lost songs

all the songs
now come with knives
to cut through me.

because lost are
the days
when you taught
me the songs
and I heard you sing.

and now you too
disappeared in the flames.

News of a death

on my way on the dusty road
the wind brought the news of a death
my friend has died
and his pyre was about to lit
from somewhere the of moments returned
engulfing me in their blank stares
i looked at the indifferent sand
who consumed so many lives
and all their tales
what was real
the momentous oasis of our lives
or the endless desert
where we travel alone

Before

Long before you took out the dagger
You were a child
Who flew to a blue sky
Walked on the white clouds

 You loved all the colours
And a worldful of wonders

Life was a song
On a night with the moon

But
The green hide the blood
Like the sea never told you of deaths
You saw how your father lost the battle
And the price of fresh air so high

So you took the dagger
You butchered a child
That child was you

My friend you were not the ghost  before

The fox to the lion

They say you are royal
They glorify every murder you commit
They glorify the terror you cast in our hearts
Oh my friend they want to be like you
And like you they want skulls in their den

They spit on me
Saying I am a curse on this earth
How they hate me for my cunning

But my mighty friend
I don't have your prowess to kill
But I too have my kids waiting in my hole for a meal
And you tell me how do I get a meal 

My friend
All your glory is just a accident of birth
And so is this weak body of mine and my cunning

And like me you too afraid to explore unknown lands
Like me you too don't challenge the gods

The path

When the evening birds were bidding farewell
When the sun was setting in your sky 
You realized 
The path you chose wasn't the right one

You look back with longing for one more chance
But it is too late at the end of the day

Somewhere you hear a voice
May be it was from a place deep inside you

And it says:
it is good that you have realized that
Because I have seen many
Who fell asleep at the end of their roads
With a dream of paradise that never existed

Abrahams of today

God tired is this servant of yours
Who doesn't sacrifice his son for you
Neither the beautiful lamb
Who wants to put an end to the blood
That flows freely in the altar
And on the blades of swords

May He too desire the paradise
But too busy in this world for a prayer
Sweat flows from his body
When he carries the leper to hospital
When he brings water to the thirsty desert
But he doesn't have time for a prayer


He too loves the paradise
He too loves you
But he loves the world too
And while he is here
He sweats for the wounded
And for the hungry.


Nobody can convince him,
Neither a prophet nor even you
to slit the throat of his son.
For all the heavens
And for all your infinite bless
He won't sacrifice the goat
Who clings to life with longing,
Like anybody else.


God please stand by him

The story repeats

The story repeats

                              

The land was parched and dry,

Filled with sighs and shrieks of men.

In the dark they fought,

Where the children perished,

The women dreamt of death.

And then,

A star came with a basket of grapes,

With a song for the tired souls,

And it brought out a stream like the rain.

But they made wine of the grapes,

They forgot the song.

Drunk as the beasts, 

Hardened like the stones,

They started the campaign of blood.

And the story repeats…

Time knows it all

Time knows it all

                                

Time knows it all

That is,

Even the grave will be

Dust one day.

The fluttering bubbles

Were just deviances.

The end is a black hole

Where everything is still.

Irony

Irony

The saddest of the stories are never heard.

The ugliest knows the purest of love.

In the bluest of the ocean,

Death crawls with million tongues.

Epitaphs on the unknown graves,

Are the most poignant ones.

Hidden in the endless green valley,

Corpses of the soldiers we will never know.

Songs and dances in the glittering light,

Cannot chase away darkness of million years,

Where life and flesh are bought and sold.

The ancient shackles

The Shackles are scented flowers,
And fragrance of traditions.
Lullabies, slumber, dreams
Bring you up,
And enter your vein and blood.
They are your holy land.


So painful it's to tear them away;
The lonely soldiers know,
And they fly to the sky of light.