Sonnet #1

I have a way with words,

Is the belief in which I exist,

None the ways explain the chirping birds,

Or the fluttering butterflies that persist,

In my gut, the pit of my navel,

To haunt every personal thought of thee,

Rings like a bell, like a metal ladle,

In a metal vessel rotating free,

My head, the more stable reference frame,

And the cacophony, my ripply thought stream,

You, the pebbles, the one to blame,

The smooth round ones with a wicked gleam,

Clouds the eye, constricts the flow,

To the vast sea,still steady, but slow.

Fear

The greatest fear a man could fathom,

Is becoming the being he ridicules,

He wishes not to put a binding jinx,

And in him to let his fear manifest,

Back then hideous, a warty toad,

The mind sculpted, Its free will,

Like a wild, majestic stallion white,

Unreined now and lumped with earth.

The Mynah

Prostrate, A single mynah bird,

Harbinger of doom of yore,

I ponder what harm could possibly befall,

A stark naked, unintentional loner.

Human Race

A leotard of stretched tensile emotions,

Clothes the voluptuous form of gruesome whims,

A grotesque remnant sickly blob,

Crawls on the smoothened curves of conscience,

Does a back-flip into the pool of fear,

Leaving a trail of scattered sticky green,

That evolves to the familiar facade,

Of our very own human race.

The Note

I throw a crisp, hundred rupee note,

Right out the french window bright,

It wafts in the air like a paper boat,

On a makeshift muddy stream, A Sprite,

Caresses the bill with an unformed hand,

As it floats downward to kiss the sand!

Timeless, Our father's noble visage,

Shines bright like a star in the northern sky,

Crumply lines and blots successfully deface,

A barrage, of poisoned arrows whoosh by,

The one in the sky now caked with dirt,

With grime and slime, A generous flirt!

I look out of the french window bright,

With not a hint of regret that pricks,

A callous heart unmoved by blight,

Or pain or tears or a miserable trick,

Hope that a drop of honest sweat,

Would glisten and brighten the visage,

The old man in death.

The Pebble

A round pebble against the turbulent flow,

Eroded the sharpness the forest stream,

Nudges the edges like a hand so slow,

Firm in daring, To not effervesce and gleam!