I see the dreary pile of water,
Puddle along the bends and
Clabbered onto the pits—
When I keep aloft, or do I stand?

I look down and I see through,
I feel down and I hop to;
Blowing adrift on the pathway,
Amidst the aroma of a chicken stew.

Inveigled looks casting innocent smiles
Shun me as I go down standing bare,
Looming still unaware, prying for
My source, something nobody did care.

That's when I siege my own hurl,
Sustaining my own demeanor;
I realize the hollow in me,
Plastered with nothing but water.

The last twitch explodes me to fragments
Innumerable, to the epilogue of a life.



Rowing amidst the waves,
Scavenging a newer domain;
An inner sanctity to behold—with a desire
To find a companion utterly humane.

When abruptness seems ludicrous,
Accepting what comes by,
Not in for a consternation to gain on;
But only somebody to rely.

Fate seems to defy the thoughts:
A mate to cast the sail,
To guide me with the magnet
Of a venture that refuses to fail.

Serving as a messenger; but once
Sought to disclose the mind,
With a gift laid to cushion the feet,
And a rose to find.

A rendezvous as subtle as it could be;
If only for a whisker,
Followed by messages innumerous—
And the lone me inclines to her.

Gasping for peppy talks
Amongst star-studded nights,
Awaiting a fortnight's moon,
But barely indulge in fights.

Scuffling through the autumn,
Blending through the spring,
Dragging through the summer,
The winter, and the foggy ring.

I could recall the only instance:
Her moist eyes, and a voice to breakdown once—
Too hard a shell that is,
To shatter by mere guns.

It did not take me long
When I realized what I'd found:
A bond not so easy to jitter,
A friend to whom I was bound.

Bygone were the torpid times
To have a cajoling cushion by my side,
To reach out with a button's click—
All to share, and nothing to hide.

Still my thoughts provoke me, disparage me,
For a reason that perceives,
If a single meet would bond
An inconceivable relation, like tender leaves.

Today, as I walk back the trail
To inscribe the span, the count starts
From the small to my index finger—
A genial reminiscence to our hearts,
The starting of the day engraved in death,
As if the graveyard was already set.
The end of a long restless night,
As long as a bloody fight.

The body and the soul,
Fight against the goal.
Body to rest for ever,
But soul to endeavor.

How long will it go?
Nobody would ever know.
What will be the fate?
Either death or life be the gate.

The ever-blossoming flower,
Got the last hope for shower.
To end the ruthless heat,
Like an upcoming fleet.

Just one drop to survive,
For the flower would thrive.
To quench the long thirst,
With the drop that falls first.
Before it withers away,
The only thing it would say.
To the world so ignorant,
For it had only meant.
A drop to survive,
But was left to strive.

Here it all ends,
Where the flower bends.
Just then a petal goes down,
Then the other…and all.


                                                                      
Man's own creation, one amongst
Said to be a clock,
Keeping time for the wealthy;
Even when counting for livestock,
It is the wrong one, I would say—
Time is one, no one can lock.

Time is what makes to wait
Anything seamlessly far;
Distances get farther as
The clock ticks with no bar,
Seen through the mist,
A count, matching endless star.

Sun being the source,
Track perceived to follow;
Alone it bears all,
Keeping time it does solo.
Clock is merely the tail,
The sun it has to follow.

It sets the way it is,
A path none could change or waver;
Soul it is to time
Replacing it seems never;
An infinite chain seems though,
For it may, may not favour.

Nurturing the life along
Stacking seconds for a pile.
A mass that binds life,
Happy it maybe or sad for a while;
Stings right through destiny,
Though it may miss an aisle.

Ages pass with each strike,
Never to return to the past;
Each seconds that is,
Maybe spent in aghast.
And never strike yet to see,
Has a strenuous wait to last.

Nothing beyond time it is;
Not imaginable, nor palatable,
Precious as gems be,
For the breath to be stable—
Since born it is the time
Till life ends; to be a fable...
Ticking along.