Good and Bad are sheer human notions,
For none is worthwhile bereft the other.
Peculiar are our natures and our emotions,
With ease we hop, from one to another.
Once upon a time, when we had to choose
Between two choices of traits, unalike;
We called one Good; seemed more of use,
The other one got much of our dislike.
An unresolved mystery, it is
A difficultly riddled premise;
For oft’n, Good can be goodly bad
And Bad can be badly good.
We ought to tread and tread through,
Between the two banks of the river,
Mere consequences, they are, of the flow
We choose or the one, we choose never.
We receive the fine penalties
Or vile rewards, we win sometimes,
But surely, breaking our souls, we pay,
By heeding judgmental locutions all day.
Amidst the chirrups of men, I stand,
Thoroughly rooted in the land,
Seeing them all, from the azure sky
Through the years that have passed by.
It’s always the same old show,
For my entwined cousin and me,
Men scurrying in man – flow,
Bereft a waiting watch to see.
Men ought to slow down, sometimes,
Relish the trifling moments,
And ages and ages hence,
that would make all the difference.
Burned with an inspiring vigor,
Deserving respect & utter fear,
Purveyed own notions to each dunce,
When a young flame, he was once.
Now more senile and gray,
Full of morose, bereft veneration,
Arduous task is, a mere oration,
The dying flame, will douse any day.
Parched minds he quenched,
And anxious hearts he allayed;
Does the actor not deserve an aid,
For the act so well played?
Fountain of farraginous feelings,
Unperturbed you are, yet unsettling;
Pumping life to decrepit flesh in whole,
Thou art truly, ‘The brain of the Soul’.
Rages, Envies, Hopes, Elations
The cradle of myriad emotions;
Lover dyad’s precious possession,
The lone reason behind each notion.
Sometimes you do break,
By betrayal or by life’s misery,
But alive or dead, still you make
The Job, serenely bearing the injury.
Showering unto us from the bliss’s brink,
Umpteen drops of the elixir, the drink
To cure the decrepit body and heart,
Came the dusky cloud on heaven’s cart.
Tiny Mogras did toss their heads in glee,
And the bound denizens did feel free
From the grabs of sultry summer Sun,
Relishing fruits of wait, till the dawn.
For men may come and men may go,
But the life’s nature we ought to know
That, the only constant the Change is,
And mere others are, that gradually cease.
In the midst of silent night,
Inside a pouch of hide,
Erupted an intense fight,
As two egos did collide.
“I am new, I am new, and I am new,
I will always have a higher value.
I am all rich men’s choice.”
Claimed one, in an emphatic voice.
“Oh, flamboyant one! You,
In spirits paltry and quantum few,
But I am derelict’s voice.”
Retorted the other, bereft rejoice.
When the telly buzzed, the next day,
A reporter announced in great dismay,
“The Thousand, from now, is sure invalidated…”
Thus, the Hundred, finally had the contest dominated.
P.S. : Demonetization…
Damnation was his destiny,
For he dared to pick a vocation,
Precisely contrary to the anticipation
And that was his only felony.
A foray of bashing remark,
Pushed him into the dark.
In quietus, solace he found,
Lying on the splendid ground.
A silent figure concealed in shroud,
Reclined amidst the teeming crowd.
Once he was a cheerful lad,
Now a paltry cheerful dead.
Indeed, expensive was his supplication,
As he had sought a mere affirmation.