Blanket

To most it was a blanket to curl in,

But for one it was a cape.

While the sleeping slept after their win,

The innocent one took on a hero’s shape.

Innocence makes the world so different,

For they see what anyone would do.

But their interpretations are invigorant,

Do you remember the last time you flew?

Powered with strength, powered with energy,

Power to spread laughter and joy,

The blanketed hero can avert any jeopardy,

As would any who knew evil can only toy.

“Add some innocence to the seriousness“

A conversation

I seek a conversation with me,

But I rarely can manage time.

So I asked, when will I be free?,

Some time during the rhyme.

Amidst all the hustle and bustle,

I found time for everything else,

Life presents opportunities only after tussle,

Opportunities encoded in the book we write for ourselves.

So take a walk and talk during the walk,

For at times you need to hear it from yourself.

Each solution that I need,

Is right next to me round the clock.

Walk in the Park

Something that gets us closer to redemption,

Is something worth searching for.

So while many things are paving our direction,

Let me invite you to the floor.

Knock knock, who’s there?

Smile at.

Smile at who?

Whomever you want to, it’s free.

The world is your audience looking at you,

Could be daunting only if it were to be true,

Laughing eyes helps to see right through,

Says the Poet who has no clue.

Just break into laughter and smile a while,

For my words seem wise because I do hit and trial.

Curious, each smile has one unique style,

Searching for laughter is worthwhile.

Who was that?

Surrounded by fields of golden wheat,

With edge of the forest as it’s fence,

Stood a small town with narrow bricked streets,

Harbouring nothing but suspence.

Many who went there lived the same day,

Uncertain of their own eye’s account.

Strangely enough they all lost their way,

When they met her, a mathematician who couldn’t count.

Her charm was perfect like an old magic spell,

Which gained the trusts of travellers she came by.

Her smile was innocent and meant only well,

And eyes were deep, beautiful and shy.

She asked three questions…

“Where lies the destination you are so destined to be?

For the end is similar for all. Just be free.

Do you really chase your dreams or are you trying to flee?

Careful, this answer is the key.

Close your eyes to see who you are supposed to be?

And just like that, they all ended up alone before a lake by a tree.”

No one ever saw her or heard her voice again,

Yet they felt estrange and rejoice,

Who was that girl and where did she vanish?

Or maybe she was conscience seeking a clear choice.

Unreal reality

Let us believe that our believes are wrong,

Days are short but the hours are long,

Deaf is hearing a dumb person’s song,

And the reality was unreal all along.

We aren’t whom we thought we were,

Winters are clear while summers are blur,

Each argument is accepted without any demur,

Can you imagine, Madame and Monsieur?

I pave the way for you to see a new world,

Unreal reality is laminar yet twirled,

Add a little randomness, let logic get swirled,

For that time it is just your world.

Let others live by the rules and norm,

Enjoy the wind and rain of what they call storm,

Just wander the reality of an unreal platform,

For when you come back, you will be happy, you will perform.

We will converse

Let me ask you about your dream.

Close your eyes and shuffle your thoughts.

Reckon you are witnessing images in stream,

Now stand back and connect the dots.

Plenty of pictures and moments to look at,

But very few of them brighten your eyes.

Well dear reader I hope you get that,

Nobody but you can nullify your lies.

Yes, things aren’t as simple as philosophy claims to be,

Yes, life has its way of being bounded or free,

Smile and claim your goals. Deal but don’t plea,

And once you do, we will converse your story.

Tea or coffee?

Tree in the woods

I met a tree in the woods I was lost,

Green and lavish with a little bit frost,

Seeking some rest and shelter from wind,

I ate the fruits it bore, free of cost.

Days passed as I remained stuck,

Fearing the worst as I questioned my luck,

When suddenly I heard, “Life”.

Said the face on the tree trunk.

“Neither can I speak nor run,

Standing still under the Sun.

Facing wind and taking on rain,

I provide all with nothing to gain.

I live life like life lives in us all,

Let me show you though I cannot stroll.

Your childhood is spring, while youth is summer,

Elderly is the autumn and absence is the fall.

However, those who fall are replaced by new,

As that is what life is, simple and true.

Moral of tree is not to scare or haunt,

Live life as if you want because,

Today you are, tomorrow you won’t,

Leaves may fall but roots don’t.”

Musical Muse

I hear music when it rains,

Little drops strumming the leaves.

I hear music when wind gushes windowpanes,

Trying to break in like notorious thieves.

I hear music when the living moves,

Rhythm of life in every maneuver.

I hear music amidst all the fuss and grooves,

Musical muse is all about humour.

Each lyric strikes a chord,

Sending waves to times of past.

Light shines on the emotions we hold,

Music is a magic. Eternal, natural, and vast.

Some pour happiness while some are sad,

Some are short-lived while others last.

Some bring excitement while some peace,

In presence of true music, I happen to cease.

Story

Chapter 1.

Ageless, faceless, nameless protagonist,
Existing only in the “World of Words”.
A brief account of nature and character,
Which the writer never said but you heard.

Chapter 2.

A recollection of an event that sends,
Ripples even to days of now.
Effects, either good or bad, from those bends,
Navigates the author’s pen as it ploughs.

Chapter 3.

Trying to steer as per the story,
Whilst making choices of his own.
Decides protagonist’s fall or glory,
Authoring the story of his own.

Chapter 4.

I speak to you says your book,
You who is its writer and its lead.
Your steps is what your story took,
For everyone but the author to read.

Bicycle story

Some memories from the old shelves,
Came across as I was passing by.
Without any effort there was a smile,
As for a moment past and I were ally.
On one side is me, rushing from goal to goal,
While on the other was I, running freely as a whole.
On one side is me, with clean and ironed shirt,
While on the other was I, a knight who couldn’t be hurt.
On one side is me, cruising in my car,
While on the other was I, peddling my bicycle to the stars.
For a moment I became me,
For in that moment I was free,
Amazing is that kid we all see,
Bicycle stories are for us to flee.
I and me, The Poet and the Pen