Picture on the wall

And the walls of the old house were strong,

Standing and steering for generations now.

Each mark on them had its own story,

Each pillar kept secret the family vow.

But one picture caught my eye,

A portrait of someone long-lost now.

An unforgetful face, even if I try.

Bold, beautiful and righteous frau.

So many emotions did the portrait portray,

A genius for sure, who played with colours.

Some saw her happy while some grey,

“Life”, wrote the painter, “every single day”.

It is only as beautiful as you believe it to be and only as dark as you see.

A Painter

Women are mysterious they say. They are never fully understood by anyone which makes them special.

Yes, words are not to demean anyone but to highlight the beauty of the mystery women carry with themselves. A similar beautiful encounter is penned below.

She was a painter who saw it all.

A Painter

Summer of Spain, two thousand and ten.

I see a painter sitting by the street,

Face so innocent, eyes so calm.

She makes painting of those who desire.

Each stroke has its own charm.

I see her eyes as hypnotic as they are,

Looking at children playing in the alley,

My table and her chair aren’t much far,

Her paintings aren’t anything less of a story.

Oh and there is a secret, she keeps to herself,

Known only to a few like myself,

What you see is unknown to her,

While her vision is the painting itself.

The crazy den

In the chaos of how and when,

Knowing or trying to pretend,

Juggling between tear and mend,

A strife exists between mind and hand.

Divided by nations sharing the same land,

Running in the false race of being the better brand,

Oh whosoever played it really should have planned,

Strangely we live in what we barely can withstand.

World is the word around which I revolve,

Since stoneage none could solve,

Present globe laughs on us the evolve,

Craziness of the den is hard to absolve.

Nightly Theatre

A story unfolds after a certain hour,

Devoid of a title and of time.

Reflecting those deepest worlds where,

We make laws of justice and crime.

Adjournment from the dark silence,

Ends up where we thought of being.

Mixture of obedience and of defiance,

Says the narrator to self while sleeping.

With no line separating sane from insane,

No one to know the right from wrong,

A theatre that delivers both smile and pain,

Through plays which seem short yet long.

Nightly Theatre which we see, has it’s very own song.

Short Poem #1

Title :- Wanderlust

Time and time again I wish,

How wonderful it would be,

If I could just be a traveller.

Beautiful World has so much to see,

Alas!, humanity won’t set me free,

Wanderlust both you and I.

A phone call

It happened while I was in the park,

Resting in the soothing shade of a tree,

And as I rested my head on its bark,

A call came from a number I couldn’t see.

Voice was familiar from a time in past,

Hello itself sent shivers down my spine.

“You came here, my friend, at last,

But where is our customery wine?”

I demanded him to introduce self,

To which he said a member of my troop.

“Captain! I no longer need any help,

But I do miss our fierce little group.”

“It’s time for me to report to station,

Day eleventh, March of Fourty-four,

You laid your life for us, for our nation,

Enjoy the soothing shade a little more”

eternal silence…

The Lone Star

In one of my gazes of the dark sky,

I found a star. Nothing but a star.

It was winter and the wind was dry,

When I heard it speak or maybe it was I.

Twinkling as it has been doing,

Maybe since the time before time,

It came down while I was viewing,

And stood in front of me, all in its prime.

Eons old it knew us all,

Every dweller on this Earth.

Said it is humans who fall,

For not knowing their home’s worth.

I saw in silence as your ripped her apart,

My friend Earth who weeps to me,

Time is slipping and so is your heart,

Allow my friend to live and be.

It didn’t plea nor did it threaten,

But told me what Earth can do.

Mother Earth who is now tired from sweating,

Is the same small planet we see as blue.

It vanished just like that,

Leaving behind so many thoughts,

But it was right, all through the chat,

Either be better or join the dots.

How far?

A voice echoed in my ear,

How far is our destination?

To a question whose answer is not clear,

I said, “Perhaps the final station”

A long silence persisted for a while,

Which on breaking asked about fear,

Dear voice, “Life is like a trial,

It can never be too clear”.

It further asked about patience,

Plenty required if you ask me.

Truth of life is based on the very essence,

Untill your last act your destination is to be.

To today

What are your plans for this weekend?

What are your plans for this summer?

What are your plans for future?

We all have heard and answered these questions from time to time but tell me, How often do we get asked, What are you going to do today?

I bet the frequency is far less than that of the first three questions.

That is it! That is where we go wrong. We get so involved in planning that we actually forget to do what we had planned earlier.

I know most of us already know about this but sometimes a word from someone else actually helps to put things into perspective. If you too feel that someone needs to read this, please do share by all means.