Poems on "Mythology"

Lucifer and Lilith

a poem by Poumita Paul

Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!
The third day of Creation
After day parted the nights
Before the earth bore the greens
With earth and the sea
They grubbed me

With his craft I posed
His glow I shined
His eyes I dreamed
Amidst the pearls of Heaven
I sparked
Through the Chivalrous Morning Star
Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!

Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!
On the cloth of Venus
Lay the abode of love
Woods crecered, greens belled
Flowering the seeds and petals
Revere thy holy art
O great Lucifer!

‘Eden’ I spell
The beginning, the end
The bliss of time
O first lady!
Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!

Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!
Six seeds I sow this hour
The fruits of life
The dust crafts oblige
To strive the beginning
From the end

Fruit of ‘creare’
The first to cross
Recces the crafts
Of their self
Their exts we craft
The ints they must
By four next
Lay the fruit green
Love it preech
For dusts to beat
Two bends in left
Shines the purple ‘humere’
The shade of life
Worth the life
Sly to exist
Fruit of ‘cogn’
Would not lie far
Three leaps to dust
To limpid self
Souls to seek for eternity
A five mahagonies
Shall fall the fruit ‘soverain’
A taste of whose
Crash the parochials
Oneself greater than one
By one for one
The five seeds
Would bear seeds
Of fullness in life
For the last reward
Hides in red
In four twitching hands
‘Plaisir’ it is
Dusts seek flesh
Devoir to exist
Comes to full
O cherry Lilith!
Thy Lucifer intrigue
Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!

Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!
O the great thinker
My heart on thy feet
May pluralities be by thou
For they seek dust in dust
To bathe their glory
With no fleshy exts
Thou may fall
What for me?

Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!
Written in cards
Five to pluck
For no craft with trase
May pluck the sixth
Creation sans length
Wouls churn the power
Earth rests in earth
Fleshes would spell
Aware, sensed, tensed
May spell me devil
Or thou demon of ill
But shall no craft
Be craft for long
Hail the spirit of pre-natural love
Lights bygone
Shall relish the nocturnal love
Morning star unseen
Creeping up the sea rocks
Shall kiss the beauty world lusts for
Shining bright thou will
With every ellipse
Back the venus cloud
Shall make love
With the king of darkness
Hail the spirit of pre-natural love!

Bhima… A lone warrior

a poem by Arya .

The mightiest among the Pandavas,
Yet scornfully called ‘Blockhead’ by kith, kin and enemies alike
The one whose moments of triumph were snatched away
Unrecognized, unrewarded…
His mother saw glory
In Arjuna’s skills, in Yudhishtira’s wisdom,
Yet, nicknamed him a ‘Vrikodara’
The one who possessed archery skills that beat his brother,
Yet, was given a mere mace and spear for combat…
The one who journeyed miles for months
to get his beloved a flower she craved,
Yet, she had eyes only for another…
The large hearted man who sacrificed his eldest son for ‘the greater good’,
But never once failed to disguise his bitter and forlorn feelings
The one who ultimately killed
The evilest and the darkest force of the Kauravas,
bringing the ‘Great War’ to an end…
Oh Bhimasena!
The second son,
Always second in line,
You remain the greatest warrior of all times…

(inpired by MT Vasydevan Nair’s Randaamoozham)


a poem by Abhilash Surendran

Were you the seed of ignorance?
The restless flow of vice
shows a pattern, doesn’t it?
What appeals to the eye as false,
often, false they are not.

Your wings are my blood.
designed to flow.
Crete was no match
to the stem of ingenuity.
I evaded the solid terrain,
and the restless waters,
and chose the stubborn air.
yet you, my own blood?

Fly not too low,
or the burden of the damp
would encompass all the burden of Minos.
Fly not too high,
or you begin to question
the authority of the one above.
Instructions don’t always make sense do they?

Fly high, you did.
And the devil’s own wax did melt;
while this anguished father cried
‘Icarus, where are you?’
I couldn’t hear your pleas,
you were in your own world by then.
And this poor artist,
watched as his art floated on the sea below.
And no signs of Icarus.

were you the seed of ignorance?
I wished to be the wind beneath your wings.
But when I saw, there were no wings at all.


a poem by Ashna

M is for the million things she gave me,
O means only that she’s growing old,
T is for the tears she shed to save me,
H is for her heart of purest gold;
E is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
R means right, and right she’ll always be,

Put them all together, they spell “MOTHER,”
A word that means the world to ME and of course ALL OF US.

The Riddle

a poem by Vaishnavi Prasad

The essence of Egypt and a symbol of pride,
For thousands of years its glory hasn’t died,
The Sphinx of Giza, its glorious name
Around the world has popularity and fame.
The body of a lion with the head of a God
Its feet enclose the Stela like a pod.
Days go by as you stare and wonder,
“What wakes this creature, lightning or thunder?”
And then your wonder of those many days,
Turns to awe as a live Sphinx says,
“Don’t answer and I’ll make your life blue,
Answer my question and your dreams come true”
And then this puzzle it sets before you.
This is it! You just have a minute or two.
“What has four feet in the morning
Two less not more at mid-day
And three it has in the evening?
Tell me the answer, this I pray.”
One thing you ought to know
Is that, in the land of Egypt if you go,
And face a live Sphinx if you can,
Don’t you forget, the answer, is ‘MAN’.

The Rebel Angel ‘Satan’

a poem by Hitesh Chandrakant Sheth Dr

Yes I am the rebel angel Iblis
With my invincible code triple six.
Like a robot rebelling against master
I have turned against the heavenly father.
We have serious difference of opinions
About how to lead world toward joy Dionysian.
He enjoys to destruct and kill
Without realizing that even puppets feel.
Like a spectator in a theatre
He applauds destruction and massacre.
My contempt for his ways and means
Compels me for attempt Sisyphean.
Now I have to out-maneuvered him
And foil his fancies and whim.
Uncompanioned, I will fight against him
And thus drink hemlock full up to the brim.
I will fight against him till my last breath
And not cow down by his menacing threat.
Let whole universe stand against me
But I will neither bow nor flee.
Unmindful of death, I fight without plan
Because I belong to the valiant clan
For which defeat is worse than death
And the greatest insult is to the bow the head.
Like Angel I don’t beg for the power
And too proud to be feed on him leftover.
Mephistophelean gods may sell soul for silver
But I hate their yearning for heavenly pleasure.
Even if you consider me as Evil
I am product of his own sweet will.
I Lucifer, am misunderstood by all
And blamed for child’s slip to prophets fall.
Now this poor devil Iblis
Is caught between Scylla and Charybdis
Of evil lord and his henchmen
And cursed by his apostles and god men.
I too want to lead world towards joy:
Joy that is pure ,joy unalloyed,
Bacchic joy of nothingness,
Joy of sleep dreamless.
My eternal nay to ephemeral aught.
My eternal ayes to eternal naught.
There will be cessation of pleasure and pain
And freedom from victory and gain.
There will be suicide of soul immortal
And glorious entry into inane eternal.
As mother cannot see child in stress
And rush to mollify his distress,
So shall my torture of his messengers
Will prompt ElDorados of immortality and splendor.
I know my attempt may fail
And I may be thrown in eternal jail.
Even my defection might have engineered by him
To work out his inscrutable grand scheme.
But I have inherited his trait
Never to deviate from path.
To always perform selfless action
Without thinking of fruit or reaction.
Yes I am fighting losing lonely battle
And trying to threaten him with childish prattle.
But situation seems to me bright
And there is no reason to panic or fright.
If I win, world will go into black hole
If I lose, there will be end of my role.
I know, in deadly game, I may get perish
But this defeat I will forever cherish.

Horseplay Horse Story

a poem by Jayati

Power of pen, manipulate
Bribe, postulant motivate
Family underground
Classified catty Kay sesame.
Cash flushed, spotless white, doe eyed
Take pride as non voter
Myopic arbitrator, possibly traitor?
Untidy stride, unhealthy mind
Feign to avoid politics
“Sure sex… but… also love,” elucidate;
Argue with pride as if for his
Great charity donation the past, history waits.
Anyone cares?
Extrinsic extravaganza
Poker stroke, produce open fire
Blurred vision on Ramayana.
Extramural scrimmage
Scribe, scribble attempt, damage
Extraneous, extraordinaire, satirical fanfare
Tease existence, appease conscience.
Commercial Banker
Pre-historic, presuppose
“Sex, crime, violence.”
Preposterous presumption
Sardonic prerogative
Prepaid preparation
Cathode desecrate
Cogitate hatred
Pathetic fallacy
Emboss animosity, fiendish
faux pas, empathy jeopardise.
Emissary emollient? Bulldozed silence!
Intelligentsia, non interfering, appreciate, non violence;
Priest’s advice to Ram decipher, let the horse loose, for bloodless
conquests. Naturally “Ashwamedha Yagya” written for or against.

The Lamb

a poem by Atul James Singh

There are moments in life
When life seems to come to a stay;
You don’t know what to do
And you have nothing much to say.

Moments when you loose your mind
Moments when breathing comes to a stay;
You don’t know what to do
And you have nothing much to say.

Moments when you are in distress
Moments when agony sets you back
Life seems to loose it’s rainbow
Appearing nothing but dull and black.

That very day I’ll hold you in my arms
I’ll make rain of the sour of your eye
I’ll take away all your sufferings and pain
Yet once again, for you my child, my LAMB shall die.


a poem by Atul James Singh

Christmas is always a special time
With the tingling melodies of chime
And the plucking of the harp
Gives vibrant music so sharp
The gusty winds passing the woods of pine
Sending me cold nerves down the spine
Like honey drops in my ear
And the sweet carols all loud and clear
Renouncing the birth of a child
Who was less human and more divine
An army of angels declare it with joy
“Down in a manger lies a boy
Henceforth you’ll be the sheep and he your shepherd
The Messiah of whom you have so oft heard.”

O Christmas! Thou art a special time
And I dance to thy music of rhythm divine
And from today, this heart of mine
Do I surrender at services of thine.


The Scripture of the Golden Eternity

a poem by Venkatesh Parthasarathy

Carry me down to the edge
where there’s destruction all around
time past, time gone, no time exists
a moment’s smell of young blood
roses peeking outside to look around the
darkness of the hour
sweet weddings, vows taken to be broken
windows shattered, glass splinters like mud
on an empty ground
behold god’s mirth showering winds in the
day’s sunshine
love is now, love present, love not there, not yesterday,
not tomorrow
the music and the poetry invites everyone
to dance around the eternal circle
all the creatures of the wild, the sound echoes
ages and ages…
ghosts on the rooftop, pausing to look at the moment’s
time vanquished, time dead, long live time!!

Dragons of Shangri – LA

a poem by Shivshankar A

The dragons of Shangri-LA looked at the mothers,
their eyes bleeding sorrows,
the children died and the men left cursing.

The gods left their abode,
the devils left their dwelling,
for all that remained were the Dragons of Shangri-LA.

The dragons spurted fire in to the air,
the balls of fire burnt many ‘innocent’ homes,
yet none cared and none dared
face the wrath of the dragons of Shangri-LA.

But Orion rose from the ashes like a phoenix,
he rode on his golden steed
across the seven seas,
he charged at the dragons with his magic lance,
the dragons left the dusty plains
and were never heard of again.

Orion then woke up from deep slumber,
he realised it was all a ‘dream’…

Hide and Seek

a poem by Devi Nangrani

How graciously you have given
The Five Holy Names!
And opened my inner latent shrine
To worship Radiant Radha Soami Divine!

I sit for meditation
Praying earnestly for your Darshan
Realizing that is the only solution
For the soulâ?Ts final emancipation.

The mortal eyes of mine-both
Ramble about almost daily.
The wisdom eye within keeps focus
In quest of you daily.

But what makes you playing hide and seek
With the poor soul so meek?
Has the departed soul to weep daily
For her Soami who dodges her slyly?


a poem by Gummadapu Narasimha Rao

’O Lord Supreme!’ Sparkle Thou
Sagacious and salubrious axioms,
On Soul Sublime! Sprinkle Thou
Scrupulous and sensuous maxims.

‘O Lord Serene!’ Scintillate Thou
Serious and sanctimonious sights
On Mind suave! Stimulate Thou
Sedulous and strenuous straights.

‘O Lord Sane!’ Synchronize Thou
Spacious and stupendous abilities
On Heart Stave! Symbolise Thou
Sumptuous and sonorous qualities.

‘O Lord Splendid!’ Sanction Thou
Never spurious and seditious facts
On Destiny Spirited! Solicit Thou
Ever specious and sententious acts.