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Me! A shodow to your esteemed frame,
my spread dictated by the Sun's path.
Then why is my littleness your jeering game,
and my hugeness, Distress's wrath?

Just as a shadow is a mere image of the frame and its size and spread is decided by the frame alone, so is one's predicament-be it joy or sorrow, is a result of one's own actions. Hence, one, oneself is responsible for it and can steer out of it.

---

I and he, both in one frame,
the tale that is seen a ficticious dawn.
Is ever such fiction in nature's game,
that two peaks adorn one hill's crown??

Just A Thought

This stage that thee strides, so strong,
Is an endless path that cradles thy role,
perhaps witness to rebukes and songs,
Alas! Yet not vast to hold thy soul.

One who is affected by official challenges is not less wrong than the actor who is carried away by situations in a play.


Ah, that venomous snake in glee,
Could wrap that branch by his frame,
Now, ask the wise sandalwood tree,
Can venom ever dilute that fragrance, so famed?

One’s inner peace and happiness is untouched, unperturbed by situations that engulf him; just like that sandalwood tree whose fragrance is never diluted by the venomous snake that always circles its trunk


These are random thoughts that came past me, after a particular discussion that I happened to have with few proffesionals, on the subject of professional challenges leading to mental stress.

A Puppet to his Master

Lest the mother's eyes were forced to recite,
to her heart, in pain, her son's plight,
Thou led me out of her tender sight,
when my health had to bow to Destiny's might.

Lest my frame was tasked to lean,
on vacuum so cold and bare,
Thou carried me on Your arms unseen,
away from crowds, their words, their glare.

Lest Lonliness cradled my pain,
Lest its ways decieved my dignity,
Thou rested my self on a cradle whose twines,
were Love, Care, Warmth and Nobility.

A puppet I am, my strings, Thee wills.
Thy moves so Divine and full of Grace,
that when I have to fall to Destiny's riddles,
I find myself in Thy embrace.

International Woman's Day

An Ode to Nobility

O Lord, such is Thy craft…


A fairy rises from Thy sacred womb,
As the Sun from that elusive Groove*,
Stamps she such beauty on warring humanity,
As does the rose to her thorny tree.

Valiant is the anchor that fights the storm,
Noble as much, for it shows not its form,
Such is the fairy whose silent aura banish
tempestous pain and mortal anguish.

Blesses as we by Thy Craft divine,
Amidst that is a jewel serene,
That thus, does brightens my convex crown,
As among birds, that wondrous swan.

My love for her is steely robust,
Of whose change O Time, thou can never boast,
Be towers that rise, and alas! They fall
May my love live past them all.

O Lord such divinity did Thee sew,
To the parched humanity, this Morning Dew,
Bless her well with Thy secret ways,
More than a thousand Suns with a Zillion rays.


* Groove between the sky and earth – the Horizon