The tear drops of rain,
Sleeping over my windowpane,
A soul above must be in pain,
A memory trapped in a frame,
Lighting and thunder in the sky,
He must be feeling restless,
Because feelings don’t die,
The clouds are grey and dark,
While I hear the skylark,
Singing a dirge for him,
The sun too looked dim,
I was chilled by the sudden storm,
Couldn’t make out what was wrong,
It looked as if I was inside someone,
An abandoned land with no one,
Saw the old stains on the glass,
It must be his dead past.

I wanted to write a poem
because I wanted to test
the integrity of life
when life tests
the integrity of me,
indulge in decadence,
and create a travesty
out of society;
fall in love, like a skylark
does with his sesame seeds...

and it was not until after
I have written
did I realize
I have not written at all.

Its Christmas! Its Christmas!
The skies have early said,
As the winter brings the bliss
Of berries blue and red;

The dew that chanted the tale of his birth
Gleamed in the palm of the lotus leaf;
The flower which stood for his grace on earth
Spread their aroma to void all grief;

Its Christmas! Its Christmas!
The skies have early said,
As the winter brings the bliss
Of berries blue and red;

Loud and clear, the skylark sings,
A cluster full of joy it brings;
Dancing in glee, the tulips many,
Clouds and mountains too join the symphony;

Its Christmas! Its Christmas!
The skies have early said,
As the winter brings the bliss
Of berries blue and red;

                                                                            -Anil Kumar A R