Tag Archives: Poetry

My Bae

How sharp is my bae, like a shooting dart
Who can carve a place in her heart

To open your lips is to lose your tongue
She alone will speak, others must mark

Oh! how I prate in frenzied state
Let none grasp my meaning, O Lord

Krishna

A celestial figure with flute on his lips
On bejeweled crown a peacock feather tip
A necklace priceless on a golden garb
The Lord blue black has a magnetic charm

Avatar of Vishnu the God Almighty
Preserver among the holy trinity
Descendant from heaven for emancipation of humanity
For conquest over sinner the evil sovereignty

Krsna beloved revered and immortal
An incarnate enigmatic as earthly mortal
A virgin birth in an ordinary home
The savior arrived to cleanse the Earth impure

Born of Devaki and Vasudeva
Fostered by Yashoda and Nanda
The little cherub as he is known
Full of pranks the vivacious makhan chor

Krisna the 8th avatar mighty demon slayer
Lord almighty with names galore
A charming lover of thousands of maidens
Paramour of Radha a love eternal

Architect of Mahabharat internecine
Epic battle between the might and right
The charioteer of Arjun warrior invincible
Master strategist a karmic preacher

Lord Krisna guide and savior
The blessed one an emancipator
Sro Radhe Gopal professor of love and kindness
The Lord Supreme all pervasive omnipotent

A divine preacher of truth universal
All encompassed in Epic named Gita
The song of the Lord unravels
Existential philosophy and intrigue that entangles

Preserver among the holy trinity
In believers sanctum he resides
A blessing for mind body and soul
A revelation of cosmic maze and sounds

Hare Krsna! Hare Krsna! The hymn to chant
The words that enchant and bless who rant

A letter to future poets

To future poets,
Poetry, hearing this word everyone imagines a dead art
A Poet! Hearing that this is what my son wants to become parents rush out to stop him.
They don’t want him to spoil his life by writing poems Poem!
A necessary evil that chaps have to study during schooling.
Friends, you are born in a world which thinks poetry is dead.
You will live in a world where people might state poets
as characters from past who have no place in the modern society.
Believe me everyone will think of you as an idiot,
having no work to do; wasting his time.
Now its no more about future, it has already started.
You will be persecuted for your poetry, even I was.
I was an emperor living in a royal palace; ruling over my vast empire.
Suddenly I saw a maid, most beautiful creature ever mankind has produced.
I fell in love with her, Love at first sight.
I decided to marry, everyone was stunned.
Life threatening, guilt and shame were all that I gained.
I had to forsake, forsake everything that was regarded as mine
Forsake my empire; forsake my authority; for her sake.
That prettiest of all, her name was… Poetry.
Yes, its true you will have to sacrifice,
Sacrifice your respect and your respectful life.
If my above sayings discouraged you; you are not a poet
At least a true poet,
Cause if you were, you would challenge my words with yours.
Nothing! Nothing can ever take what was yours.
Your closest will tell that poetry is a dead art and you are its coffin;
But as long as you are alive poetry is in your blood.
You have not chosen poetry, poetry has chosen you
And she will test you; to know are you worth being her bridegroom
What will be your answer?
In Poetry
Your ancestor

Ice and Fire

His words.
Sardonic, Sharp and Stabbing
Replaced the austere, fragrant garlands of letters
That adorned his speech, felicitating me with the love he claimed he had.
For two months he waltzed me around the dark ballroom of lies
Until the day came and he stood there, hands clutching my hair shameless and merciless
And pushed my naive face into a bucket of ice and water
Letting the truth of life and the depth of his betrayal
Scar and Bruise me until the end of time.

We were like two pebbles from the same stone,
Both rough, jagged and deformed by the merciless beatings of our past
We rubbed onto each other, at a time, when each where knocked out cold
Alone in the frigid, glacial interiors of a dungeon called life.
We collided hard and fast, trying to share the pain and keep warm
From the cold, calculating breezes of pain and isolation.
A spark ignited between us, marking the end of the whippings of torture.
We let go of our chains, wrapping our arms tight together,
As the spark swiftly consummated with the oxygen, giving birth
To a child so fierce, so driven, as fueled as fire,
Melting the glaciers and warming up the frigid winds,
And burning out the wounds and lacerations of a time less pleasant,
Wrapping us into it’s talons, vowing to be our knight in shining armour:
A Knight we named Love.

Art of Wings

Winged art moving
Time as a poetic glazier—
It’s a music delighting eyes,
A dance that floats, stunning
The silence of eternity;
Watching them climb
Higher and Higher, their
Celestial robes having the
Precision of a mobile art
Gallery— I am standing
On the earth, while you
Open the art of an experience;
You disappear from my vision-
Yet you have chosen a destiny–
A white flame merging as a song
Of love, your breath now,
An ethereal cosmic whisper.