Author: anilg

when hoped wither away

in the sand

you try to build castles

but this year it has not rained enough

the sand will not set

and the castle will break down

is that why, it di dnot rain

well this year

Why do we pray

Is it that when our faith

Becomes weaker

We resort to prayers

Lest our weaknesses

Echo amidst the high mountains

And lead to landslide

Let us not

Wait till the fallen rocks

Come in the way

Do not answer my prayers

If you so feel

But at least

Accept the meager offerings

That I have brought

Do not measure their value in the

Rays that sparkle,

For it will not,

Do not value these by the

Aroma

That may charge you and make you dance

On the head of the pin

That fell down

From the hairs of the fairy

Who you had sent

Other day

To persuade me to go back

No, nothing will

Really tell you the value

But then should

You really care for value now

 

I have done little for you

While walking   through the forest

Or the hills

Except gathering a few stones

From the river banks

Which might nourish your soul

Do you want to take these from me

As a token of gratitude

 for all the order you Put

 in the chaos

 And without asking much in return

 

There was a little pony

With a very big bell

Hanging around her neck

Resonating with her mood

And swinging in a Pasteur

Like a breeze

Which had lost its way

Not tamed by the seasons

Smiling and laughing often without reasons

Often would not accept the calls

Of the mender

But then she was beyond mending

 

Stop for while

You are walking very fast

Just pause

You do not know

How to walk in step

And then when you are left behind

You complain

Of your loneliness

When I will be not any more

Around to pamper the mood

Of the weird winds

Or crazy mountains

Or the streams with passion

In their belly

Not accepting the discipline of the banks

You will then realize

The subtle sounds of silence

That engulfs when a pyre is burnt almost fully

She is the star

Slowly fading in the sky

I am her shadow  in the lake

Placid and tranquil

But then you know

How can the shadow become longer,

deeper and

More serene

When I light a lamp

and float it in the lake

The lamp will not light

No mater how much oil

I put in it, till the wick is lighted

You are the wick of that lamp

Burning, slowing dying

Disappearing in the light

And elongating the shadow

Do you know

That’s the way it is

That’s the way it is

What can I pray for you

Just be there

Lighting the life

Of shadows

Which will remain dark

Long

And inaccessible

Do not ever hope to get closer to

The shadow

Its pain, only pain, distress

Of desolate length

That some times

Goes beyond the banks of the lake

 

But then star is still lighted and

I am trying to keep this light glowing

Feebly,

What a life

Neither able to nurture the light, nor

The shadow

And the lamp floats away, slowly

And slowly, Ah!

appearances are deceptive

when we think

we are posing questions, we may appear

answering them

let us listen for a while

whatever we have been saying,

who knows

we may not have to then speak anything

 

and then bury me, do not burn me

  

When I could tell you the stories

From the bed where I will lie

Not able to describe some of the characters

Who gave me oath of secrecy?

But whose place in the story

Remain etched for ever,

With impressions that they leave

No one ever really measures,

 

I will sing songs that could be sung by anyone

But whose words will mean

Some thing different to every one

You will quiz me, I will smile

And keep weaving the web, the carpet

Without having any worry about

Who walks on it,

whose worries are trapped in it

forever,

let me just disappear

let me just clear

my table of all tasks, all pending letters

to be written

and then bury me, do not burn me

so that by adding a bit of manure

I will let this world be richer

Rather then be more foggy, more smokey

 

 

 

  

When you were young

My sons, I told you stories

Of poppy robot, who could always reach,

Unexpected places and whisper

In your ears, plans for new mischiefs

Who could surprise you by his creativity and

Reach,

I also told you stories of

How brinjals could dance in the marriage

Party of potatoes

And all the other absurd things

That would ordinarily defy meanings

At least sane ones,

But I had never imagined

You will gift us the similarly intriguing

And illogical surprises

The behaviours that defy any sense

But then did not we ask for it, ah!!!