of my soul. And how I wish You take me in Your embrace and croon to me that lullaby till I fall asleep...


Missing You Maa!

Sunday 9 March 2014

SANS IT...

Waves swaying on the brink..
Of petty innocence..
Of hampered bonds..
Of diluted alternatives..
Of ignorant bruises..
Of condoned rage..
Of tossed dilemma..
Conscience in knots..

Sans it..
Rumbling in the pitch silence..
Struggling through the storm..
Yearned by every unsung string..

It.. the hues of mirth..
A nascent beauty lost..
The curve evading rue..
Dug from the trench deep..
Wear it with finesse..
Let the world reciprocate..
And tread along..