Little feet hastened on the grass,

To the call of a mother,

She was her mother since those days,

Days of gory crimes the two were unaware,

But there was one man, who knew it all,

He dreamt of white flashes and red rivers,

Suffered a saga of bloodshed,  

Drugged himself to forget her,

Forgot her address to protect her.

On a rainy night he’d found her,

While her friend lay dead on her bed,

Brutally butchered for love,

An honor killing by the wealthy family.

He had loved her at first sight,

He had lost her at first sight,

He had sent her away to some distant land,

And now he lay dead in that poor street.

Could he see those little feet,

Hastening to the woman he’d loved?

She held her against her breasts,

Hid her tears for the man she’d lost.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Clairvoyant.

I sat and the woman joined me

On the wintry steel settee.

Soon we rose silently to the window

And leaned out on the cold window sill.

Every wall was damp depraved and dead;

Damp depraved and dead they were!

Itโ€™s hibernation time for man;

Time and again there was a madrigal

From the youth quaffing at the bar;

The ageing drunks sprawling as they pass.

But for this prevailed the great silence-

The conditioner of creation and hope.

Oh! The nest hanging from the naked tree!

Are they pining for a phoenix?

I glanced aside at the woman,

And hastened to the wintry steel settee.

Iโ€™m not gossiping with the woman;

I fear the trimming of my hair;

I never tried the riddles of life,

Nor did I claim to be a mystic,

Holding the key to the gates of heaven;

I was not a prophet of any degree;

But I will say what I will,

Even as you deem me a Cassandra:

Man was happy when he was not hopeless;

Birds were brisk before they were pinioned;

Trees were green and full of leaves

Before the leaves fell and they were no more.

They are all dead and beyond retrieval!

What now of our charade,

With hope for its key-word

And summer at the guess end?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Winter.

No people on earth has the right

To deny another people to exist free

Itโ€™s the Creatorโ€™s prerogative

We can only feel, think not act

Thatโ€™s not ours to do

And should this divine law be violated

No sacrifice is big enough!

Then does the Great Games stand a chance?

Letโ€™s for once do it right

So we donโ€™t need rectify history

Think what they did

And what weโ€™ve made of

โ€˜The land that flows with milk and honey!โ€™

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Tibet.

The living cease for you

And you cease for the living.

Then whatโ€™s it that you live for?

Few days into your death

Your house is no more yours

Your name is just a name.

Then whatโ€™s it that you live for?

When death has caught up with you

Thoughts you thought etherealize

Things you said become proverbs

So whatโ€™s it that you live for?

If death so unsettles you

Then whatโ€™s life?

You wish you could reverse it all

To cherish more those moments

Thatโ€™s what you live for.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Life.