Selected Poetry
A Wreath Lost And Regained
Four seasons of pure victory
Made the wreath a luxury.
But the joys of yesterday
Vouch not for the fore-day.
Success made the athlete drunk
Thinking himself stable as he floats on.
The wise gods in mockery scorn
As he equates himself with the firm soil.
He assumed power for nature
And unprepared went to contest.
In human race no one is swiftest
Saves the one who trims his culture.
That day placed a fault on his name
Rubbished his long built fame.
He knew more than shame
As his glory faded in wanes.
The die is cast.
What is lost is lost.
In anguish he gave an inner wept,
That his psyche could not hide his teething hides.
As the days go by in tears
Surprising fans and enjoying mates,
He knew in a long flash that two ways can he tread
Hem locked by sorrow or strive back on top
Weighing the two matters on thought balance,
Considering the shame of lost prodigies,
And knowing the joys of lost-found fame,
He chose to make back for the royal stead.
Loosely preparing in pride,
To dodge shames of poor input,
Sending heavy surgings to the gods,
He went on to contest.
With the last won lap,
Joyful emotions burst open,
In thanks to the gods for lessons acquired,
Lessons that stuck to guide.
I Wish To Be Used
To put love where hate hides
To dry running fluid from eyes
To cast off the mist from the common path
To lift up spirits flat on the ground
As a pillow for restless heads
As a balm for pained nerves
To answer questions unanswered
To notice those unloved
To love those unloved
To sing the songs unsung
To clear the paths unclear
To teach those untaught
The Venom Of Anger
A volcanic rupture of unhappiness
Emerges from the hides of the mind.
Biting, teething, it goes like madness
To avenge the hurts that are left behind.
The insanely time’s wind
Attempts to quench the fire,
At first resolved in speedy winds,
Unwillingly paralyzing the vengeful desire.
Potent like a cloth-covered magnet
That arouses at the presence of a metal.
Making the mind a tussling crocodile enclosed in a net.
Disunited and a scattered total.
Oh! What a soothing sorrow,
Dancing to the fall and rising rhythm of anger’s wavy row.
The Rhythm Of Pretence
Fused out of friction
Brewed in the flames of division
Losing oneself in chameleonic chemistry.
Know myself, yet not knowing myself.
Split apart like a burnt cloth,
Partly black, half-ly white.
Alas! I drown trying to catch fish,
No one vesture.
Killed in the altar of varied belonging.
Bury me not in the earth to take me whole,
Place me close to streams where in forceful rival,
My flesh will go to both vultures and fishes.