Friday, May 18, 2007

To me, it's still a flower!


The fragrance has gone, but not its charm
The colour is faded; the pink of its petal shows no more
The stem has shrunk, become pale and brittle
The leaves have dried, have no more metal

To me, it is still a flower
Its tenderness still delves into the reminiscences of the past
And brings out freshness
From the beauty it had held, which shall always last

To me it is still a flower,
It has some entwined mysteries, some memories added to its cart
And when the leaves protecting it; unfold
Then one can hear the music that rejoiced a heart

To me it is still a flower
Its withered look doesn’t lessens its appeal
Death couldn’t shadow its eternal soul

From sweet remembrances, only sweet intent reveals

The Parable of my Dream

Just wait for a little while,
I told myself with a hint of smile,
It was coming to me, I’d always thought,
The only dream I’d always sought,
It kept me waiting all the time,
In a hope that some day I’ll hear its chimes,
My aspirations needed an alteration,
Me n my conscience was in altercation.

Then one day it stepped down on the dais,
Dais of my dreams, I knew I was never bias,
And now it stood right there in place,
Still n frozen, never had I seen it in that phase,
Overjoyed n thrilled, I made my move,
My nerves racked n my spirits shove,
I assured it,” Fear not dear, I’m by your side”,
Was I too keen to take my ride?

Swift it was as blows the wind,
Serenity it held when the torrent set in,
With it was established a long acquaintance,
Still worthy was its sole dependence,
Faith instilled was strong, no voids no elusions,
A voice that faded before conclusion,
It dreamed of fairies n fair mansions,
The prince’s conquest and devils’ evasions.

A spirit divine wrapped in the tranquil white,
In this shackled world, a true respite,
Rendezvous with it always were divine,
For it I wished to evolve, to outlive n outshine,
Everything for now is just half down the lane,
What the new day holds, radiance or rain,
Was the world I visited full of gleam,
Or was it just another parable of my dream.

(20) TWEN-T Hours!

In a grad student’s pennyworth life, Twenty hours is a standard block of time, For each hour of painstaking work, All they earn i...