Friday, April 16, 2010

Let there be light...

" Superstition is the weakness of the human mind;
   it is inherent in that mind;
   it has always been, and always will be "

It's time to break the shackles of superstitions that fetter our emancipated souls.
My poem " Superstitions " takes a strong stand against this irrational belief that has harboured skepticism in our fertile minds since time immemorial...

Why should man, so rational a being,
Be frightened of the number thirteen.

Why the mind, so logical in nature,
Occult and mystic ideas, do nurture.

Why the only thinking animal, ever born
With amulets and stones, his body adorn.

Why should a being, whose every thought is clear
The unknown and untold ever fear.

And for this I wish, the human civilization,
Would erase from their memory, such futile apprehensions.

And prevent man, the greatest creation,
From losing his way, in the dreary desert of superstition.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Ahoy! Springtime...

" Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems. "

It is time to put the dark days of winter behind and welcome spring...
The leaves shall grow anew and drape the forests in lush green.
The grass shall rise in every barren stretch of land imaginable.
The rivers shall flow with an unquenched vitality. 
The birds shall flap their wings joyously, the wind lifting their spirits and ours as well...

In such a beautiful environ, can " An Ode to Spring " be far behind...     

The frosty white mirrored the golden hue
As the rays glimmered through the misty haze,
And the ripples transpired on the pristine blue
As colours shrugged off their torpid daze.

For there was red and blue, flowering the blazing meadows
And the dainty forget-me-nots blossoming here and there,
A delightful herald of things to follow
For springtime was tangible in air.

And the winged ones, twittered in their weary flight
Their hiatus, a wait too long to bear,
Since now they would frolic in the gleaming light
For springtime was tangible in air.

And mischief sparked in the soft hazel eyes
The reverie, a musing of their debonair
A time for cream on baked apple-pies
For springtime was tangible in air.

And it was time for men to allay their fears
And shred the fetters that could them restrain,
A time for sybarites and their hedonist pleasures
For springtime was time to be free again.