On Airplanes

The tramp looked up at the sky,

Dreaming of the clouds, hoping to fly.

Right then he noticed a shooting star,

With a blinking tail, like God’s own car.

He began to follow God’s promise

With an epiphany, he felt destiny’s kiss.

A delirium tremens he entered, pranced with the sun,

His ears bellowed with heavenly surges, all was said and done.

Never had the mighty clouds, been so easily ushered and caressed to exhibit a perfect pattern,

Never before had the mountains, insurmountable, that only people had dreamt to scale, glistened before the sun like a lantern.

A view so delirious, could only be so cinematic, he wondered,

An intercourse of the sky’s horizon and the city lights was resplendent, he concurred.

And just when it seemed he would never be the same again,

His dream ended, and landed, God’s gift to mankind , the airplane.

It is  never too late to dream, to scrape the skies for glory, to be an airplane. Wait not for shooting stars.

Rest In Peace

The gong sounds, the lights fade.

Darkness beckons, joys evade.

All hope of convalescence is dying,

Heaven smiles while the earth is crying.

For what becomes of a soul so powerful and adept,

That even God, is petrified, derelict and inept.

Into the abyss that engulfs every living soul,

That has no language, no dialect, no creole.

There isn’t a shadow of guilt, no dwindling remorse,

For even the mighty are betrothed to death ,even the Romans and the Norse.

We can be svelte in solitude, and as firm as a boulder,

For in times of despair, each one needs a warm shoulder.

As death condescends on a life of joys and glees,

I only pray my love, may your soul rest in peace.

Dedicated to my grandfather who passed away last year.

On Significance

Everything statistically significant needn’t be significantly correct,

We are told repeatedly, what we know, we realize in retrospect.

Our world lies in an array of disarray, of significant lies.

And we, bound significantly in our web of doom, fail to realize,

We may be allergic to the counterfeit, significantly articulate,

But however tough we may seem, we are significantly delicate.

Our significant existence may seem insignificant to the masses.

But it does make a significant statistic to other backward classes.

We interpret as we are made to see, significantly gullible,

We interpret our decay, as we see it, significantly tenable.

Our education seems significantly poised in shreds of insecurity,

That we may see tomorrow, it is significant question of ambiguity.

We elude the man behind the mask, significantly hidden,

That we may don that mask soon, is a significant fate ill-ridden.

The voice of the people, the march of a nation towards significance,

Seems lost between our aspiration, our significant pledge to eminence.

River Of January

I had to inscribe this hymn of perpetuity,

To mirror the epitome of all eternity.

There is a river that meanders relentlessly, along the highlands,

Sprouting and prancing to the tunes of the marching kilted bands.

The River Of January, flowing for one month in the year,

Giving hope to faith, love to hate, valour to fear.

However, this ecstasy and zest is transitory,

The rest of the months, the earth spins into ignominy.