Will a restless soul find peace?
a lone wanderer shall always tire,
lost within like withered trees,
who will light his funeral pyre?
alone in his madness he walks,
never a part of a greater whole,
no company, to himself he talks,
longs for imprint of another soul;
how end his solitary foray,
who will stand by his side,
all pass through, none stay,
he walks with a sturdy stride;
life has tossed him to drift away,
must fight to reconquer his way.
I am downright filthy,
reeking of self pity,
glad to be wealthy,
yet shame of impurity;
wish to burn alive,
curing me of disgrace,
bees have a hive,
I have no one to face;
there will be a new dawn,
where I turn the tides,
a new vigour will be born,
be immersed in joy rides;
it isn’t question of me rising above,
but how many I drag out of their low.
The ships with people have left port,
why do you still loiter here,
what ecstasy seek, whom court,
is it the seas that you fear?
I bow my head in shame,
for I fear the sea of change,
my painful life will be forever same,
yet there is a lure of the strange;
I now lack the guts to sail away,
yet I can still dream and hope,
someday I be on the sea’s sway,
sailing away from pain me dope;
now that is a journey I’ve forever planned,
but what use for I am anchored to land.
I salute the wise and warm aged,
though they don’t like to be reminded,
will I grow old like this caged,
with my life a drag never mended;
if it were so let me now perish,
hope for joy is what makes me tick,
create sweeter memories to cherish
stamp imprint on world with a kick;
Will I in painful solitude grow old,
can fate be that cruel and me that bold,
will I find my herd as my story unfold,
will I be truly happy before I go out cold;
the years passed have been unkind,
the years ahead shall blossom as I unwind.
Why do they come in? the (blog) birds,
only to fly away,
capturing my heart with mystic words,
then push astray;
long comforts given a weary soul,
you say not any more,
where to go? how become whole?
where find tales of yore?
crave, not all, but the familiar few,
brave three hundred,
now not even three, where rest of you?
why have you fled?
I still believe, when battle comes roaring,
in that need, you’ll fly to my side soaring.
Here we stand naked,
with our wares on display,
few ashamed, many expectant,
as toys in a grand play;
we are judged and rated,
few relished, many discarded,
what cruelty this atrocity,
a race on, to be awarded;
not hidden exposed in total,
beauty or the flaws obscure,
yet for some, beautiful all naked,
they the true connoisseur,
some don’t relish such scrutiny,
truly beautiful in their brutish mutiny.
Oh blog, you were all I needed,
content playing within your boundary,
like not suffice, for love I pleaded,
intend to leave you alone as obituary;
hope to raise an army from within your walls,
to toil and wear, my words like gospel spread,
can hear the jeering ridicule and catcalls,
yet shall find my brave three hundred;
your time and my effort shall soar soon,
an edifice of words built brick by brick,
that takes you to and fro from the moon,
not a stunt pulled or lure of a cheap trick,
but some magic that will stand the test of time,
now and ever pronounced the immortal rhyme.
Impatient and restless,
I can’t wait,
woes of boredom countless,
yet bite bait;
some play games on mobile,
rhyming silly my game,
that occupies me for a while,
incompetent verses without shame;
dragging low loftier thoughts,
this inane rambling,
that conquers no fresh hearts,
does it matter I sing;
for in a busy world who does hear,
I silently hide the ever lingering tear.
A tiresome day weeps for a lonely night,
a patched life, sweet and sour, seeks release,
exit denied, each new day is the old sight,
when will chaos end and dawn peace;
change as only constant, a lie, for all same,
same boredom, same drudgery, same pain,
joy a memory, still possible in life’s game,
the parched soiled sands seek pure rain;
but with rain comes thunder frightening,
what use invisible rainbows at night dancing,
can’t move in dark with spasms of lightning
as the torch, mud puddles in path prancing;
a lonely night calls for a cheerful and eager day,
a rainy holiday where in groups inside we stay.
Peter guarding heaven’s gates declared,
from now gates open not on character,
but on talent, as a huge commotion flared,
hate to wait, thought going hell, entry swift;
a potter showed a magnificent vase,
was let in and there he entered smiling,
another a trader purchased his space
with his weight in gold, coins tumbling;
an artist showed painting not great,
and was sent away to depths of hell,
a poet came and met the same fate,
his words shallow, not much to tell;
My turn came and judging me was said that I belonged,
neither heaven nor hell but purgatory for talents wronged.