Deads never tell the tales, but
your sense does!
Moving over the bridge, slowly... silently.
I think, that is true, 'cause
if sense doesn't cheat
perhaps images would.
I Search...
When I sit
Under the moon
To see your golden eyes
Looking at me…
But filled with no love nor even a faith…
That amazes me even today
‘Was there any fault in me ?’
I ask and search
But never find the answer…
Remaining is nothing, only the shadows
Of those sweet moments
When I thought you are the one --
The queen of my dreams…
Soon illusion vanish, with the memory
Of your golden hairs
The time moves and the breeze whispers --‘Awake’
But in vain, I can’t
‘cause still is a hope
a dream of you !
Burning Bride
Everything is not good
for what you think it is
but for some look on a distance face
that peers
through the unmindful day
to brought home
pieces of some familiar snaps
of the flowers that bloom
asking a thousand questions
each recomposing the other.
In the veil of the red Saree
“whose is that face?”
where dance
the light on the brunt out parts
on the leftovers of the evil flames,
“Let her burn, for she is no good”
you mutter with the murderous heart
that tempts the failure song
-- a gone away wish
in a desert land, over the stones of gold.
You see the gold, not its fire
you see the devil, not the evil
“why so?”
Each time the day breaks
you bring home a cloud
argue in thousand words
these are the key to dreams
more solid.
On the dry rocks, on the grave
I sit and ponder
in my weighing skull
“Why we never think
what the gold brings
is a share of good earth
is but a grave
where we need to fight a solitude
and need a caring wish
left behind by an angel.
Apprehension
When I discovered the words
in the deep corners of my heart
I knew it was you
who captured my dreams.
I never had felt the joy
the jovial moods
The dance of the spirit
which knows no bounds.
But how long is the magic
that can be felt
across the lonely streets
where I stand ?
Perhaps, mirages are many
that heart wishes to own
But at the far coast of mind
there is the 'Truth' with its cold looks.
To warn of something deep
beyond those words of yours--
"The world is never
what you see,
but what you perceive
through experience!"
What, when, which, who, why, how?
I not know
What
Will happen
When
I search for the knowledge
Which
Helped me to know
Who
I am
Why
I exist and
How
Could I know
Why
I do not reach the one
Who
Created the world
Which
Let us flourish, but alone
When
The question rings to tell me
What
I perhaps already know at the beats of time
When
I gained some consciousness
Which
Assures me at the dead of nights there is the one
Who
Runs this world, but you can’t ask
Why?
And also
How?
Because ‘why’ has no end and not lets you reach him
Who
Lives and dies for you --- the reason of
Which
Is not known --- perhaps meant not be known for the moment
When
You begin to ask everything with doubt about someone or something ---
What
Is that?
Who
Will hear you, if you think there is always a
‘why’
To everything and every cause?
How
Would you react if someone
Who
Thought you having faith in him
Which
Lets you think of him
When
You not know
What
Will happen next?
Why
You try always to ask and not to believe and
How
You think you are going to survive in a world
Which
Is so harsh
When
You need some pity
What
Will become of you?
How
Will you live?
What
Will be your fate?
How
Will you live?
What
Will be your fate…?
Have Mercy on White Things !
Autumn leaves floating
on the voiced wind
spreading over the grey canvas.
A naked tree
like a skeleton standing on the middle
with a texture of dark
and its last crumpled leaf -- lonely !
Dark is not all -- there is ‘white’
a dying swan upon the dry earth
waiting for the last blow
from the metal barrel
like thousand others,
who left their body,
to serve the barrel headed
who move over the cracked land
to quench their thirst, with blood.
More white spots flew to the East
more of life, has entered the torture land
to fall upon the stone claws that
shove out from the desert bottom. . .
But life never stops
and the birds never stop,
in this hollow land
nothing ever stops !
About the Poet
Samir Dash is one of many modern day young voices from India with a distinct tone in poetry. Software Engineer by profession, he completed his M.A. with specialization in Indian Writings in English Literature. Dash can be reached at https://samirshomepage.wordpress.com