Poet's Retreat

  Every year when autumns appear And the crisp leaves end their phase, Oh mingling in the wind it comes, The smell of the exam days. When the little ones frown and cry their wrath As they helplessly count the days, With utter dislike and abhorrence to The smell of the exam days. Endless it seems, the fight with books As wrinkles emerge on the face, Moments of headache, it gives to all, The smell of the exam days. As the children fold their sweat-drenched sleeves And their memory runs the maze, With a deviously smile it shadows them all, The smell of the exam days. When at last it comes to a dramatic end And the children are set ablaze, There vanishes into the thin air, The smell of the exam days!

  Who are we to the Lord above And the unbiased blessing of life? Are not we the same as sinless ants Whose colonies peacefully thrive? Who are we to the munificent sun, And the morning's punctual beams? The beams that see not fair or dark, Are not we the same human beings? Who are we to the life-giving rain, And the clouds that burst in glee? The rain that knows no language, religion, Are not we one God’s progeny? Who are we to the graceful wind, And the fragrant winter breeze? Are not we the same blessed humanity Beyond all countries and seas? Us who formed the law of religion, Us who soaked love bare, It’s us who made rules to hate, Why hate, when you can care …

  The thump of the march The tanks that charge, All strangers stun, When we the Jawans run. We're the bones of our nation We're lions of aggression, For in terrains low and high You'll hear our battle cry. The world we sacrifice For no returns or a prize, We shall fight even then 'cause we're India's supermen. And in battlefields red Where our lives may shed, Our glory will sway In the wind every day. The military flight, For our tricolour's pride, All strangers stun, When we the Jawans run.

Dark days and sombre nights, The pain of loss in ruptured skies … No plague has yielded as much grief  In history, as this in time so brief.  Brother Death, so distant once,  Now a custom that balefully runs,  Was it ignorance, or a sin so sour  That the Lord has made us suffer for?  Hope … is all that waits at the door  For humanity can afford but nothing more,  And it’s this enduring hope that fights  The dark days and the sombre nights …

What could as lovely a moment be  As an early morning, it seems to me,  When a serene cool sways through  The wind adorned with wintry dew.  When the somnolent sun smiles at me  And caressed by nature, rises with glee,  And the sombre skies are lit ablaze,  Heralding a blissful morning daze.  And when at the doorstep I sluggishly stand,  The absolute silence draws my hand,  And off I drift to the earthen lap,  To take, amidst the beauty, a nap.  Morning, oh, a delightful feast  To all of living, plant and beast.  And is, the one rare time for sure,  When all the putrid is turned pure.  When earth with heavenly beauty is blessed,  And the anxieties all come to rest,  When all creatures gaily dance and sing,  That’s morning, oh, morning...