Obituary

I paid your obituary,

By cursing those icy hands,

Which touched you 

Without any legal permission.

My tears are waiting to see the guest

Who ditched your dreams

Without any prior alarms.

My lips are waiting to question

The mighty emperor,

Who conquered your medals,

by infusing an endless sleep.

My palms are waiting to mallow,

The intruder who broke your plans;

But the day came in haste,

And I fell in the cosy bed,

Without preparing for the farewell ceremony!

                                 

Relics of wedlock

I served you for the past twenty years,

Without payments and compliments;

But I found aroma in your stomach

And nurtured our innocent buds.

I burnt in your blames but

Never refuted with reasons.

I begun the days by touching your feet

And I worked hard to polish my golden heart.

But you forgot to please your companion,

And you brought groceries and sarees for me.

But you failed to kiss my womb,

When I bled in pain.

And you failed to garnish my wrinkles,

When I rumpled with loneliness.

And I served you as a shadow,

Without payments and compliments

Thus I transformed as a portrait in your glossy wall

And now, you fail to find a companion too. 

                              

                            

Colonised

They landed where we grew,

They stamped us to rear,

They found aliens who dwelt here

And they owned the soil with their crew!

They built their nest by chopping,

And addressed it as the right dream!

They labelled my friends by hunting

And cursed them as danger with scream!

They are the owners,

And we live as tenants!

They are the saviours,

And we breath as dangers!

We are the ancient trees,

Who saw their birth,

When these creatures sung their lullaby!

We are the colonised

Who lost the past with the advent of masters.

         

Why?

Poisoned pebbles are dropping from the air,

To fill the valley of blood with fumed flesh!

Burnt balls are chocking the alley

With the smoke of withered souls!

But the heaven is sceptic of need,

As it fail to sort out blood from this ocean,

Where the stream of brawn and butcher flow 

As a single river which drain the patriotic beat.

     

Harvest

You reap the field,

Where I sow my thoughts!

You ate the fruit,

Which I washed to speak!

You drank the ale,

Where I stroked the waves!

You looted the field,

Where my sweat bloom!

You are the gatherer,

Who harvested my crops!

You are the thief,

Who review my harvest!

           

               

Question

Where is your brother?

Is he bleeding in the warfront,

While you polish those swords?

Where is your brother?

Is he shivering in the cold,

While you burn your new blankets?

Where is your brother?

Is he starving in the alley,

While you tore your hotdogs?

Where is your brother?

Is he begging for a cent,

While you celebrate your doggie's birthday?

Where is your brother?

Is he plastering by the worms,

while you ornate your grave with golden words?

Death

It creates a void

Which cannot be filled with 

Golden bricks or silver cement.

It creates a memory

Which cannot be replaced with

Diamond jewels and purest gems.

It creates a song,

Which cannot be heard with

Magical string and ornated flute.

But it is a replica,

Of your life

Where you poured your dreams!

It is the medal

Which ornate your grave,

With the tears of your dear ones.