Intoxicating Soul

The twists and the turns
that move with a swirling flow.
The two roads that move
ahead with a strong glow.

Which way to go, which road to take
the decision becomes lentous
with each passing phase.

Then took the road that teaches life
to be more worthy of living with strive.
Be pure and tender-hearted
be compassionate and wise.

Life is not cruel.
It’s a cycle of emotions,
that fill our heart all over.
It’s God’s plan- to keep us moving,
to make us strong, to make us gallant!

Such is life-
be calm, be patient.
Leaves will be on trees again.
Make sure,
To make the tree strong!

Life being a beautiful journey-
full of heartaches, full of happiness,
full of nurturing, full of experience.
We cry, we uphold, we fall and stand,
we grudge, we complain,
What we forget,
Life is a journey; it moves on and on.

Who’s a Friend, Who’s a Foe, Don’t Know!

In the dust he was lying, unarmed, unescorted,
upon his head my gun was pointed;
I was eager to register my name among patriots,
his body throbbed seeing me in a fight mode.

In an utter agony he made his head rise,
his mystic glance pierced through my eyes;
Those feeble hands made gestures to pause,
finally, my demur stopped my zeal’s flows.

Eager to know what he had to say
in his last lag; What did he wish to convey?
His frail figure and blood smeared face,
were ready to deface my myth and to efface.

The half dead entity was kicked by my boot,
hatred had blackened my heart by soot;
What’s that that he wishes to say at this stage,
seeing his end, I thanked god I wasn’t in his place.

My curiosity for him, made me bend a little,
to hear his crumbling bones unduly brittle;
“What will I lose if I listen to him once” I retorted.
“It’s him, who’s in a sinking boat, not I.” Again, I retorted.

With pain he said, “Why do you wish to kill me, Pal?”
“Ask yourself, putting your hands on your heart;
Do you really know the reason behind your action?”
“Brother, surely you don’t know any sane reason.”

“In your war room if I’m marked as an antagonist,
in my war room, even you’re not a protagonist.”
“I don’t know why I’m being killed.” He chuckled.
On his blood smeared face his pearly teeth sparkled.

Just then a gun shot was heard, echoed in the air,
a soul was seen drifting off leaving earthen sphere;
In that bleak battlefield a deafening silence prevailed then,
a clay toy was seen getting mixed with the soil, lying all broken.

Turning my back, I tried to walk on my staggering feet,
carrying along a question – how to define a victory and a defeat?
A puzzle posed by a dead soldier will always haunt me,
and ask me why I’m into this war, why on a killing spree?

Is this rationale enough that he belonged to an enemy camp?
But I have heard we’re a supreme creation, not a tramp.
In this war torn era, neither the killer knows, why’s he killing,
nor the dying knows why is he being killed?

Copyright © April 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved

Tongue of The Wisp

Swiftly like a tongue of the wisp
it rose from the upper land
crooning into my soft ears
Wisdom of the yore –
Not all that comes passing by
attend to your life
All that lay hidden from your empty tomb
Resurrect a claim
Treasure into thy golden land

Saying so
It sublimated into the air
The tellings of His being
Trailing a leftover –
The carcass and my bones

Daily Routine

Daily Routine

Louis Kasatkin

The first thing I noticed about him was that he always favoured the bench nearest the ornate water fountain, the one at the furthest point of the park’s circumference.

And there he sat, every day as far as I could tell, on the bench nearest that ornate water fountain just at the same time as I was taking my customary perambulation around the park.

I was subsequently to ascertain that every evening at around 5 o’clock he left his office at a pawn-broking establishment, in the city’s old quarter, and would take the tram directly into town and go for what was his accustomed stroll down here in the park by the canal.

Gradually over the days whenever I took my rest on a bench nearby, I would observe this fellow and speculate as to what thoughts might be occupying his mind during his sedentary repose.

Perhaps he dreams, of a lost childhood, as indeed do I on the odd occasion apropos of nothing in particular. Perhaps he recalls long summers ago that he spent with his parents on holiday by the sea, days filled with singing, laughing and maybe crying.

Summers in the park such as those, from which I now I recall the series of incidents, are nature’s magnet for children. freed temporarily to frolic vicariously amid the splendid and plentiful lush topiary of the park’s environs, out of sight and out of earshot of parents and nannies.

And on that one particular evening, tired from my exertions and sat in my usual spot observing almost as a matter of course the likewise repose of my quotidian twin, I found myself idly speculating as to what he might be observing with his doleful gaze behind those thick lenses perched awkwardly on his visage.

I often thought that he may unbeknownst to me perhaps be slyly observing me rather than I him. But on reflection I guessed his thoughts were as far away as ever, dreaming of his long ago lost summers. It seems that we were simultaneously stirred from our mutual daydreaming by sudden sounds of crying. A child crying.

Crying now, the little girl who stood by the ornate water fountain, looking for all the world as one who has lost her way. There she stood with her golden hair and eyes of grey, reflected in his thick lenses;

And as he watched her he dreamt, of long summers ago, and a childhood by the sea filled with laughing and crying.

And as I look back to then in the park, I see him there as he lies beneath a summer sky and I am no longer sat on my bench but am there on the grass ,side by side with the golden girl and she lies very still.

Cogitare

If you think, Slavery,

Think of life on Earth,

Human life, more specifically!

If you think, Freedom,

Think of spirituality

Which gives you cues, hints, guides

And even gives you space to allow your soul

To be itself,

As long as your heart would be full of love!

If you think Love,

Think of the warmth of hands, as they tenderly

Grab yours,

Or think of rugged cheeks

As they brush against yours

While you allow your eyes to seem like

A tranquil river flow,

A tranquil flow hiding behind its fluidity

A pulsating ready to birth volcano,

A powerful one, mighty enough to shatter the

Glass mirrors of this false world!

If you think Desire,

Think of the glow of the full moon

As it shines proudly in the night sky

While secret lovers, with aching hearts

And with awakened senses,

Torture themselves in their beds,

Lamenting at their fates

For, they remain unable to voice out of their passion!

If you think Happiness,

Think of God’s words, those same,

Specifying that this world remains a punishment

That here, none is to experience the state of ecstasy,

At least, not in its genuine and its pure form!

If you think, Life,

Why, think of it as void, without the acceptation of the skies’ will

Without the surrendering to their guidance

Without the allegiance that should be there for them

Deep in the very root of your heart!

And if you think of Us,

Love, think beyond human terms,

Think of Eternity, of ruling Death,

Of establishing Holy rules, of setting fate lines

And of Creation being, for you, a child’s play!

Letter to Love

Life, as we know it here on Earth,

Is not that which was meant for us!

Life, rather,

Should have been that which we lived there,

In that world, which you have most probably

Forgotten,

Overpowered by the powers of Maya!

Life, though,

However painful and dark,

Feels so soothing with the hope of your love

As it lingers on me,

Imbibing me with the pleasures

Nymphs feel as they cajole

In shallow river waters on nights when

The moon can only dare to peep at them!

Yes, Life,

Is all about you,

Is all because of you

Is all meant for you!

I have been made and shaped,

To hold your heart in my palms,

As you would walk around in the skies,

Ruling and making sure the cosmos swivels!

I have been made and shaped,

For you

To be the flower that you would water everyday

To be the bird that you would listen to everyday

To be the poetess that you would read everyday

Merely because I need your attention

On the meaning of my words!

Life, without you,

Becomes a void!

The skies would no more hold their powers

The entire universe would get dissolved

And I, would pretend that I know not

That I have ceased to exist!

Love,

If you feel not for me like I feel for you

I would choose to die in your arms,

Death, which would then be the Heaven

Which I have been searching for all along!

Truth, a mysterious reality

amidst the vision of thoughts conceived and concealed
skipping away the time of paranoia bewildered
merging reality from illusion and delusion
converging slopes of imagination infusion

……should the sun sets to rise again
……….save this heart to feel the pain
…………..reveal no words for a sad refrain
……………….holding only for souls enchain

from darkened moon a shadow cast, only darkness to last
where even the fiery skies feared tale of lies
in distance site sights of emptiness and loneliness
unleashed the unearthed to unveil only for the truth to prevail

Image may contain: plant

The thirst

The smell of rain from my dog’s hair
The rhythmic sound droplets make on my windows
The smell of wet cement
The pink veil magnolias are waving before my eyes
The suave flavour that envelope the streets after the rain
The gentle whisper trees pour down my ear
All that sensorial realm builds walls of nostalgia

And I wake up fully armoured against the cloud of depression

I walk straight forward shredding all my memories of the lasts springs

I am thirsty, a thirst like only an ocean can bear

The thirst for the first blossom, for the first spade of grass, for the first thrill of a bird

The thirst for the original spring

Easter

When I was just a kid

Oh, the colorful eggs we hid

We played all day

It was always a fun way

Then we would eat our lunch

Sometimes it was brunch

Then off to play some more

Until it became a bore

When the evening drew near

Story time was here

Everyone had a story to tell

And it was really swell

When the evening was almost done

I always wanted to hear a special one

I wanted to hear the greatest story ever told

About Jesus and the way he was sold

How He died on the cross

And it was a great loss

But then He came back again

And once more walked among men

How He said he would return once more

He would come to open the door

We would be swept up

There would be no mix up

Believers would go to be with Him

For those who did not it would be grim

What a day that will be

When Him we get to see.