Some Poems that are close to me
I wish i were home,
i were happy,
I wish the mountains were visible
And the beauty not forbidden
I wish my morning tea
Was amongst the valleys, aroma dispersed
I wish that Jhelum’s water
Cleansed me every morning
I wish my breakfast was amongst the pine trees
The shades of whose remained unaltered
I wish that the smells of gunpowder
and the discrete dread was gone
I wish my life was not just “a wish”
I wish I was not a “Kaash-meri”
In thoughts of vacuum
A whisper brushes me
I open my eyes
I wake up from a dream
A chill shrugs in from the window
My nerves are breezed
The sunlight is somewhere there
Maybe beneath the clouds
Too lazy to get off the white blanket
The fog makes my vision clear
I see myself in the window
My eyes are not the same
They are miffed with me
My hair grayed out
With dyes of time
My face wrinkled
With moist hardships
I think of myself
The cup of tea distracts me
A call from the office,
I wear my wagon
List of new tasks
A gift for my son
Blanket for my father
Expectations for my wife
Identity abandons me
I walk out to the world
My hands all empty
I surrender myself…
In eclipse of rage
Behind this social cage
I am a loner….
For the parched sunshines
And for the raven whines
I am a loner….
I bicker for the gratitude
to live with an attitude
I am a loner….
With the perks of fear
There is a happiness I smear
I am a loner….
For the shrinking seas
And the expanding desires
I am a loner….
The sane and sanity goes for a ride
For there’s no rule which I abide
I am a loner….
Like a droplet in the sea bowl
I am a free soul
I am a loner….
To a place called home
I wonder where I roam
I am a loner
Is this about the refuge life,
Leaking the essentials of being submissive…
Or shall the death defy your conscience
In being a human
Imagine the world without eyes
That sans a tiger, a cuckoo, and humanity
Kill the trees, dethrone the kings of jungle
For it seems the idea of thy existence
And now shall thou laugh,
Splintering the grins of progress
A time shall come
even thy smile will be pungent
“I wish” reiterates itself
In an infinite loop
To the screams and knuckles
Of a blemished self-indulgence
Your sanity goes beneath the surface
So does thy shelter
Thy mother nature you seek’d to conform,
To captivate and disassemble
The one that thou sought as a humble alimony
Comes back to seek the answers of questions that were long forlorn
And you’re numb for thy dumbness
so hapless you are
Here goes the world in tatters of pride
and you wait for thy death
lips closed and eyes open wide….
Walking through the boulevard
like a burdened beetle
I move through the bylanes
of hopes and dreams
I see a house across the lane,
the lane that bypasses the memory
Walking through the doors,
I feel my existence
The existence of a world that was,
and of people who were a part of me
I stood there looking at the window,
A ray peeping through the crack,
The dust settling its remorse
Where a cup of tea
Used to accompany rain
The rickety stairs
make way for the childhood plays,
I see myself juggling the toys
I find my mirror,
A half-battered commando
A dungeon gate flayed by time,
seems a swag of webbed spiders
Where grandpa used to wait,
with open yearning arms
The arms, a haven of love and
the solicitor of my mischief…
A vacuum has replaced this love
I am yet to find any intruders
In this home, at this place
I find myself,
and question my identity
the world seems to shudder
and the mind revolves
I see the stairs, the door,
the lane and the window
I see the toys, my grandpa
the commando and the rain
A thud wakes me up,
A photo frame falls down
I see grandpa amidst the shattered pieces
I see a house across that lane…
I ask if I should ignore my existence
Like I do everyday, everywhere
Should I breath incessantly
The hopes of a commune
My life being the sarcasm of
A dismantled, lifeless mirror
Should I collect the morsels
of a scattered self
Wonder if I have the courage
of being an indigenous spirit
My distilled dreams limp to caress
the wounded aspirations of SELF
The aspirations of a boundless sea
A sea of words and of thoughts
Of a world that I do not entertain often
Of an enigma I am too busy to be certain of
The strings of my name,
Strangle “me” till my poise succumbs
I ask, MAY I!
Piyush Kaushal
A flickering hope in despondency,
like a rebellious flare in the womb of a storm,
and the afflicting Déjà vu of failure,
pulling thy across the lines of anticipate…
The lightning strikes a chord,
with the strings of despair and anguish
while thou navigate the conscience
To the beats of an effervescent life…
The thoughts break autumn’s monotony,
to the resplendent light of springs
and the blossoms meet cacophony…
Just like a dewdrop kissing the earth,
the touch of whose makes the hoarse periphery,
a delight to walk on…
Just like the sun oozing out of his siesta
from the deep blue sea…
The insight outshines thy desire,
and thou command an enigma of sanguinity…
The naked half-moon exposing
its shining bare skin,
across the bed sheet of clouds
and the stammering gloom of night…
The darkness makes the shine more affluent,
like happiness leaping amidst a masquerade of gloom…
A hope is more than
a few fluttered words
it is the fortitude of forbidden times,
and the reformation of finesse…
a hope is more than just “A Hope“
Alone in the night,
descending the stairs,
I desolate happiness,
out of scars
The scars of past,
and present and future,
And the happiness of a wandering thought
In the broad daylight,
when I fade out
My shallow heart
confines desires…
A blurred vision,
and numb nerves
A wandering loafer soul
And a wandering thought…
I leap mountains,
and walk through the seas
Across the wind,
trimming the fire
I let myself breathe,
and calm down
I surrender my ego
To a wandering thought…
He stood alone on the hill,
through dusk to dawn
His roots dug deep,
deeper into thoughts
Thoughts of sunlight,
and the rays of hope
For his progenitors,
for the leaves, the branches
Thoughts of monsoon,
when summers pinched
And of winters,
When rains soaked his tears
He was always thinking,
for he was The Oak Tree
He was proud of the leaves,
that spawned his shadow
He endowed branches,
that unified his euphoria
The roots were his strength,
his indelible self
The only hope,
that touched his revere
He always loved them,
for he was The Oak Tree
He braved ages,
and the swindling time
He fought the storm,
the drought and the quivers
To strangers he bore resilience,
a resilience against the blistering swelter
He was always like this,
for he was The Oak Tree
His leaves changed color,
much like the weather
The branches tore his skin,
he wanted them to brave his age
Deserted he stood,
with his shadow
For his good days,
for leaves and birds and greenery
He always waited,
for he was The Oak Tree
There was a friend, a brother
a father, and a lover
for there was “The Oak Tree…”
Beauty is in flowers, and the petals
Bathing in the early morning dew
Beauty is in the eyes of a father
When his son takes the first step
Beauty is on the face of a baby,
Sleeping in mother’s lap
Beauty is in freedom,
When you fly high on the wings of hope
Beauty is in the expressions of a poor man
When he gets food after eternity
Beauty is in the pride of a teacher
When his student supersedes
Beauty is in the compassion of a devotee
When he finds solace
Beauty is in the innocence of a child
When he asks you questions
Beauty is in the sips of laughter,
You share with your friends
Beauty is in the springs of desire
that arrive after a prolonged autumn
Beauty is in the cry of a woman,
Whose womb succeeds
Beauty is in the silence,
When you don’t speak, and you say a lot
Beauty is in the warmth of passion
That builds around the arms of a lover
Beauty is when those small fights,
End with tears of joy
Beauty is when the first raindrop,
Kisses your cheek
Beauty is in perseverance,
When the world’s showing off
Beauty is in the enigma,
When everything’s certain
Beauty is in a poem,
Where poetry meets prose
Beauty is in little chunks of life,
Filled with joys and sorrows
Beauty is in your eyes,
your heart, and in every single breath
Beauty is when you say,
“What a Beauty-Full Life...”
