606

The Trees like Tassels—hit—and swung—
There seemed to rise a Tune
From Miniature Creatures
Accompanying the Sun—

Far Psalteries of Summer—
Enamoring the Ear
They never yet did satisfy—
Remotest—when most fair

The Sun shone whole at intervals—
Then Half—then utter hid—
As if Himself were optional
And had Estates of Cloud

Sufficient to enfold Him
Eternally from view—
Except it were a whim of His
To let the Orchards grow—

A Bird sat careless on the fence—
One gossipped in the Lane
On silver matters charmed a Snake
Just winding round a Stone—

Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
Like Hindered Flags—Sweet hoisted—
With Spices—in the Hem—

’Twas more—I cannot mention—
How mean—to those that see—
Vandyke’s Delineation
Of Nature’s—Summer Day!

Can anybody tell me what is Right with this world?
Even those in church refuse to budge or curse
The evil that is inside - man, woman, boy, girl

I for one, attest
That sin is at my breast
As I abandon my shame to a wicked, nasty tongue

Still I would never judge
Should plagues beckon at my door
While windows open - close no more

I've never gossipped in such a way
That threatens to destroy all a person's trust
Seemingly in righteousness, your barb has now been ******

Onto the canvas that was my soul
Now shattered, as if it never mattered
In twisted torment, in the name of your holy robe.

Minstrel, what have you to do
With this man that, after you,
Sharing not your happy fate,
Sat as England’s Laureate?
Vainly, in these iron days,
Strives the poet in your praise,
Minstrel, by whose singing side
Beauty walked, until you died.

Still, though none should hark again,
Drones the blue-fly in the pane,
Thickly crusts the blackest moss,
Blows the rose its musk across,
Floats the boat that is forgot
None the less to Camelot.

Many a bard’s untimely death
Lends unto his verses breath;
Here’s a song was never sung:
Growing old is dying young.
Minstrel, what is this to you:
That a man you never knew,
When your grave was far and green,
Sat and gossipped with a queen?

Thalia knows how rare a thing
Is it, to grow old and sing;
When a brown and tepid tide
Closes in on every side.
Who shall say if Shelley’s gold
Had withstood it to grow old?

I met her above the hill as a boy
     far away from the Reality
    I thought  it would be easy
    I thought it would  be simple
            but not the society /
   And it went on ,days were  
                passing like a
    brook into the far woods
She was like that story book   
               I loved to read
    loved to flip her pages even  
                      when
             I used to sleep //
she was like that  baby whom I    
                 like a mother
      loved to cuddle even after
        hundred sleepless nights
            But did the society?
One day she said she belonged to
               a different faith,
  though I never read it on her
                        face,
            I never learnt it
         when we gossipped
      possibly it was our fate
may be we were not  for each   
              other mate !
till that date we have never met
till that day every moment I hardly  
                      spent
God never made the barriers,
                    we did
   God never created religions 
               Society did //
     If I get those days  back again.    
                and I wish
I was not that high school lil Jack,
   I promise  I wanna ask myself
why did not you say anything at    
                   her face?
    why did I accept that as  
                    my fate !
I want to know are you happy  
     are you ok with all those    
                 prejudices,
    with all those myths and.    
                 blatant lies,
   that has nothing to do with us    
                   my friend //
   Then I realized its not that simple
   because you and I , we all belong to
              this Cruel society
     where still some mugs live/
    with their long straucht arms
        to condemn you and me,  
   to outcast my you and your me
    Still I want to ask you dear
why could not you dare to ask
     if not them atleast to me
   it was  really  you or your me
    that asked me to leave ? maybe
its the  differences that told us to  
       apart or  its the society who
               played her tricks,
  to safeguard her  status-quo and  
                   age-old bricks //
    I wish We  had been born
              as adam and Eve,
    I hope  we were  born in that
                        society,
     where hardly any differences
                         exist
this mismatch is nothing only the    
                icebergs' tip
      differences are more than
       that we could ever think
  God has not set the barriers we did,
                 you and I did //

finest energy
has golden sparks of dancing light
sparkling in what seems to be empty space
scent of rose
tells me
lies don't matter
who do the liars confuse?
ultimately they burden themselves
they damaged me
but those wounds are surface
I show that surface
what is inside
is made of
solid
Gold
cannot be bought or sold
though it does exit the bag of bones I inhabit
when I leave
call it
my key to the kingdom
I thought the women foolish, sad their husbands and musicians made them look so uninformed and petty minded.
One question if nothing happened
why was the 'mental mary' pushed back before she spoke up?
the knots guilty were knot aware of an incident that they gossipped about for years, suddenly its a figment of her imagination
knot bothered,
again, who are they trying to convince?
themselves?
i don't know why I cry
I'm not concerned about me,
I'm concerned about your lack of concern for yourselves, your family,  for lack of knowledge of the Divine , for truth, justice and how far you have all fallen from that.
I'm crying for all my fallen hereos