If it were to rain this instant,
I’d be awake for a view
From my sole window outside,
Trying to reach you.
The sound of rain,
A desire for a dreamy sleep,
I want to rest too,
From the life of busy intrigue.
Why now is there no rain?
It’s winter still with no hopes,
I look forward to forming clouds,
I wait in a desperate pain.
What is the minimum wage for learning?
Is it a dollar an hour or even less –
Than what a labourer gets,
For working through the day without a break.
Am I then a labourer of a different kind?
Do I have to work for another man to survive?
Or can I escape from the norm,
To be someone with a freedom of his own.
I think, and think, and think,
To find a single thread of voice of mine
Is this life for the concern of others, or,
To survive by just living in myself.
For then how can I express –
As I fail to be like those who have a voice!
Sad, of being, what I want to be
In order for me to record in my being.
Fly, moth, fly,
Fly to another sky
One that cannot be torn
Away from under your wings.
Moth, look up
There’s hope in the sun
It doesn’t hide your beauty
The glow of life in tranquility.
Never stop your pride,
Shades of darkest colours
Expressions to unsaid emotions
Proudly sketch what you need to feel.
Be not vain
Like a butterfly’s false beauty
Lasts hours in an entirely stalled life
Be what touches more than eyes can see.
Going up and up
Never look down or behind,
For what of life has been left is gone
Like chances that matter not anymore.
There is little of life
In every flutter of your wings
So be not ashamed to paint life
And spread around the joy of living.
I thought the rain did stop,
I thought that then we’d walk.
Under the fallen leaves,
And shaken trees,
We’d go for a walk.
At the end of the road
Let’s find a cosy place
To survive all our hardships, to rest.
When the night comes,
We won’t get up and run,
We’ll just sit there and talk.
We’ll sit there sipping tea,
And enjoy this cold night melancholy!
If your wish be otherwise,
Then we’ll meet tomorrow for work,
With all the memories of this night
Never finding a place in our hearts.
A Casual walk through a foggy wintry night, overwhelmed by a strange feeling of loneliness. The journey of the boy signifies his spiritual attempt to find his true value in this world.
The winter chill and the dead night
Only a walk through the empty roads
Sodium lights still guide me.
Through the tear filled mist
The old and the mighty
Keep on watching the simpleton boy.
Who still walks alone, palely, loitering,
The memory lanes.
Destination he never chooses, he walks on
Unknown lanes, dark, lit or unlit entirely
By street lights or a hanging luminous balloon –
The ever-smiling moon,
Still selling its grin from the darkened sky.
A sudden breeze and the clouds scatter
The leaves dance with them
Still they, standing by the path
Head held high, stare down
Piercing the winter chill,
Through the night still,
The boy walks on.
I would write
Or express if I may,
It might all be so childish
Still poems I make.