I am alone in my house
With only my pet mouse.

My parents went to a shop
To buy my sister a wardrobe.

I am getting bored
And I want to be freed.

I am alone in my house
With only my pet mouse.

The day palace in which abides the Sun emperor,
Who knows not to despair when once fallen;
The blooms that flower as the fierce Sun's delicate followers,
Greeting him at dawn and mourning for him at dusk.

The star string that adorns the night
Like a diamond ornament light and bright;
The tides that whisper something to the Moon -
Perhaps a love song, for he glows back in joy.

The sky paper, varily coloured with splashes of paint
And patches of pure white and filth - stained grey;
The feathered fowl indulging in flight
And sometimes resting in self-made melodies.

And the splendid sea, a wanderer who, but, is fixed to her spot,
The mirror of nature, breakable yet in fact unbreakable;
The slithering creatures facing the wind of water,
Sweeping past other iridiscent colours under the sea.

All done in distinct beauty by the Divine Brush on Nature's canvas;
And all creations - being homes of the Divine Maker,
Being one as Nature - the beautiful maiden divine,
Does display a dazzling dance divine.

And as sweet as honey trickles the mouth,
So does my eyes as jewels shine wonder -
Awaking joy from slumber and lulling the Devil to sleep.
Gratitude to the ray that woke the idle mind.

I once stood as a young tender plant
By the wet banks of a tranquil brook.
I grew by hearing the song-bird’s chant
While lying by the great oak’s nook.

The sweet-smelling grass, soothing to the eye,
Held me and my friends and the locusts too.
For a little rest, the sun rays came to lie
By the tall trees where the squirrels did argue.

When everything seemed nice and neat,
Things started changing the way it had been.
Sorrow, in our happy hearts, took its seat
When Man entered the scene.

Driven by his selfish, greedy emotions,
Man charged forward with his axe.
The glaring destruction was brought by his actions;
It was all because of Man and his ***** pranks.

Man’s axe and thirst for fur, wood and timber
Did strike in me a severe cut, dark and deep,
Of grief awaken from a prolonged slumber
By wickedly lulling sweet joy to sleep.

My elders fell on and by the brook;
My furry friends had their homes stormed.
My elders fell on each and every nook;
My furry friends had their lives stormed.

Now the song-birds don’t sing anymore,
The grass doesn’t smell sweet anymore,
The squirrels don’t play anymore
And the brook doesn’t flow anymore.

I once stood as a young tender plant
By the wet banks of a tranquil brook.
I grew by hearing the song-bird’s chant
While lying by the great oak’s nook.

I now stand as an old dying tree,
Alone in a barren land wherein my life dims.
Fate left me alone as a witness to see
How it plays tricks on its poor victims.

If love is the term for what I am feeling,
Then it's too low a word for what I know;
For when in my soft smiling thoughts you glow,
You are the bloom of morning, the star of evening.

Like the lotus that blooms to greet the Sun,
So does my heart beat to greet your heat;
You are the Moon for which my tides beat;
So here blossoms a season of love in the run.

Perhaps I find in your eyes a starry night
Or perhaps an ocean, a sea dipped in emotion,
In which I may reflect, float and swim in seduction
Or may, in that night, delight in flight.

Your smile rises a Sun on my face;
Perhaps that causes your cheeks to bloom roses.
As a returning rose, my heart in itself dresses
And I, toward you, pace with an unmoved gaze.

You flew into my life as a messenger dove,
Blowing into me emotions intense with a message dense
That love is beyond words and human resistance;
I ask you this, my dove, do satisfy my love.

Amidst all God's creations,
Man is above them all;
But by the wars of all nations,
Peace among men had its fall.

Forgotten is the truth
That one God's children are we all;
And blood spilled did soothe
Hatred that from humans call.

Bombs explode and guns blast,
Hatred creeps in man's heart,
Hatred which can forever cast
Shadows of fear in others' heart.

The Earth, soaked in blood, cries:
"I have turned into a battlefield now
And as the cries of battle rise,
I see the dying peace and love."

Sands, water and air
As poor witnesses they gaze
At destruction's glare
And at man's last days.

When the blackness of night draws in,
I resort to my bedroom window-
My personal theatre.
I dim out the lights inside
To be affected by the light effects outside.

My eyes reflect the flashy hues
Of misty blue and pale crimson.
And here and there stretches of sketched gray:
And here and there a gleaming gold,
Or sadistic sepia,
Of the lamp-posts and headlights
That sweep on the dark road
Not minding the flow of mechanical life.
The edged silver is not to be forgotten;
It jumps in from here and there,
Steaming out of the replicas of the modern age
And also from the conquered Moon and soon to be conquered stars
Reflected off the more higher skyscrapers.
The silver of steel,
The silver of technology-
A mix of white and black,
A mix of light and dark,
A mix of good and bad.

Cars flash before me,
A blur mirroring the speeding age;
The skyscrapers mock the Moon.
Red, Blue, Green, Yellow etc.
The blackness of night
Masked under all the colours of white.
Lights and colours play their stage effects
The age is best to be defined
A flashy showpiece
That forgets the beauty of simplicity,
The beauty that is natural.

My mind wanders lost
On the notes of disturbed city life,
Wherein dims the music of the old good
Hope and memories
Glow like the Moon and stars in this darkness.

I stand stunned,
Just so helpless before
The sights of the modern age.

While resting by the blooming blossoms,
I happened to see a butterfly flutter by.
With fire- red wings added with a black tinge,
Above the placid plants it flew high.

The winged colours leapt from blossom to blossom
With each splendid leap better than the last.
An audience stopped to watch and listen
To the admiring silence the tiny angel’s wings cast.

As an added touch to an already perfect painting,
The butterfly danced among the dazzling flowers.
With its glory, the insect conquered a multitude --
Me, children, the violet sky and the flowers – its dear lovers.

Smiles were spread on infant faces
As the colours showcased their wizardry.
But who knew that grief would replace joy
And that the insect would meet its tragedy?

The tiny thing, when celebrating dance,
Fell directly into a spider’s food tray.
Not considering the helpless moans and cries,
The spider hurried towards its prey.

Shocking silence replaced the admiring silence.
Looks of horror replaced the looks of wonder.
But they knew it was helpless now,
For only God can stop Death – the hunter.

The crowd dispersed with heads bent
And the flowers were left desolate and bare.
Glory is surely short-lived and not immortal
And a fall is brought to many a great, with exceptions rare.