nineleven

the sun rises in the east
and dies in the west,
as usual it was on nineleventwothousandone
another day came without mask of terror.
brutish minds coordinated the blow
in the name of god and religion
mortars and metals crumbled unto dust
and souls snatched from mortal sleep.
fragmented emotions in painful anticipation
relatives, friends and entire human family awakened
abruptly from their routine chores
together all prayed for one or two lives to be spared,
if possible all.
tragedy struck with deadly blast
flying metals rocked the air
within minutes twin towers crushed
sending dust filling the space around.

humankind has left a void in humanity
brutish minds rejoiced for this carnage
roses plucked with vengeance
and petals strewn beneath the rubble.
grief stricken many families were equally dead
still walking the surface of this earth with little hope
fear unfurled itself unto each and everyone effected
silently silenced many living ones.

though the dead had touched the eternal shore
the eyes of terror is still watching
in the name of god and religion
the terror ride is still on
none is at peace
and each step taken seems like a suicide.
the living hopes to leave intact and in peace.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 110911

Three wives, but one is forever

i looked back
i told her
please leave me alone.

i looked in front
i told her
please don't entice me.

i looked within me
i told her
be with me
share my bed of life
switch of the lights
of past and future,

pull the blanket
let me have you NOW.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 020911

Amour propre

the beauty of this life
is but a reflection of light,
this body and brain stays for a while
fools carp that the change is real.

robe not in pride
for in darkness truth unveils itself,
we are invisible to our own eyes
with the poor, lame, donkeys and cows
sharing the same.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 020911.

Elusive illusion

in the fluidity of running water
my reflection wavers non-stop.
at the confluence of river and ocean
in my mind only the water remains
the reflection disappeared.

in the rush of everyday life
my thoughts move non-stop.
at the confluence of life and self
in my mind only the life remains
the thoughts disappeared.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 210811

Railway station

the early morning train
chugs the silence away
breaking the barriers of meditation
it creates the cacophonous morning awakening.
all the benches occupied by revelers of night darkness
and travelers whose train fast to reach
while luggage of various size and colors
find the station floor a best place to rest.

cats and dogs roam the station floor
in search of some left overs to chase their hunger
and in a corner a beggar leaning against the wall
begging sympathy from the worn out travelers.
for a moment life revolves at high speed
in rush people walk about searching something
making the station a little different and busy
as the morning breeze sweeps across.

a stall selling magazines, newspapers, mineral waters
as early as 4:00 am start to draw people
cigarettes, lighters and canned drinks
among the hot stuff bought by many.
across the street food stalls being swarmed
for hot cakes, bread and many more,
and steaming coffee on most tables
to wipe of the cold temperature of the morning hours.

the night rain hasn't stop its rhyme yet
and the hill yonder covered with misty blanket
it is very cold but life's goal keep moving on
another train arrive to set the day busy and alive.


©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 130811.

Meanness

I

The timorous whispering voice
Crackles the eerie silence,
As the gun, nears the forehead.
This haggardly, seeps the rusty fear in.
The colors of the world
In lugubrious pattern of painful emotion
Kill the hope of many souls
That pray the light will soon dawn.
Big cities, small cities and villages
All are prone to this evil of the kings
The crown of humanity we dare to call us
With our hands we push the reality away.

II
In the street the pain lurks
As I see the grimacing faces under the blanket
Neglected physically and psychologically
Hopelessness roots the rotting.
Have we done enough?
Have we ever had enough of many things of life?
Have we ever been under the open sky in cold winter?
We cast one eye on them
The other we cast on brands of trend,
We place our hand in the pockets
Thus we walk the alleys of life
As if the pain of plain humanity
Speaks not her sorrow with tears and disabilities,
And we return home to romance with the creature comforts.

The timorous whispering voice
Crackles the eerie silence,
A signatory of life’s deprivation
At the height of wanton selfishness.


©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 070811.