Saturday, January 20, 2007

Waiting for Love

In one early morning, in the unsullied air,
I saw it flying with all its color.
Touching all the flowers with its wings
Kissing them on their pollen lips
Taking some seeds of life along with
To give to some other flower,
For nature to show its creation.

I felt its blaze, I smelt its fragrance
The aroma turned my spirit grow.
The Flower was as if a country lass,
Waiting for her lover to land
Who will come and embrace her
And will make life glow.

How could she repel, Those romantic glare of eyes
Which saw none but only her?
How could she keep herself away,
From the avid call of life
Which brought him closer to her?
Her life was filled, when she felt his stroke,
That warmth, that affection, that care,
She was longing for. She danced
With every stroke that his finger created
And found herself to bloom like Nature.

Was she in heaven? She thought for a moment;
What a joy to be with him.
Then she saw what I saw…
(A butterfly) Touching all the flowers with its wings
Kissing them on their pollen lips
Taking some seeds of life along with
To give to some other flower,
For nature to show its creation.

She knew then, this is love…
Akin to the flowers she was also alone till then.
Now she is complete and also the flora
’Cause they got their love, now only to see
What Nature accomplishes
And how She shows her charisma.

METROPOLIS

People call it city of joy, they call it sprightly
They show all it's splendor but I feel it unsightly.
What a horrible sight of those lanes,
Those dingy streets! Has nothing but filth.
I saw them standing in dark gloomy alleys
Where nothing remains but only obscurity.
Those who stopover, loves them not
But finds them to dump their debris in.
What a fearful sight is that, to see people
Vend themselves to take in others’ waste
To make those people happy
In exchange of a little expense.

No it’s not a city of joy!
It cannot feel their pain,
Nor does it heed their moan
Who resides on the street,
On which We build our mansion,
Knowing not, where these men will live,
We enjoy our lives, yes We, the affluent people;
But how many of us are well-off?
When we count our number,
We are nothing in front of them.
Then how can this be a city of joy,
When most of it’s’ people are in pain?
How can this provide pleasure,
When rest of the lot is in disdain.

It is a city of joy for them who affords,
Can spend their nights in club, can movie
In multiplexes. Yes it is joyful for them, who can,
Can meet the expense of their lavish lives,
But has nothing for those who brought them up.
They are sent to the homes where no dear ones remain with them,
Only few memories of their brood when they were children.

City of joy, city of delight, city of ecstasy,
This city has nothing to do with grief,
Nothing with melancholy. This city is unaware
Of the troubles it bestow to them who cannot afford.
Neither can it provide them with necessary support.