Lost

Treading on a strange road, 

Whom a dark forest engulfs. 

Passing through the prickly goad, 

know not what enthralls. 

A thinking man with a long shadow, 

With my back to the sun. 

Reaching for the elusive rainbow, 

All I know I have to run.

I know not where the road leads,

I know not where I am.

Rustling leaves the breeze reads,

Path below my feet feels a sham.

Oh my nonchalant parched heart,

What is it that you seek?

In the deep forest, like a hart,

A dreamy land you keek.

A stream that plays its music,

Surrounds the wonder land.

Nothing of amuse, it’s so tragic,

For it longs for the Neverland.

The soul knows the secret deep,

Though the mind lies in a frost.

A promise it strives to keep,

The promise to be always lost.

Penchant Dreams

Rustling leaves in an enchanting forest;

deep within a soul cries.

Leaves are dead, yet they make sound;

with each breath he so tries.

Balmy air, don’t go the farthest;

yet the inkling of the desire.

A laughing man, whom sorrow hound;

the habit of playing with the fire.

A stream's flute plays the strongest;

when the mountains breaks the ice.

At a binging heart, beats the devils pound;

give it the pain, but doesn't suffice.

A fakir walks alone into a land strangest;

whom the heralding dogs denounce.

That empty mind has wisdoms round;

he knows not why they trounce.

Falling rain ebb to the sea largest;

it cares not for the echoing screams.

Those mighty steps, are surely profound;

like dancing with the penchant dreams.

The Coming of the Ship

   So, on the 2^nd day of the year, down with a bad cough and cold, I confine myself to my bed.  A balmy northern breeze, unexpectedly warmer, is caressing my face. And a warmer sun is playing hide and seek with my feet. Through the leafy branches of a tree, I can see tufts of gloomy clouds trying to cover up a lazy sun. Just like empty thoughts jostling for space in my mind.

                It feels nice. Nice for finding some time for yourself and not getting bogged down by the monotonous monochrome maladies of life. Often I have wondered about all the efforts we put in our daily lives. To what does it round-up to? Another year passes by and getting older by another year. But are we getting any wiser? It’s incommodious as too many antagonistic thoughts queue up the thinking wagon. Pages of a national geographic magazine adds fuels to the thought fire and my heart clings to its deepest proclivity.  

                Someone somewhere starts playing a mouth organ. These kind of tunes can make you nostalgic instantly and for a moment you stop and turn back to glance at the road you tread. A montage of memories fill up your thoughts. What you dig up from these reminiscences is not under your control. But just like the tune of the mouth organ, let it fill your soul. Life is not always about doing things the right way. If you always try to measure up things and fret about them, it is actually that very moment when life passes by and you fail to notice it.

                Random, chaotic thoughts embezzle my senses and I seem to drift away into a faraway land where one’s life is like a utopian dream. But sometimes, such a feeling of a chaotic mind helps. One must spend time alone for introspection. It is the time when your soul opens up and you begin to comprehend the essence of your life and how it should be. You begin to recognize yourself. It is the time when you allow the mind to meet the heart and you begin to unravel your yearnings. 

For a moment the sun hides behind the clouds and I come back to my senses. Now the sun, through the leaves, creates crisscrossing shadows on my face. Somehow it reflects the state of my mind. I remember a fragment from the chapter ‘The Coming of the Ship’, in the book ‘The Prophet’ by Kahlil Gibran:

“A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.

And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun”.