A Call For Truth.

They crowd in the streets
talk in a low voice
Is there anything around?
they crave for news,
Is it really?

Sieving through the imperfections
digging into the debris, he cries.
“Oh! she is a pervert.
Really, is she so?.
Well, she looks deviant
you know. Strange.

I know the woman. She is restless.
Strange? Sure. But, perverted?
She embodies innocence.

The gossip flares up.Spreads like fire
I vouch for her innocence.

Lo! She dies before she is exonerated.
Words are powerful. Pen is mightier than sword
Lies kill. That which does no harm is truth.

Refrain from telling lies. Do not evince interest
on something not pleasant.
Give peace a chance, embrace all with love
all are God’s children.

(The way I felt after reading a poem)



The Lovely Moon.

The moon in the sky
shines steadfast
with a pleasant  smile.

I wish to touch her
knowing  full she is unreachable.

Her milky fluffy exteriors
look imposing and imperious.

Enticing she is.

Passing my fingers
over her smooth demeanour
while so in an imagination
provokes nothing promiscuous
instead, proposes a sobriety.

Her  luminosity is  brilliant,
not anyway, blinding
a blend of
brightness and  solemness
a graceful shine she extends.

I gaze at her.
Know not how long.
I stand still,
diffident to move.