The Last Wall Of My Small World

featured in the poetry forum February 9, 2017  :: 0 comments

How to pass you over, my dear?
Localizing all the beauties of nature,
Accumulating all the treasures of El Dorado
And
Setting all the mountains and oceans thereon
You lie in my way,
Maybe, you are busy writing
The last chapter of my fate,
Singing
An opening song of my life-album
And projecting
My last dream
Which comes true
Somewhere
In your body, mind and soul
Just
Beside the last wall of my small world.

editors note:

From the large, hard-bound Book of Life, maybe our stories go straight to paperback. – mh clay

Self-Respect

featured in the poetry forum March 17, 2016  :: 0 comments

I have a drum
which is grammatically well tuned
like of yours
as per the universal norm of sweetness
and as usual I long to listen its sweet sound
beating it
dancing and singing,
traversing each and every cavity of human sense
but unfortunately
I have a weakness too
as I lack an ethically authorized hand to beat it
but in the process
my young heart permits me
to purchase the authorized hand
in exchange for
my beloved money and self-respect both
but my old soul restricts me
saying
‘’No self respect means no life in a life,
so let your drum be beaten by others’’

editors note:

What it means to be beat? Looking for an “authorized hand.” – mh clay

To Welcome the Sun Which Rises in the West

featured in the poetry forum January 4, 2016  :: 0 comments

I give a chase to it
yet the sun
doesn’t rise in the west,

I jump on it
still I find myself always
lying below a merciless rapist,

I scratch on it
nevertheless the honey is sucked
by a tartar I have accidentally caught,

I pray to it
but my cheque is bounced back
to my empty purse,

I bribe to it
and then it comes to a stand-still
to welcome my sun which rises in the west.

editors note:

It costs a dreamer’s ransom to stand the Earth on its head. – mh clay

A Rural Love Story

featured in the poetry forum August 28, 2015  :: 0 comments

Sunrise in the tune of morning prayer
and a lazy flow of whispering breeze
carrying the scent of love
bloomed somewhere in a muddy meadow
and an enchanting melody
of her passionate calling
for her man of love,
just a good beginning of a rural love story
projecting a hilarious hustle
among the ensnared lover
and a pair of bullocks on the land
and in the sky
among the clouds
rich in sea and ocean
until the lover reaches his land of love
with sharp weapons and gifts
for his lying beloved
and the hustle is turned
into a disciplined, artful and satiable
touching and scratching
of  the lover on the soft body of his beloved
staying behind a pair of bullocks
and beneath a black raining umbrella.

editors note:

From sun to sun (from plow to plow), the farmer’s work… – mh clay

Back-yard And Front-Yard

featured in the poetry forum January 8, 2015  :: 0 comments

In the back-yard,
spontaneous and talent-wise
boundary, over boundary, single and others –
each and every lively act of the magical bat
enchanted the tumultuous crowd
to feel sporting in every winning or losing moment,
emotional in their heartfelt expression
and proud to be a part of inspirational history.

In the front-yard,
the same thrilling act is still on –
but quite synthetic and script wise,
well performed by a commercial rod
ensnaring the luxurious mind and foolish brain
to feel more hilarious,
to become ever-blind
and compelled to be a part of a story –
conceived and written by a non-sporting hand

editors note:

Don’t like that story from a “non-sporting hand.” I’ll take the backyard scene every time. – mh

The Poor Crowd

featured in the poetry forum May 4, 2014  :: 0 comments

At Last, the poor crowd was made calm
in a mysterious night,
the witness – the moon, was compelled to
hide behind the escaping clouds,
flushing a course of darkness in the sky;
an owl – the other witness,
sitting on the top of a banyan tree
sneaked, swinging the old leaves to shed down.

In the previous scene,
amid the encircling crowd –
hungry, thirsty, disturbed and agitated,
icy and hard was the mountain,
provoked the crowd to
set ablaze a flame of unrecognised emotions,
causing the melting of the icy mountain into
a few streams and fountains –
the blessings for meeting
hunger and thirst of the crowd.

Alas! The haughty mountain was merciless –
featured by devilish cruelty and destructive anger,
erupted fountains of fire and streams of lava
and engraved the poor crowd – hopeful for a new morning,
under the burning blanket of death in that cursed night.

editors note:

Pompeii or apocalypse; poet or prophet? Hmmm… – mh

A ladder, A spear and A beauty parlour

featured in the poetry forum March 3, 2014  :: 0 comments

I am mad after a beauty parlour-
With a spear in hand
unabated has been my climbing
a standing ladder attached
to that hanging beauty parlour up above the sky-
far away, in the kingdom of clouds.
A universal hatred to my ugliness
made me untouchable to the wingless fairies,
boring to the hilarious hearts
and horrible to the dreamful eyes.

Being dumped I was mercilessly so far
in a dark and suffocating room,
surrounded by the useless company
that my inability could arrange,
but could increase the degree of
obedience and sincerity to my heavenly boss
with humble prayer and importunity
for stepping up to the hanging beauty- parlour.

Successful I was to be blessed
and bestowed with a ladder and a spear,
since then my climbing has been on and on
to reach up to the dreamful parlour
for getting myself up-to-date
and the remaining chapters
of my unread and neglected epic collocated.
As I am blissful now in quick climbing
so effective my spear is to
remove the impediments and rivals.
Quite tension-free I am now
as I am accompanied by a blessed soul
and a hopeful heart in my efforts of climbing up
to win a place in the heavenly beauty parlour.

editors note:

A wonderful metaphor! Also double-endorses the popularity of extensions… – mh

Two Neighbours

featured in the poetry forum January 5, 2014  :: 0 comments

In every night,
time steers the magical stick,
makes the hilarious houses unconscious
from the huts to the skyscrapers-
shutting their doors and windows
but enchants the two shrewd neighbours,
who express their concealed friendship through hotline,
organise a luxurious party in a secret paradise,
exchange surprise gifts and packages
and discover the tactics of making people fools.

Routine-wise the sun appears in the morning,
makes everything from material to immaterial
transparent and comprehensible
to open eyes and ears and to hearts and souls.
The two clever neighbours wash out the friendship,
proclaim hostility in front of micro phone,
throw the bombs to each other
made of synthetic hatred and anger,
inject the alcohol of enmity into people’s minds
and build up an aggressive and toddling society.

Within a fraction of a moment-
universal friendship and fraternity get mingled,
peace and harmony commit suicide,
intelligence and intellectuality hide in the knees
and all fools join in well-planned hustle and bustle
on the top floor and on the ground floor-
cheating, pillaging, and even blood shedding.
Alas! The earth rotates and again night appears,
brings the two neighbours lips to lips through cell phone
and in the outside a pathetic weeping reverberates in the air.

editors note:

The game of one-upmanship played on a large scale. Heads down, People! Wait ’til the dust clears… – mh