Creative Nuisance

Musings From My Soul

Posts Tagged ‘sad

Know Why The Caged Bird Sings!

with 12 comments

A lot of Questions!

And I try walking backwards.

Fresh smile at the table,
Dressed for work,
Knots at the right place,
And you feel I slept sound.

And I try walking backwards.

No frown on my lips,
Greetings with a warm face,
Words sweet and tender,
And you feel I held up.

And I try walking backwards.

No tears from my eyes,
Nor twitching of the lashes,
Nor moistness at the corners,
And you feel I have not cried.

And I try walking backwards.

For you have not seen my wet eyes,
Nor faltering lips or spasmodic nights,
Caged am I still! You now know!
Know why the caged bird sings.

Written by Abhishek

September 1, 2011 at 1:36 PM

The Angel Song

with 6 comments

The Angel Song

I met a lost angel this night,
In the lonely woods, in plight.
Mending  her  broken  wings,
With  rugged  magic  strings.

“Can  you  help  me  out?” –
Her moist eyes in doubt,
-“will  grant  you  a  wish.”
Hands trembling in anguish.

“There,  they all  wait  for  me,
Bleeding  Souls in  teary  sea.
Those wounded soldiers there
With  nothing but  faith bare.”

How could I refuse!
An  angel  in  blues.
But I know not how,
How to fulfil this vow!

With a soft look into my eyes,
She read through the naked disguise
And  said “All I need  is a  drop  of  tear
To drag me out of this gnawing despair.”

Little  startling,  little  high
A little request I can’t deny.
So I squeezed out a bitter drop
A sacrifice for the little Aesop.

Happy again, she vanished in starry glow,
Rousing  up the fallen leaves with a  blow.
*
The wish, still, I have not put to use,
But  those  tears I started  still  ooze.

Written by Abhishek

August 12, 2010 at 6:40 PM

A Moment For Them

with 5 comments

Sweating, he toils in the sand,
Digging as hard as he can,
Have we looked at his worn-out hand?
Or, his jaded feet, did we scan?

The sun is up and rough,
But, without a word, he digs on,
What has made him so tough?
Or, what inner strength does he don?

Not much of age, maybe ten,
Sure, he is not digging for gold.
What is he looking for then?
Or, … has he just been sold!

As his master gives him a stare,
He digs on, fearful of a bash,
Is it out of his master’s scare?
Or, because of the day-end cash?

Slowly, the light gets dim,
And as the evening settles down,
He returns to his hut grim,
But happy that he fetched his crown.

As he places the earned pay
in his mother’s hand, he smiled,
For him, a nonchalant end to another day!
For us: “Who cares if he’s still a child!

Written by Abhishek

July 18, 2010 at 11:32 AM

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