Pages of a book unfold.
Or the kindle-mate lights up.
Day begins with folklores old
‘fore the morning tea is slurped.
As the stories roll and stir -
every word is scrutinised.
In the silence of murmur
a peppery tale is diced.
The scent of the texts galore
with the allure of a lore.
Now is the time to slow down
for the hands of time slow not.
Let those dull bygones not hound
for after-time who knows what.
Why look for a cause to fight?
Life is good and yet you whine.
The tired limbs seek a respite.
This race has no finish line.
A smile can erase each scar.
The glass will tell who you are.
My days are filled with long yawns.
Bright no more glares of neon.
Those dusks that I so longed for -
come eve and I wait for dawn.
Bullets fly to maintain peace.
Who are foes, who are allies?
Nights are long for fires not cease,
and loud are the peace rallies.
Fog of war is blur but clear-
we see but do not believe.
To the past the futures steers,
and all we ask is to live.
Truth is shamed, a lie is praised-
now unsure which flag to raise.
And slowly it burns in the fires of pyre
the figure that warmed us with golden words.
Even in pale death how neatly attired
all so ready for the journey onwards.
Old memories blaze as the flames engulf
to wrap me in that familiar embrace.
Tears well up as I try to bridge the gulf
between truth and hope lest I lose its trace.
Often I feel the presence in my dream-
in the lovely haze I wish that clears not.
I wake not though unreal it may deem
for it binds us with those surreal knots.
As the pyre burns- I muse, fidget and fuss-
if ever a soul lived for a purpose.
Can you enjoy the summers
when the heat is on and long?
And snow with its cold murmurs-
or fails to tune in a song?
Do you enjoy the rain drops
or they fall hard on your heart?
Does the autumn bring dep sobs,
and spring seems less of an art?
All weathers can bring a smile
if your soul is not fragile.
Need an armour so these arrows deflect,
or get blunted by the sharp iron grille.
These arrows nothing but misery reflect,
and need to burn them with a fiery will.
They cease not to shoot from the blurry past
for fate has a quiver full of these darts.
Let them not find their marks and shadows cast,
for they relish and eye those fragile hearts.
Forge an armour - break these shafts with metal
lest their jealous paws put a scratch on it.
It is time to arm and prove your mettle-
you have the wit and the skill to hone it.
So fear not that spear that threatens to pierce
for its flight may be swift but fright not fierce.
