Noise

In the quiet of the grave,

a noxious noise makes me rave.



I dont hear a sound,

but within my mind, rages,

the world is still all around,

a malicious maelstorm unbound.



In the quiet of the grave,

a noxious noise makes me rave.



Some give me strange, silent stares,

others do not pay heed.

For they have the ear to not hear,

the rowing racket within.



In the quiet of the grave,

a noxious noise makes me rave.



It is not the a melody, mellifluous and musical,

A cacophony it is, croaky and coarse,

It jabs and bites, and laughs at me,

for it knows me more than myself.



In the quiet of the grave,

a noxious noise makes me rave.



At times i obey it, at times i mock,

but still it keeps shouting in defiance.

Scolding me, scoffing me and criticizing,

is my own acerbic conscience.



-Shivam







P.S The funny thing is, I wrote this poem in pin-drop silence! Not a sound anywhere!

I am strong

I am, I am so strong,

Never, never am I wrong.



Heartbreaks I have faced a dozen,

and yet my heart holds on,

Never has the world seen me cry,

for my tears i swallow, not roll down my eye.

And yet,

I am, I am so strong,

Never, never am I wrong.



My shoulders are, droopy,

bearing the woes and weights of the world

Sometimes, them I straighten and dry,

for I too need a shoulder to cry.

And yet,

I am, I am so strong,

Alas, never, never am I so wrong!

The Bend

Racing at breakneck speed,
as milestones whir by,
a distant, solitary tree beckons,
at a distant, solitary bend.

Route changes at each bend,
Destinations never do.

No, afford i cannot to stop
to breathe or gulp or gasp.
fir my destination is somewhere away,
far from the distant, solitary bend.

Route changes at each bend,
Destinations never do.

Ah, so tempting is the shade,
my legs refuse to leave.
My lids shut off my light,
as I droop on the solitary bend.

Route changes at each bend,
Destinations never do.

Eyes open, I see a vision hitherto unseen,
appearing on the horizon, a new path hitherto untread.
my sojourn's trajectory altered,
at the distant, solitary bend.

Route changed at the bend,
Destination never did.

Devious desires

Devious desires drilling my head,
Disturbing delusions denuding my soul.
Drunk on devil’s drink,
Devious desires devour me whole.

Dead emotions deafening roar,
Force me to shut my mind,
To the sounds hitherto loved
But now do not seem to bind.

What’s the point of being good,
When weeds of evil wrangle me whole?
I let myself be swayed like fidgety fires
Ah, they drive me, my devious desires.
-Shivam

Longing

Like an autumn's final falling leaf,
so momentary was our meet,
flying flashes of fleeing time,
ah, the hands of clock so fleet.

Like a ray of the dying sun,
so faint was our affaire-de-coeur,
cutting across crystalline cabochons,
ah, so ardent our ardor.

Like an albatross' regal glide,
so ravishingly promenaded you in front of me,
lost in your lachrymose longing,
ah, my throat;s frozen symphony.

Like an apiary's finest honey,
so sweet your lips on my face,
tremblingly touching your tangible self,
ah, I hold you in a tight embrace.

Forgive Me

By the flowing river I sat and wept,
The waters washing away the sinful secrets I had kept.

Forgive me, O my maama,
For sinned I have grave.
Withheld from you, I have,
All my pains, agonies, problems.
Trying to protect thee
From fires of my hellish hearth,
I gulped my tears
And masqueraded a mask of meaningless mirth.

By the flowing river I sat and wept,
The waters washing away the sinful secrets I had kept.

Forgive me, O my Lord,
For dire is my trespass.
Fervently, I prayed Thee
While being roasted in the spit of life.
But forgot Thine clemency
In the glory of opulence of mine.
I burned in my own resplendence
And o’erlooked Thee, the fount of light.

By the flowing river, I sat,
And saw my tears flowing with the surging waters,
Away, away, towards the sea of forgiveness.

Rays of Opportunity

Down they shine, spewing fury and fire,
The fiery rays of the Fireball.
Furious force of frenzied ferocity,
Bring the fear of impending pall.

The poor blades of grass, burnt to cinders,
Hisses out a despondent steam.
Dried, despaired earth desperately yells,
But no respite appears on the realm.

Somewhere, not so far
A mango tree blooms a thousand flowers.
A soothing sight for the sore eyes,
Some saplings do not need a shower.

The tree survived the heat,
And grew on its way.
Garbed in guileful guise,
Opportunity presented as fiery rays.

-Shivam