IT IS THAT TIME OF THE YEAR

        It is that time of the year, 
      When the Sun comes rather late, 
       But, seems in a hurry to depart,
       Cutting short the warm daylight.

        It is that time of the year,
        When the hills wrap themselves,
         In clean, white robes and stand, 
         Waiting for the winter to pass.

          It is that time of the year, 
           When cold-blooded animals,
            Go into deep hibernation, 
            Lest they are frozen to death. 

          It is that time of the year,
         When birds from snowy climes,
        Come flying thousands of miles,
        To survive in sunny regions.

           It is that time of the year,
             Which the rich find most enjoyable,
             With all the weapons in their hands,
             To fight the cruel weather.

          But  for the poor and homeless,
          It's nothing short of a marauder,
          Which comes  just to torture them, 
            And make life even harder.
          

WINTER AFTERNOONS

      There is something really appalling, 
      About winter afternoons,
     That hurts and scares intensely,  
     Sparing hardly anyone.

Far on the western horizon, 
The sun goes sliding down,
Winding up its golden light,
As if in a hurry to resign.

Birds fly desperately towards trees, 
Flutter over and around them,
In search of safe shelters,
To spend their night hours.

Flowers and plants  around, 
Fold their leaves in caution,
And shrink themselves within,
For fear of being frostbitten.

 Whether  humans or animals, 
 All appear to be  in a haste,
To return to the safety of a home,
Before the onset of the cruel attacker.

गीता जयन्ती पर....

DECEMBER SUN ....

                  

The December sun  feels,
Like a hand from heaven  
Wiping out the  deadly frost,
From the face of  the earth,
With its soft, warm touch.

The December Sun is, 
Like the first cool showers,

After a long spell of summer,
Reviving hope of life,
In the landscape everywhere. 

December Sun is, 
Like the offer of a good job,
To  an unemployed  youth
 Struggling to be self-dependent,

To realise his long-cherished dreams.
 

The December Sun  is, 
Like the gift of a warm blanket,
By a stranger to the homeless beggar,
Shivering  on the footpath,
 On a freezing, cold night.


           

THUS SPAKE THE ROSE

                       

     There are no roses without thorns
      We often hear this proverb,   
     Whenever you  are  facing  a challenge,  
     To gain anything worthwhile.  

     But there is another vital message,
     We would love to  share  with you,
     That can change the face of the world,
      But is seldom given thought. 

          It's  wise to respect one another, 
       While passing through life's  journey, 
      And give the world the best you can,
      While accepting your own destiny.

       We think  it is mean and unwise,
       To be selfish and intolerant,
       we are supposed to live in peace,
       To love and help one another.

         We flowers are happy to  live this way,
         Co-operating with one another,
        Never fighting or disturbing anyone,
        We spend our days joyfully. 

          And  enjoy living the way we do,
        Since  peaceful and rewarding it feels,
         Adding meaning to our existence,

          Making life a wonderful festival.

           Wonder why you understand  not,
            Such a  plain  principle of life, 
           That 'tis  much wiser to be friendly, 
           Than breed hatred and vengeance!
           






         

     

My Thoughts

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       Sometimes  my thoughts are,

        Like stray clouds,

  Blown around on a windy day,
I know not where they are headed to,
And if ever be put at rest.


But I want them to be sensible, 
   And choose the right path, 
   Not roam about aimlessly,
   Only at the mercy of the wind. 

  I want them to be like summer rain,
 Descending on the  drying  landmass,
 Reviving life and cheer and vigour, 
 All around, on the land and air.

DEAR , ADORABLE , RAMA !

I often wonder what you really were,

A common man turned superhuman,

By performing incredible feats,

All through his life's journey.

 Or, an incarnation of God Himself, 

 Born to human parents as a son,

Who went through all experiences,

 Like anyone living on the earth?

Either way, you must have been, 

A miracle among the mortals,

Who was born, lived and died, 

Just as any human ever did.

An ideal son, brother and friend,
A saviour of the weak and oppressed,

 who fought against the evil all through 

And proved it would never succeed.  

 A king most fair, an epitome of justice
 Who practised Dharma as his supreme duty
 Whose rule is known as the best so far

 Whose life is an epic of self-sacrifice!