The Tears

The Tears

I have now but scattered dreams

Cherished with the broken screams.

I am strong for distant eyes

Far are their ears afar from cries.

I pile words with scornful taste

Draw my feelings in rest to waste.

Now I file it in a poem

To end it like a bursting foam.

I am with my broken tears

Dropping easy void of cares.

Pray this pensive mood last never

My tears shall run to flood the river.

The Freedom

The Freedom

I was put in a pot and boiled

With onion, beans and tomatoes 

He oiled and cheesed us as if with care

Dropping water as he smiles.

He pushed us slow but  strange and hard

With novice knowledge, a condemned cook.

I floated  in the salted pond

Cold at first but burning slow

Fellow onions choked me stiff

Changing yellow with stinks to sniff 

Tattooed tomatoes blurred my sight

While bony beans entangled my legs

I swum my way but never out

As friendship turned to a survival bout.

We worked our ways to  different corners

Cops like cheese chained us never apart

The lid came atop and took our sun 

Drowning us under nights's dull cover.
Our bones fell apart and identity lost
With blood and flesh uniformly at mess
We felt our instinct sink in a wink
As we shrunk for the final blink.

My master forgot to set us free

Praising business that  keeps him busy

He charred us black and choked us dead

And left us perish in his forgetfulness. 

My soul rose from the amber afresh

Sensing freedom quick at last.

He ran to us in curse of my smell

Coughing high with half closed eyes.

Quick my Master took off the  lid

I jumped out fast and loitered as lead

My soul ran through his empty room

Foggy with our escaped souls

I caught my path through crack in the door

Marched with pride in all neighbors' rooms

They coughed common in a melodious  tune

We danced our final freedom song. 

My master be cursed, I sense it soon. 

Heard it loud the neighbors' whine

We  looked our last and followed the moon

Left our master cook curse to dine.

Successful Failure

Successful Failure

Now I pull my gallery out,
Of failure and success without doubt
For people clever and ready to mock
The skill we run not out of stock
Throw me all your bitter-harsh curse
It wont paint my heart with scars
Do not hence forth, live with quote
You learnt long and still promote
For failures now are never the steps
Nor a success; distance or gaps.

My failures stretch like a blanket of snow
Success springs few with weakened glow
I be qualified if as example used
For failure for failures in me housed
I am surprised yet never at all
It is my but normal fall
Failing is my regular pride
A constant act and upright tide
If life be built with mixture of both
Will beauty find the texture and growth?

The Beggar's Cup

The Beggar's Cup

I watched quietly an old man blind
Not just once but always find
On the bridge way seated kind
Doubly was his life confined
Lame and blind his tale combined.

In haste came a gentle smart
The perfect print of Nature's art
He walked pass the blind man's heart
Stirred the wind with his perfumed shirt
Ashamed the dust and the floating dirt.

He flung a  coin with ringing sound
Missed the cup and hit the ground
Quickly did he turn around
Blushing reddish as he frowned
And caught my eyes on him dumbfound.

Did i say the heart is cup
For a man who can't stand up?
The act of smart shall timeless harp
Haunts his life with old man's burp
And feel the same cramp, quick and sharp.

The Moon

The Moon

From the crumpled curtain of cloud
Peeps the chastised virgin of bliss
To mock at ugly,  earthly soul
Burnt by sun in toil on soil.

From carpet of cloud she stands and stares
With blink-less looks and sensual sights
She sees it all at one quick glance
Yet crave it daily  for second chance.

Wasted in  her  maiden madness
Obsessed in her nightly peep-shows,
She sleeps through days in memories of nights
Her soul is soiled and chastity spoiled.

The Guest

The Guest

The haze and buzz I hardly hear
Of sleepy mosquito on his lip
I sit and wonder as I stare
The tiny guest too quick to sleep

He moves his lips with reasons known
And does the guest in same rhythm dance
Either of them be taken for clown
If quick glance miss the buried lance

Out he pulls to circle his tongue
In goes the head of guest in sleep
Dances danced but songs unsung
Only have I but reasons to weep!



(lance: spear for hunting or fishing: a long pointed spear used in hunting or fishing. synonyms: spear · weapon · bayonet · javelin. Lance=sting of a mosquito in this poem)

Death of a Mossy Mouse

Death of a Mossy Mouse

The lovely vale was covered with fog

Cold, wet and dead like log.

The frowning look of angry sky

Colored my way with filthy dye.

My heart raced the darkened white

Of lazy snow, the hazy sight.

I dragged my legs to feel more number

Above the earth of sick December.

Freezing heel with stinking toes

Landed hard on a weathered rose

Crushing flat the sheltered guest;

A mossy mouse in a drunken haste.