tears only you shall get,
being a poet
that’s what in your fate.
if it’s only tears
that I be blessed with,
shall collect all the tears,
yes, I shall,
and treasure them well.
the day when
nature takes her blessings away,
and life becomes a barren desert,
may be, just may be,
my dear,
those drops of tears
shall be most precious
gift of life.
Tag: desert
A barren desert does not bloom
My mind seeks solace
In places I dare not tread
A wall of vain emotion
It can not penetrate
Silent is the suffering, the
Melancholy of solitude
As bleeding heart weeps
Nonchalantly go you
And I wonder when
Destination remained same
But the paths diversed
Small peebles became roadbumps
Perched earth hunker
For some soothing shade
Alas, an elusive rain cloud
Passing by
A barren desert
Does not bloom
How many more moons
‘Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs,’ – W.B. Yeats
Rains have stopped long ago
The river shifted
Land under deep water, now
Caked mud and mass of shifting sand
Million moons have passed
Monsoon and drought
Everpresent harrowing floods
Curse of erosion, a
Constantly changing landscape
Amidst the hardship
Life moves on
Chanting and dancing
Music and culture
Living monasteries
Cycle of life
Constant struggle of
Destruction and construction
As the dragon to the north
Dreams ambitious
To throttle the life line
Turning enchanting island
To lifeless desert
Simple souls carry on
Oblivious of the fate
That may soon befall
How many more moons
How many more moons
Only time will tell
Image of Majuli Island from Google
This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Eleven
Weapons
Weapons of mass destruction
Ever lost in the desert sands
All we have left are the lives lost
People who will never come home
Only those benefited who spread the lie
Never thought of the damages they did
Soul searching not their creed
Weapons of every kind has blood in them
Everyone is aware of that
Anyone who says weapons do not kill
People kills, knows that without weapons
Order of magnitude of killing
Never will be the same
Sanity and peace may result without them
Weapons line the pockets of unscrupulous few
Eager to make profits with blood of others
All is fair in love and war they say
Preaching the mantra of profit
Ominous cult of mercenaries
Nations that preach peace armed to the teeth
Silently eyeing where to start next conflagration
Weapons of love, Cupid’s arrows piercing
Enemy hearts to melt
Always wonder what it would be like
Peace and love in the world
Obsession with weapons forgotten
Nary a killing, no more wars
Somber thoughts, impractical
