I strike,
I strike to warn you:
life is deflating in the sky
and flickering on the table.
your embers are dying out
to be ashes in the air.
I strike,
I strike to remind you:
make bundles of noble deeds
ready to aboard the ship
bound for hereafter.
I strike,
I strike to give you
a piece of directive:
heaven welcomes
the angels on earth.

if you love me
give me a blazer
when I shiver in winter.

if you love me
give me water
when I am thirsty in summer.

if you love me
give me your hand
when I cross the water.

if you love me
peep into my heart
when silence creeps  on my face.

if you love me
look at my eyes
when they speak nothing.

if you love me
love me much and I love you
for I love myself.

children!
this is me, Onomatopoeia!
I never surprise the waiting eyes;
I only fall into the echoing ears.
Children!
I patter in the ground,
and on the roof around.
children!
I do buzz when the bees
fly to and fro, over the trees.
children!
I sing something sweet
when the birds play upon the flute.
children!
I rhyme in the meadows
when the crickets chant under the bushes.
Children!
I am Onomatompoeia,
the sound, the chime, the melody,
all like me, I am a flapping butterfly.

Offer a chair
To the poor
You will not
Lose thy place
In society

The dullness of life
Lies in not enhancing knowledge......

In the dazzling light
Of the street eyes,

A teenager, full of dreams
For a glorious tomorrow,

Is ***** and *****.
People huddle,
Sirens echo and
Slogans are raised.
An old beggar,
Lying under the sidewalk,

Chanted and chanted.
Nothing happens here.

Nothing happens here,
And then spoke slowly,

He is gone.
Only her charred skin

Is left and her
Maimed heart.

Reciting the holy book
Is a virtuous deed,
But reaching up to a poor man
In the modern times is the holiest too!

I'm the fish
In your ocean

In summer you are cool
And so hot in snowy weather

Contentment I do sip

You are a poet
And me, your beautiful nature poem

He, lived with me, white man,
Dancing, skimming, swinging,
And his body overstretched on primroses!

On the dandelions he climed,
On the walls he skidded,
On the grass he slumped,
On the boughs he slep,
In my orchard, my guest!

With stealthiness-footfalls
He peeped in through windows,
And my drowsy-drunk body caressed!

He welcomed butterflies,
He whispered to birds, passing by,
He made my Bulbul, the nightingale, his buddy,
And lost in her mellifluous lyrics!

He hugged the world,
He hugged my soul too,
He loved apples,
He kissed the lilies!

Ah! Things are bound to farewell,
As time scratches their beauty,
And they slide into nothingness!

Oh! His journey is over,
He is going to the house of the moon!

Only I, with sobs smearing,
Is in the lawn to see him off!
O butterflies, O birds, O Bulbul,
Play the requiems,
Winter is going, dying,
Our friend is going, dying!

At this hour of solitude,
Don't be mistaken
I am burning alone,
When the tail is hopped off
Both groan in the grass,
I am penning
these verses to you,
For I want to know
You are, like always,
On the platform
To catch me,
Or like never before,
Have already boarded.
Whatever is with you,
Or going to happen,
I am waiting
To watch the episode
In which
You are hitting the floor,
Holding his alluring arms,
Or drinking a glass
At the counter
Looking to the door.
As you know
My dumbness
Is not numbness,
Or may be
The vice versa
Is within you,
And if you desire
Like a mother
To see her missing son
Or daughter
After a long summer,
Run and do the same,
For I am sure
You can't live
Without me
As my love as true
As waves to sea.

Good manners are nectar that allures bees to cling to them!

Snow in my cup;
Eyes keep rolling to and fro,
No blanket for lips.

In the cameo of twilight
I embrace the chair
And sit near the window
And the bench sparkles
That gave me light
Though she was gone
Like a meteor in the mist.
I remember when the bench
Was an altar and we would
Sacrifice the hours
To get contenment
And it was there
Spilling over
And flowing down the hands.
I remember the bench
The concert of my song
On her lips and
The parrots trying
To surpass hers
From the swinging cradle
Over our cool heads.
I remember the bench
Where we had discussed
The life that is just prose
And the croaking in the pond
And finally we had made up
Our minds to weave our moments
Like the strings in a guitar.
The bench I remember
Is the souvenir to my soul.
It is the beginning of Endymion.

There are two things  that makes a big difference in life:
Follow the path of your dream or let time make you follow any path!

Once, in an orchard, two great men, Prose and Poetry, were walking at twilight, and the golden light of the day was shimmering through sieve of leaves. Both were pacing at the same speed. They came across a wounded bird, fluttering on the pavement. Poetry stopped to see it, but Prose elided this and moved on. Poetry, taken aback, called out him and said:

Poetry:  Please unfold your identity!
Prose:   An intellectual man, very sharp at wit!
Poetry:  Add more!
Prose:   A social reformer and moralist!
Poetry:  So true! But it is only me that weeps for man, bird and beast.

Poetry picked up the bird and brought home for its treatment, and Prose continued his exercise!

Yes.
And my life
Is chashni
Till your dance stops.

The people attend funerals.
They visit the mausoleums.
They frequently go there
With flowers in their strong hands.

Who hears the cry of the beleagured?
Who wipe tears from the soft cheeks?
Who look into the broken lives?
Who prepare the path for walking?

There has been a routine,
A habit with black gowns since long.
Who will erase the word War
From the walls of their minds?

We are the might.
We must take arms against injustice.
We must ride courage and bravery
And **** the devils of thoughts.

A tiny mosquito
Sat on a purple petal;
The wind brushed him off
But in totally vain!
Come to see
The mark of his sting
And her tainted face!

Poetry is she:
With black eyes
On a white lily,
Enticing to be kissed,
Or may be, sometimes,
A wild buffalo,
In the mucky water,
An instrumental piano
Or The latest
Apple ring tone,
Appealing them
To download,
And after the job
Only clanging I
On the floor,
In blue,
The skimming kite,
The dream of the kid
On the roof
In the golden dusk
Or a drought
Of syrup
When mummy
Scolds at bed time.
I pine to hug her
Each time I see her
In bikini
Though on the screen,
And what do you feel
Is just to wait
Till you say:
I avoid pumpkin
But eat strawberries.

There is a new leaf
in my garden,
And summer lingers.

It will grow along with me,
Facing the sweltering days,
And the lashing wind.

It will grow along with me,
Waiting for spring,
Our surviver forever.

But it must a lesson
That growing is natural
And going through hard days

Lies in our palms
That always pick up
The choice of our deeds.

Hey children! I am Mr. School;
my temperature is both warm and cool.

Mrs. and Miss's staff swings like a dagger
and Mrs's levid eyes do the fire.

the cups of joys lie in the wide open
and the smiles jingle as the has been won..

Hey children! I am Mr. School
where you drink from my wisdom's pool.

stairs to the zenith stand inside me
and you need to step up to be the moon in the sky.

Cut the apple as you want
It will not lose its taste in another shape

Can you
Follow my philosophy?

If someone abuses you hurts you injur you
Forgive him for the sake of God

Life is a drab sailing on the dark water
Surrounded by naked trees

It's the festivals
That fetch blossoms on them
And make it enthralling at some stoppages.....

Once on a paper boat passing by
  Sat a little beautiful butterfly
          The voyage it liked
           Today it just tried
  Then it flew away in the sky

Boldness
Is not to shoot a bird

It lies in protecting the poor from claws of poverty

O little bud!
How cheerfully you blush
Thy tender cheeks in the golden rise!

So sweet and cherubic
Though you lie on pyres of grass
When thy face the young moon mirrors!

In the darrk corner,
Waiting for its life, praying,
It is soon strangled.

Piercing my skin
Perching on my lips
Buzzing in my ears
Playing on my cheeks
Mosquitoes sang

"There is no comfort in man's life"

Blossoms wear mango
trees to bid autumn adieu
Spring hails them with rain

Kiss is a coffee
In a cold winter
And a blazer
When chill is on.
It is tepid water,
Sliding the body,
Controlling all senses.

Do kiss me
                   I dream
Don't kiss me with your lips
Kiss me with your eyes
To get me attached to your true heart.

I was given birth to capture and freeze
The volatile moments of the world
To pick up the things from
the scatological lands
And from the pageant
To portray the elites and
downtroddens
And those on the pavement
I celebrate their happy occasions
I attend their funerals
I am bound to write their obituaries too
I am humanitarian
and the foe for the sceptres
As i throw up their    
Surreptitious objects and pleasures
I raid; i am invited
I am glad with both
I am blessed
I have become the voice of the men,
birds and beasts
I have crossed 175 years
Still i am in spring days
Nothing can damage my youth
This is the might of the pen

Don't weep, don't cry
if she has left you alone
don't weep, don't cry
if she says leave me alone
make your heart strong
and do stand tall
give life to self-belief
your pious love
will not go down the drain
another one will stand beside you
step up like a happy family
and like a courageous couple
she will then cry to lose you

In the beauty of the moonlight
The sea I see sleep in tranquility and delight

I wish to be a sea without any mind
and that never knows tribulations of outside

It comes back home victorious after the day is done
And we bring cups of failure that must be broken

Fearful
Of God's rauge
The gibbous moon
Peered into the lake
Looking at its own stain

On the platform
Leaving me alone
She struted
Absored in her beauty

The thickest smoke
Gradually goes up
Piggybacking the wind;
Soon it descends like the fountain
And the ball down the stairs!

I'm not terrified
By their casual thunder
That scares the timid pigeons!

Rolls of tobacco leaves;
You're born to burn to nullity!

He
Dived
Into lust
In the bed
Pushing her
Along with him
He thought
Good things
Bring ecstasy
He took many bites
Of her fragrant lips
And ****** milk to
quench his parched throat
But he did not drink
Red wine oozing out
From this luscious dish
He jumped up
And ran to wear
His dresses leaving
Her absorbed in delight

Grandfather sported a tattered blazer,
and granddaughter her newly bought coat.
they took to the solitary street
where chill was at its best;
ten couples of minutes rolled by,
she beat retreat and covered her with blanket
and he continued his errand like a young scholar.

I had loved her.
I miss her on the shore
As my guilt torments the soul.

At the soft touch of fingers
The tap gives in and flow ends up;
Thirst fills up its wide mouth
And other needs bring their buckets!

An old oak, boughs bare;
The sparrows don't chant!

The biggest pencil sketch,
But blurred on a grey canvas!

Then after we get dust.

Happiness smiles on our faces,
But sorrows burn in flames.
Both fade away with us.

It's our knowledge
That remains intact
and shines ageless.

Then after we get dust
It echoes in the air
And lit the lamps to
enlighten mankind.

At her broken wing
The goldfinch gazes and weeps;
The sky is a cage!