Unusual Homecoming

   

                                          UNUSUAL HOMECOMING
                       



                                    Home he did come that ill-fated day,
                                     But  none had thought the way he did,
                                     All wrapped up in the solemn tricolour,
                                        Sure symbol of ultimate honour.

                                     Truly it was the most befitting honour,
                                     For a braveheart so  bold  and daring,
                                     Who put himself at stake without fear,
                                      To ensure that the nation doesn't suffer.
                                                                                                                                                                                                            Devotion to duty was his prime concern,
                                     Fighting till the end to foil the attack,
                                     Paying  his flesh  and blood as the cost,
                                     He set an example of supreme sacrifice.

                                     The strike having been foiled  now,
                                     The guns are silent  for a while,,
                                      But the sounds of anguish still resound,  
                                      Inside and around the home he lived.

                                      Which had  hoped he would, someday,
                                      Come back alive, secure and gay,.
                                       Instead came the bolt from the blue,
                                       Bringing him home this gloomy way!

                                       Heaps of flowers and wreaths offered,
                                        Tributes and messages of condolence,
                                       Are but poor solace to the   kins,
                                         Shattered by the sudden blow.


.                                        Words and gestures of sympathy,
                                        Can hardly lessen so profound a grief,                                                                                                           What can compensate  the loss,   
                                         So immense and beyond repair?

                                        The only healing thought is that,
                                        He gave his life  for the country's sake
                                        And that will  keep his name alive,
                                         Forever in our minds and hearts.
                         

                         
Written as a tribute to the martyrs of Pathankot terror attack.

Musings over a Passing Day

            It's new year eve again,
            And I am happy,
            But a little bit pensive too.,
            Silently I hear the clock tick,
            And watch the tiny moments,,
            slip from my hands,
            Like grains of sand,
            In the hourglass.

               Time ---the mightiest of the mighty,
               The subject of  eternal wonder,
                wrapped in folds of mystery,
                 Defying all human wisdom,
                 At defining its peculiar history.

                    I, too, often wonder,
                    As to how its unseen hands,
                     manage this vast universe,
                     Its myriad life forms,
                     And even insensate things.

                     Like a traveller ever on the move,
                     It goes on forging ahead,
                     Turning days into months and years-
                     Centuries and millennia.

                      On what fateful day of yore,
                      Did it set out on this unique voyage,
                      What undiscovered  continent,
                      Is it headed forever to ?

                      And here we are trying,
                      To bound its eternal run,
                      Into the frames called tenses,
                     Past, Present and Future.

                     But where are the lines of  divide,
                     Or do they at all exist?
                    My mind is dwelling again,
                    On this perpetual riddle -

                     About the  nature  of  Time,
                     That always seems  beyond,
                    The knowledge of human  minds,
                    Through all the ages bygone.

                     As to how its magic wheel,
                    Carries us always forward
                    On the cycle of  past and present
                    To the future ever unknown!