"trishul" poems
She is the nature
She is the creator
She is the nurturer and the destroyer
consort of Shiva, complete source of power.
She is the breath,
She is the death
An eternal fire and internal desire
She is an infinite energy, in dark attire.
She is in Sudarshan ,
She is in Trishul
The intensity of black hole and awakened soul
Without her everything is powerless, even the hollowness.
She is in you,
She is in me
She is in trinity
She is the 'Shakti'.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 6:19 AM UTC
A thousand years hence, we lose our identity.
Never did a genius come for rescue activity.
Never had seen the world since the aftermath,
That deprived us of fresh air to breathe.
At some point of time did our world collapse,
With the forces of nature, burried as corpse,
Except the Dome of a burried temple, yet to be filled,
With a holy Trishul over it - so got another temple built-
The only clue left for our deliverance,
But became the means of worship for the masses.
Clashing with misfortune, nothingness is what we gained,
No one, better than us, can bear the pain,
Of being burried deep under,
Above which people now walk by, cars rush over.
Dreaming a barren hope for an excavation,
With the likes of Mohenjo-daro, Harappan civilization.
Ready to wait for thousand years more,
For the fruit of patience cannot be sour,
That will one day discover a long-lost heritage,
Revealing the descendent of an emerging human race.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC