Giving Wings To Dreams

Oh! Little bird It's not time to fly or fright. See, your little nest an eagle has eyed. How could you be so carefree and novice? When the one hovering over your sky was so toxic and vile. Picking adroitly on the best sticks, leaves and twigs You had flown sky-high to prepare your roost on a towering Cedar. No one can deny that you were sane and prudent, When to procreate you had flown the way top to your little seed bed. While you were not around, Your little sweet home she had spied. The honeyed sound of life from your nook Was strong enough to entice that crook. Notice , that grisly eagle has got ready to pounce like a puma , To wipe off your tiny, vulnerable,innocent cradle from the face of the earth. Alas! Your little ones' whimper is too feeble to cast any effect on the cold-hearted vulture. Behold, how pathetically the crown of the benevolent Cedar is shaking. If it could gaze then l am damn sure it would have cried its eyes out for you. You for whom strewn twigs and lea...

Advent of January When the Empress winter is in her full form, When with her invisible magic wand She wraps the hills and the northern plains with a bone chilling wave, With a cold ringed circle of deadly fog. When even a cock won't sing its customary alarm song Or a bird would chirp before it's long past dawn. Two blank eyes were glued one evening on a small cardboard. His glare was fixed on a small pole outside a grocery stall. Lost to the world Both his poor, bare hands were busy with a Mehendi keep filling the colours devotionally in the visage of the Goddess Durga, an epitome of power and strength. Majestic were his strokes while giving shape to the Deity's eyes. But then why that Mehendi artist was all drained out? Why and what was tormenting his dampened soul? The weekly vegetable market around him had hauled the reluctant inhabitants out of their snugged abodes. While all were busy stuffing green, leafy, fresh veggies in their vivid,lively bags and sacks. Why he had...