Silver Crusader

Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! – H.W. Longfellow

Entourage

A forlorn ship crosses the Mediterranean into the wild and open sea,
The waves too seem to see the face of the man who set out to be,
For with friends and foes and deliberate woes,
He sets out to greet the land, surrounded in the entrouge.

The room is lit with the best of lights,
Champagne and wine and whiskey to everyone’s delight,
And mutton and stew and soup and caviar too,
And then there is a murmer all around.

“But what did he think ?”, asked a lady in red, Mrs. Goose,
“Oh he says the lord acts in strange ways”.
“What lord, what words, his actions are insane”.
“Yes that’s what I hear, he is losing it, they whisper in the quiet”

“Oh look there he is, smiling like a fool”. said the prudent Miss Wildberry,
“Where ? What ? It’s all his luck and will wash down too soon”.
“Hello there Miss Wildberry and Mrs. Goose, I hope you are liking the view.”
“Dear me, what a lovely party”.

“Must I admit, it was delightful to have you here,
Please take your bags and jump into the sea.”

Sunday Mornings

A white gull passes over head,
As I sit here with my coffee welcoming the sun,
The sound of the chores have started pouring in,
Oh look, it’s a Sunday morn.

The tree on the way has flowers, blue and red,
And leaves green with a sprinkled dew dashing,
An eagle is flapping and soaring above,
The Sunday morning has already come.

But then what difference is it to the sun ?
Or the eagle and the gull ?
Or the leaves and trees and flowers, the dew ?
So nature, as we say did you have your fun ?

Creating the sun the moon, the tarnished sky,
The cold winter and the heavy summer one,
And man and the world and reason to some,
Who made the days ? What Sunday morn ?

Orchard

A fresh water spring runs through my orchard,
And hyacinths and daffodils sprawl the lakes and the by ways,
The silent orchid sits in the middle,
Roses red and yellow, hilt high,
Wave across in squares.

The orchard has mad blackberries and mean vine saplings,
Tender and creeping through the only fig tree,
The fountains are four in the corners,
I named them joy, love, life and time.

The naughty touch me not’s sit next to the fountain’s pedestal,
It’s a lovely garden,
Do come by.

It’s spring and warm and flowers all around,
Come in winters if you do come by,
I will show you how the beauty withers away and the fountains ice,
And stands in the midst the fig tree, and a moon overhead.

Nishant

Amir Jahan

I took an auto in an auburn evening,
Amir Jahan says where do you want to go,
HSR Layout, meter only,
My home is Mysore road though I will take you to yours.

62 I am, and this my four months young auto,
40 years I have driven across the roads made and undone,
3 sons I have, grown big and off,
1 daughter, a teacher, I married her off.

I have worked and seen the sun and the shine,
Can’t stay at home, well I am free,
I take the road and the air, hard work has been my star,
I sleep well, isn’t that enough ?

I paid and walked away,
Only to turn back and ask his name,
Amir Jahan sahab,
I could but help smile, for the lesson he gave.

Swing Nights Swing

In these nights when the half moon looks from the sky,
The breeze it touches your hairs and caresses them for me,
And moist with your spirit and life,
Comes back to me smiling like your eyes.

The stars peek from above, a caged bird,
Looks out helpless to the eternal world,
The air seems to be moist again,
What does it carry now ? Is it the pain ?

The lights shine white off a window sill,
A fickle, a strife, an insolvent face,
Oh nights, oh dark, moonlit, florescent bright,
The wind blows, earth spins, the waves crash,
To a chorus din.

Nishant

Oracle

The gushing sound splashes out of the room,
The lights are out, it’s dark,
And crumbling in this darkness he wanes,
With each silver from a different moon.

Talking to himself he sits there, quiet as the night,
The fan creaks again, whirring like a tamed hurricane,
Silently blowing his soul,
Wonder is all he can think is left.

What was the way you said ?
He asks, it echoes down deep somewhere in his mind,
A smiling face beckons,
He crumples the face again.

His heart twitches with the pain from those stitches he managed to put on.
The hurricane and the wave hit his walls hard,
He sits there and stares all through the night, away from the world.

Waiting

Of brown covered shadows and the evening sun,
I wait in this endless wintery urn,
Yellow chandeliers hang from the matted walls,
People talk, I listening to them go by.

I wait for that familiar face to turn,
To see if the eyes still talk as they would once,
To see if the roads still mean the same,
To see if we still prefer staying out of the rain.

Friendship is the only one,
That slashes as a sword into the world’s burn,
To save and protect and make us one,
To walk through the disdains of the troubled one.

And echo from the songs cries out loud,
“Together we stand, divided we fall, we fall, we fall…”

Nishant

Do you know a secret ?

In a lonely winter you crieed for a summer,
When summer came, you searched for the winter,
To wake up from shadows unseen,
To see through clearly.

I have talked to men wise and young,
Old and grey in homebound disarray,
Trust them if not me,
Trust me my friend you will never be free.

Send My Love To Her

Tell her I love her,
Not the love which dares to possess,
But the one that springs to liberate,
Like a morning afresh.

I promise no sunshine,
No stars no moons to my dear,
But mortal pains and small transient pleasures,
Of my worthless poems to her name, ever.

I know she is unreachable, too distant and far, like the north star,
Shining and azure of light,
Making me wonder as ever,
If not my love do send my regards to her.

Best wishes !

Nishant

Modern Sita

Ram for this Sita I was once,
Great pledges of love and lore,
But modern Ramayana you see,
My Sita ran away with Ravana it seems.

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