Copyright © 2015 Ankur Mutreja
(All Rights Reserved)
Complex are the ways of life.
Difficult it is to describe them in Black & White.
Emotions are many; Words are few.
And those who know them are far and few
Life is a book of poems; And this is mine.
Beautiful or ugly, you determine.
Virgin No More
Love with the Night
The Rain Desert
Climb Up the Ladder
I Met Her
He Was Walking
In Search of the One
The Last Train
The Dividing Line | The Seashore
Standing frail, she diffused her smell far and wide.
Not a man who was not attracted to this beauty of fairies.
Not a man who didn’t wish to appropriate her for self.
But her misty eyes were still poignant for love.
For which vulnerability, the men staged duals a plenty.
Yet she remained Virgin, for none had the limbs enough.
The luxury of choice she didn’t have,
But her heart plotted a rebel nevertheless.
An evening clouded the Sun of the West.
When the sounds of prayer were sent in the air with smell.
But the dog the men are, they heard only smell.
And she remained Virgin, for none had the ears enough.
In the morning of the sun after an endless night of hope.
She dreamt of a prince of valor, chivalry and a lovely heart.
He came to rescue her from the grip of darkness.
And embraced her in his arms with love and care.
Alas! Her dream broke for it was a day-dream in the Sun.
And she remained Virgin, for had she not the eyes enough.
Never did she like the shabby wires inside her head.
And gave all credit to her heart, eyes, face and smell.
Finally, she turned to her mind in despair for help.
And the advice she got was to perspire and act,
And she remained Virgin no more,
For none had the mouth enough to ask the question again.
He has just tied the knot with the Night,
Who promised to love him till the Sun breaks his light.
She is a flirt with many lovers.
And the Moon is the witness to all her loves.
Today she has chosen him, who is ecstatic with love.
He knows it is his only chance to embrace the Lady.
His eyes are closed; his lips are thirsty; his love is true;
And he is ready to kiss the Night.
She is smiling naughty at the poor kid now under her grips.
She nudges him; tickles him; shakes him.
And wakes him out of his lovely dream of love.
He is bewildered and exhausted, but she is dark and wild.
He tries yet again to kiss the Night
And the whore shudders him again with a smile.
And till the Sun breaks his light.
The Moon shall witness again this love with the Night.
The dry rain has fallen again from the tears of sorrow.
But the wait for the joy shower stays.
The lightning of clouds was seen, not heard.
This rainbow is a mirage of the desert.
The Skies are far from the Earth,
And her cries are lost in the din of the laughters of demons.
The thirst of life pleads for the beloved.
But he is entrapped in the clutches of darkness.
The few protective umbrellas have turned white.
For their destiny is to resemble the color of snow.
The heart of the nature is frozen by the deceit of the Man,
And her heart bleeds for the lost love in this Rain Desert.
I practiced acrobatics to jump the Ladder.
I ran miles anticipating a long Ladder.
I walked tight rope to balance on the Ladder.
I did Yoga to bend the Ladder like Beckham.
I even “greased palms” to get a grip on the Ladder.
But I didn’t know none but firefighters climb up the Ladder.
When I met her, she drew my cartoon.
When I met her, she hacked my mobile.
When I met her, she broke my sleep.
When I met her, she spit on my face.
When I met her, she hid behind her mother.
I still meet her because she cries when I don’t.
He was walking when I first saw him.
He was walking when I last saw him.
He was walking to an objective; and by an attraction;
He was out of anxiety; and in urgency.
He was walking when he was young; and when, old.
He was walking even when He could hardly walk.
He didn’t tell why He was walking,
But I didn’t see him not walking.
People say He has stopped walking.
But all I know He was walking!
She always knew there is the One
And She started searching.
She searched in cyber, in books, in music, in dreams.
She went to temples, to shores, to parks, to cinemas.
She talked to friends, to pets, to family, to strangers.
She argued; She cajoled; She cried; She laughed.
She hoped; And yet She stopped.
She found the One; She was the One.
Traveled he sans ticket for the love of life.
Was his journey the Life, and his baggage, the love.
Had he the Life Pass, but not the Red enough.
Left behind to get some Red, got it he indeed.
And asked him nobody ever for the ticket again;
When yet another train, the Last Train, he boarded.
Here I stand at the Dividing Line.
Ahead is New; Behind, Old.
Ahead is Calm; Behind Chaos.
Ahead is Promise; Behind, Compromise;
Ahead is One; Behind One & All.
Do I go ahead? I am afraid to do that!
Do I go back? How can I do that!
Let’s be here for some more time.
Other Books by the Same Author:
1. Flare: Opinions
2. Light: Philosophy
3. Sparks: Satire and Reviews
4. Writings @ Ankur Mutreja: Satire, Reviews, Opinions, and Philosophy
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