Time is a torrent and our desires wander immersed
In it, sinking and surging at times, helplessly.
Desires of an incapable and vulnerable life!

We believe the magnificent horizon is so
Nearby, at the reach of our hands.
When we approach it, it moves away farther
Into a distance beyond our reach.
We move near, it drifts away.
That is the horizon of our aspirations.
Where can we ever find the shores of this sea?
When can we ever find our rest, at last?

Promises written across the water and dreams
We experience during our sojourn,
Awaken when asleep, and sleep while awake.
How many different kinds of masks they wear?
To kindle and vivify the flame of desire,
Raging within us, and to satiate them.
When can we ever find the shore of the golden sands?
Where can we lay down our head for a long sleep?

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

Among the fields of faded dreams
When day is done, or so it seems,
I stand beside the padlocked gate
And watch the evening as I wait,
While breezes call from shadows deep
As willows hang their heads and weep,
The dreams of evening speak to me
About the things they want to be.

New born beginnings, new romance,
Scattered windblown flowers dance,
Promises on meadows lain
Feelings that they can’t explain,
Joy and sorrow, smiles and tears
Fervent hopes and sheltered fears,
Brought to me on scented wings
Those wind blown secret heartfelt things.

I seem to catch a gentle tune
As singing dreams wait for the moon,
And twilight strums the distant wires
To tempt those astral silver fires,
Until at last they paint the land
So that the dreams will understand,
That life is such an endless stream
And it will come to every dream…

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The dreams of evening..

This aeon is treacherous;

An age of strife, evil and wickedness

We see only masked faces

Turning our life into masquerades;

Feigned smiles, convincing flatteries,

Fetish beliefs, false promises;

All carrying a shackle attached to their ankles.

High- octane thoughts, high pitched laughter,

œLike the crackling of thorns, under a pot,

High-speed affability, pretending hypocrites;

Hyperbolic utterances, simulated snobbishness.

When man loves another man

God is taking birth in their minds.

When he starts hating another,

HE dies in the mind, and HE is buried!

On the sacrificial stone at the alter

Of unseen fate, the Time has placed man

As a sacrifice; his limbs tied up and

The guillotine may come down, any moment..

Truth has been chasing the dumb shadows

Of falsity, and myth always, in vain.

Time is a torrent and in the deluge, the desires

Plunge and surmount, rambling and drifting

In a quandary, as in a Jacuzzi.

We may believe that the quaint horizon is at hand

Yet, when we near it, it becomes distant.

That is the horizon of our desires!

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