3.2.1Go!
The race has begun
It demands to run
Run until death.
Some crawl
Some walk
And some run.
They run not to win
They run to beat others.
Those who crawl
Are called learners
Those who run
Are called winners
Losing has no scope.
Some lost hope
Some lost way
Some lost zeal
And some are in disgrace.
Who are they?
What are they doing?
They are walking dead.
This race is life
The track has stages
It transforms people
Many are not meant
To be a part of it
Society has norms
Exclusion is the punishment
What separates those people?
They are walking dead.
Zeal, passion, love and war
Mere words in dictionary
With no emotions left
They are walking dead.

There was a flower, blossoming on the shoreline. Beholding the serenity of the seas and criticising the rise and fall of the indomitable tides.

It swayed in the balmy air and loathed the dusty storms.

It adored the sun's radiance and mourned the moon's norms.

It extolled the aesthetics and execrated the wrongs.

It denied the nectar but appreciated the honeycomb.

There was a peyote, living in the dreary sands. Mesmerized by the great dunes, standing like a tomb.

Relishing the scanty rains with much aplomb.

It grows its roots in the search of water,  many call it a coxcomb.

Such is the folk, unaware of the real beauty for so long!

                                    - Swasti Jain

" Poltroon " she cried,

While her knuckles were white with rage.
Perturbed,  she was while her father passed away.

Solitude, she chose while earthlings left her dejected, like a stray.

Erratic, were those times when she decided to unravel the intricate stories of life and not get bewrayed.

Lost, she was in the absolute beauty of the cosmos waiting for someone at the bay.

Soon, she realized that a lifeboat would never come her way.

" You're a stalwart , get up and find your own way ".

Much did she know, rest she deciphered.

And found herself flying in the sky of aplomb,  like a mockinjay!

                                        - Swasti Jain