fight

the sky had an uproar,
conflicts thundered, not clouds.
it was a fight of importance, betwixt the moon and the sun,
the tranquility of sky, all pierced.
neither the moon nor the sun bothered, they only seeked their distinction,
chasing a vote of distinction, they moved to the wind,
alas! they engaged in futile arrogation.
the wind placed its bias for the sun,
as it collected praises only when it blew to soak sweat.
enraged, the moon barged in the cluster of stars,
and ferrying a cluster of votes, the moon emerged the winner,
when a loud cry echoed and the sky looked down,
chaos had strewn all over
and Earth was a mess
with no day and no night, earth lost its distinction in the galaxy,
and monotony engulfed the 'blue planet'.
the remorseful sun shone bright,
and the penitent moon faded to return back.
they lost, they both lost for the win of good will.

priority

they were the days of mollifying glances,
their eyes would look through and then sideways,
heart pumping out loud,
florid cheeks divulging the mental state.
love was true, souls were pure,
so destiny intertwined their paths.
those destined accidental nudges pushed them to a world of dreams, dreams of their clasped selves.
a brief and cagey written proposal from him inspired their bond.
years passed and seasons flipped,
but their world, a world where love flew, love flowed, love sung, love prayed, love acted and love danced, was still.
they were content, together with each other,
when he espied his priorites and he trailed them over her.
he died in the world of love,  he ended everything.

he still yearns for his love,
the love that held him palpable,
but the love, he erred to end.
their love didn't suffuse
and the world of love remains in solitude.

habit

Yes, I am tired of failing once and more. I loathe myself for being alike the weak leaves that come to ground in the face of a strong wind, they don't even show any strength to hold back, to survive the blow. Now, I am too effete to confront any nonsuccess. You saw, I wrote nonsuccess? I am too obsessed to succeed.  Every time I venture out to succeed, my cloud of past failures besiege me and I also allow them, just like the weak leaves, no resistance, no strength. And then, I wait for a new day, a new sun to commence my success re-run. The left day, I drink my failure, I immerse in it and alas, i am always soluble. I never learn from my failures,  I never decode them, I just accept them.  Actually,  I am tired not of failing but of starting out again and again and at every start i am still a novice. So at every start,  I fail, yet again. Its not tiredness, its a habit.

enlightenment

He is not weak now,
his eyes reach deep with self faith.
vibrations of the world, he does not heed to,
voice of his heart, now he listens.
dreams of his, which he had quelled,
now he enlivens them with each rising sun.
failure is not haunting anymore,
now he stumbles once to evade the next.
he now embraces the world he once loathed,
for now he believes his soul, the actual world.
I know who enlightened him,
a book, I know he possessed a book.

eagerness

His father was the senior manager in a private company. He was a child. It was false that his father was a too inclined towards his professional life, he did showcase an equal balance, he did love the boy and his sister, he did conclude all their wishes while he did make them contemplate over some of their affected demands, demands affected from their ambience and he did make on him, their ' best father '. But the boy was not content. Yes, he was perceived to be content but his soul bore the truth. His soul and not he was always waiting. He babbled with his father in eagerness, he sat beside him in eagerness and he recited his problems to him in eagerness. Amidst all this celebration of his life with his father,  sometimes he conceived the elixir for his eagerness and. It was that cluster of seconds when his father babbled with his 'beta', when he sat with his 'beta' and when he lifted his 'beta' from his problems
Yes, he was a stranger to be 'rahul' for him and too eager to be the 'beta' for his father.

serenade

He was in his school and she was his classmate. She loved mingling with the folks while he embraced narrowing his sight to admire just her. He was shy enough to confront her by himself. The times she sat beside him for his help on study notes were his golden ones. She would complete her notes while he would capture the charm of her face, captivating gree eyes, raven eyebrows and hair like curled ebony, he cherished being with her but alas, he uttered only academics, no heart matters. The days she sat before him, on the bench ahead of him, he would wallow in the locks of her hair. Some days, he would experience novice footsie with her and his heart then pumped recklessly. He would be left pondering if it was really from her or  they were just accidental foot pokes. By the way, he blushed believing the first. Yet, no utterances, no love preludes. He continued stealing sights of her, during a class, during her incessant talking, during a fake 'head down', during cycling down her school bus knowing she always sits beside the window. These stealings would blossom his day and he would  preserve every glimpse from fading like cupped hands prevent a flickering candle from dying down. She still chuckles with her friends and he lives on those but time awaits his serenade.

* by a traveller #4 *

CB is back with his new book, this time interestingly set in Bihar. For someone who is new to the acronym ( which I know nobody is ), CB is Chetan Bhagat. A David Slater has claimed $30,000 on Google for uploading a selfie of a macaque clicked by his camera without his permission. How human the macaque was! I mean how 'single-handedly' did he pulled down our hyped selfie act to a pesky monkey act! Skipping all other wordly digressions, I write appreciations for our gov. which has planned to embark some funds on the construction of 'milk banks' to acquaint infants of mother's milk at the earliest.  The novel project will have its feet from the auspicious october 2, 2014. Those newborns whose are deprived of their mother's milk due to health reasons will now be blessed but I have a doubt pouncing on me and I refrain from writing it to avoid any leering hypocrisy. Happy weekend

* once again *

and again it poured,
once again the heavy clouds roared.
some lived the effuse gaiety,
some confronted hefty hardships.
the farmer accosted his swaying crops,
he trusted the rain over the
capricious water canal.
once again our nature stretched,
and once again the hued peacock staged.
once again enthralled swathes inundated the terraces,
and once again, oil did the frying.
once again euphoria prevailed,
and once again my pen self wrote.

friendship day

Combed raven hair, tiny wet eyes and a drooped down face lacking poise, he was sitting beside the river, his knees bent to reach his chest and his elbows resting on them. The river was travelling by, cheerful as everyday, motivated as everyday but the boy's tiny wet eyes had sunk deep to cherish anything. He was still a kid and was longing to see his friend. He wanted to meet him and celebrate the day which he didn't know was friendship day. He didn't require any 'proper noun days'. But his friend was not there. The river carried away his intermittent tears along its way when finally, in despair he stood to leave without even acknowledging the river of its unassuming support. His reflection quivered over the water as he stood up and he cornered a glance towards his shuddering self. Something happened. The boy took to his sitting posture again. He saw the face over the water shedding tears along with.him. His tiny eyes noticed the despair laden face over the water and he started knowing the truth, the fact that true friends are a reflection of us, they are never far or close. It was his friend over the water flowing away his tears and dividing his despair with himself. He realised he has met his friend and the despair vapored away to let the boy celebrate.

* my mother *

She loves me so profusely that I will never fall short of her love, no matter what many things I will be bereft of through my life. Her prophecies of my childish decisions dare to go wrong and. Her cooked food works like the science of alchemy, passing a sense of  contentment to everyone. She will cook a second dish just to cherish my smile only because the first dish is nutritious but not my favourite. She also feels happy when I am around, her smile has a broader curve then. Someday she scolds me, actually she awakens me to walk the right path of life and just to describe,  that same love, that same care is there in the scolding but only the harder side is out. She loves it when I talk, or perhaps, gossip with her, she attentively listens to the varied events and chaos of my life. She feels it would be good to laugh with me or to help or advise me and I express my gratitude towards her because gossiping with her actually makes room to host more chaos from my life. She cares for me, I care for her and the interdependence is manifested.