Thursday, January 22, 2015

Me and My Muse......My Muse died

The dawn has arrived at my feet to think of her, that I compare with a romantic time that I sung with my pleasant imagination's songs. There as in a trance I traveled to seek the birds of that village which gave me inspiration to write many of my songs. There was a pastoral joy that covered with the dew drops upon the green, ever-green grass. The native-country smile rammed through me, how this was beautifying me. Awake not every instrument that has breath and a few seen the first curtains of the rising dawn. I was refreshing to work, the travelling soul in me finds many views of maturing dawn. At last I stopped near a house, made of brown tiles. The house was decorated with Garden Urns where plants sprung with sweet odor. My mind forgets the melancholy order and met her at the place I was stopped
'Dear, the time is less and as I was hasten to you' she said thus
'We go fade some other part, to pour our secret'   I said
we moved in the hide of tree shades and I inquired about the situation of our love for hours.Then the dark fell in
years passed after,gone and torn
Now I heard a sound from a distance,that voice echoes in me now of past
somebody is listening to me now where I live in my old story
Me and My Muse......My Muse died

Sunday, January 11, 2015

My Thobbing Heart

I ease my buring hours,
And think as a liberal cloud
And floats in the dales of blind society
Henceforth, I have my armour,my shelter
My thobbing heart

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Let it be


Yet another night advancing
And sleep be the only relax,
Or the answer for the toils,
whatever,an enthusiatic
Relaxation awaits
to hide the clashes of today,
Let it be..

Friday, January 9, 2015

Inspiration Folded

Inspiration folded
unto myriad folds
Was it a dream,
A heart broken dream
The spirit was coy
The spirit was so dull
 A painful dream
Was it a dream
A painful dream
A desolated dream
And the maid was mute,
The stars— all they weep,
 I joined the dark,
To that unknown dream

I Sat disturbed after seeing the maid.I thought of that
dismal dream of afternoon,Aye It was a dream

Thursday, January 8, 2015

O' Bud you Watch

Innocence is a flowery bud
Silently playful in wind
The wind loves her smile
Beautifully dances in spring
Her fragrance is energetic
To young hearts
They often have it..Romance
Since the flower is not yet come

ON A Naturalist

O' feathery world,
Let him feel
Thy suspense
And thy secret
When curiosity follows
Thy shape
Thy beeps
Always the wonder
A wandering cloud
A wandering wind
A night
A day
A river's flow
A volcano
The mountain hail
And all in all
Our breath
Our life
Aye,let him dig to..
The truth

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Then I wake up.after A torturing Dream,back to you:

One beat to the favor of truth that I need forever. There are queries that a few human mind dare shall search. I was religious and still, I must to be with a hidden face who seeks the reality of what I see and what I have seen. I met an atheist when my brain partially developed; He was curious and aggressive in all kind that he was in his thirties and never seen obeyed to a person who said ‘God’ —the more rebellious and furious matter that I ever had discussed, was his, the man’s perspective approach to Science and Metaphysics —that made him unveil the result there is no GOD

What…? I had to collide with my thoughts one other and it was difficult to blind myself or rather I want difficulty. If the soul self the domain of a human being, tell me what is it? Is there a soul that was created by a God or it is just a poetic concept that antique poets and saints used in describing contents to support a Myth. A God, who was said to be the creator and all the Lords belong to him.

I had to go and look for him with an emergent explosion of mind, was it happened as I need the facts to be unveiled. When I was doing my first research to life and its origin and never knew that he was a typical person who has Ideas that can penetrate the past and present. He does! Many of him is truth, often controversial —which have the effect of questioning the ‘Dummy God’ and its existence. I was burning my head all the nights after happen to pass through his volatile approach to Particle physics and the awareness that he tried to impart to us with a natural quest and Originality that a few men envy of. Ofttimes it batter to my ears as his words —entering to the World to show us the answers of this infinity,so called the vastness or a phenomenon. How I do, to out pass his knowledge, he talks physically and it is what happening here, there and everywhere. Was he a Darwinian? Or he talks there is no Spirit which was built by an Out-lander, who promotes power to the entire being, who surviving and yet survived . But he answered again ‘There is No God’ but a Satan lives in each and every malicious-mind.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

When the Wind Was Back

Then was my second lyrics occured.It was all about the same dreamer,which I have with
It was MARIE, sweet marie in my concept is a dreamer with a halo face,who often applied
Kohl in her eyes.For her the song is dedicated.

Sweet Marie stands in her dreams,
O' Life stands in her dreams
And hers a longing heart,
A longing star

Sweet Marie had a dreamers face
A halo face,sweet,sweet,sweet,sweet,sweet.
When all the dark was light
She smiles in her light
When the wind was back
And made a tune for her Love

On An Insight On Grecian Spring

Blossomed Spring from enchanted year,
Now may long lipped magic weave,
when Fair Persephone's love, unwrap
As thus azur'd flowers's wide appear.

O' wake with the darling season!
where green bosomed earth will pine,
For butterfly wings and cuckoo's flap,
And tame their consort's to the boon.

West wind adrift from Dorian dells,
And bliss as whose ascended harmony,
Beguiled scent's among posy bands;
With murm'ring delight as they lolls.

And the blue skyward they did stretch;
Seen a train of Oscine's uprise,
Therein they tweets, and slides afield,
To that moss-bloomed wilder couch.

Lo' golden harvest's round many beech,
With sweet-lushest fruits and overjoy,
From clusters of tiny yellow flowers,
With sassafras trees brighten much.

Panting multitudes; bestir!
The enthusiast obeys this clime!
Yet sun with its moderate glance,
And flow'd a narrow brooklet fair.

Cyclamens in her tints of pink,
Bloom'd on the peaks of Meteora,
And lilies sprung from Olympus,
With yellow starlike daisies blink.

Nature has embellish rare as may
Its dew-gemm'd primroses glitter'd up,
To show pride for each budding weed,
Since from skies nought a ray dismay

'Tis the ancient sculptured high-land,
Of flowers and long- age heritage;
which decorates fields and plateaus;
The steep mountains of peaceful land.

Woodland sedges outgrowing beneath,
Where Grasshopper's find frisky time,
which keen to that syrupy spring,
As Greece bows the grandeur of Earth.

Look yon paradise; glides Athenian aura
Its well seen beauty as from golden car descent,
Whose spells did charm and bliss those outstretched flora-
Are Inspir'd by winds, with pleasures, too pleasant.

Thence Fair Arcadian pines grown,
Being nursed by some glory mists;
of argent fumes, the trees they drown
Are such by year's balmy effects.

Life's renewal came and pacey flown
As spark's that roused eager jets,
Those spirits by clear morning grown;
Encompasses the extend'd spots.

Yet deep beauty, still more to sooth
To mingled earth we humble lay-
Will ward off infectious dearth,
And pensive dirge no more to may

Oft has Peace our soft passion's see,
sensible to every birth, triumph-
And smooth revival on pastures glee;
Is graced this from a fecund nymph?

See golden spring blest in its verdant form
Like robe's the morn an ever greeny patch,
The genii of her deeds which rais'd so charm,
Thus seems the woods gleaming to enrich

Glad brooms and blue-bells are they, these-
Ha! Countless violet-color'd fancy weft
Awhile this queering heart once ease
Him, Whose eyes see happy aloft?

Goddess, let lush, laughter this way-
In me thus soft a concord make
From this world’s yelling sway;
Let bursting buds they wake- awake

If duskiness awhile it fade
Aye, there joyous wings shall mature
In me, Spring if then rosy-clad
Sweet reflects this song from my musing lyre.

Poem Written While stinting in An Imaginary Grecian Garden

Monday, January 5, 2015

CANT TRUST ME, CANT TRUST YOU

  "The spirit fell into the dark pit of doubt:   cant trust me, cant trust you.’ Life’, the more a burn on burn feeling, the longing ...