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Ode to a Peacock.


Up on the hillock,

up on the grassy lock,

up over a marshy  block,

up  at the strike  of the clock,

amidst a happy flock,

there was a  lovely slot.

 

 

A dainty entry from the hills,

with a sharp bill,

with a sapphire fill,

calling in a voice shrill,

made its way in a drill,

it was an enticing dance.

 

 

The colourful feathers spread  grand,

opened up like a  canopy on a land,

throwing out shiny elegance in a brand,

the dense feathers  enchanted the band,

it appeared as an action of a magic wand,

It created a  trance.

 

 

The danseuse beckoned the gaiety of north,

it greeted the pleasantries of south,

it solicited the charm of west,

it bowed to the grace of the oriental east,

 exhibiting  a marvellous feat,

it was a concert best.

 

 

Hopping it went ahead,

jumping  it trotted  back,

elaborating it moved right,

accelerating it speeded left,

displaying a nimble footed treat,

it held everyone in toes.

 
Crooning goes round the peahen

singing tunes of love in tens,

kindling the peacock to  dance  in sevens,

enthralling the spectators to a rhapsodical events,

Good God!  it  was nothing but heavens,

it was a beautiful romance.

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A Boisterous Threat.


Trees were in full bloom.

Colorful  flowers were in full blossom.

Lascivious  fruits hung heavily.

Little birds chirped crisply.

Bees buzzed with a drone.

Adding  charm to the zone.

 

The land stands bare.

There are no trees to stare.

There are no bearer of fruits juicy.

There are no blossoms to  make  flowering  lovely.

There are no loving hosts to hold birds chatter.

There are no lively relays to deliver the bees humming with cheer. 

 

The ground is loaded with mortar and concrete.

Buildings go up in stylish lanky upbeat.

Displaying colors of morbid paints.

Distracting the original inhabitants.

Chasing them out of their dwellings

Disturbing the environment out of its rings.

 

Threats come in different forms.

Destroying everything over the norms.

Invasions are considered as heroic deeds.

Assassinations are out of  greed.

Harassment indicate a cruel impertinence.

Deforestation is  a crime beyond penance.

 

 

 

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Actions Beauty Divine Experience Inspiration Interpretation Nature stone Theory thoughts

Leave The Deities Alone.


The deities in temples  are divine.

They  are made of stones fine.

They elucidate a lovely shine.

 

Deities have sculptural beauty.

The artisans carve it with  duty.

Giving them a lofty credibility.

Bringing out  a design of chastity.

 

Deities are now decked with outfits in gold

They make the deities appear bold.

The shine extols the charm people are told.

Gold deduces the divinity to a mere metallic hold.

 

Silver too competes with the metal yellow.

The mercurial  dazzle dims the glow.

Grace is dimmed by the silvery flow.

Money overtakes purity in a slow.

 

Temples are no longer place of prayer.

They indulge in display of wealthy layer.

We hear no songs sung with fervour.

We listen to talks of  self praise all over.

 

Temples no longer exude warmth.

They detract every one by exposing wealth.

Instigating a feeling of stealth.

Sealing the mind with ill-health.

 

 

 

 

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Analogue Of The Moon.


It is a half crescent.

It looks nascent.

It tends to be stringent.

It has a status regent.

 

It grows with pleasure.

It wanes in  measure.

It succumbs to pressure.

In  a lethargic leisure.

Indeed it is a  covetous treasure.

 

Every fortnight it grows in size.

Every other fortnight it demurely lies.

Its expansion has a phenomenal rise.

Its contraction has defeated ties.

Irresistbly  it has a fascinating prize.

 

It shines in the night.

Emitting a cool light.

Expressing no flight.

Empowering a rational plight.

Indeed it delivers a lovely sight.

 

 

Does it not exhibit an analogue?

Does it not record a dialogue?

Does it not appear as a prologue?

Does it not sound like an epilogue? 

Curiously it is not  in thetreasure, leisure, ressure, pleasure, sight, catalogue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Destination Nostaligic


Wading through the rubbish  plastic.

Skipping over the garbage drastic.

Sneezing  frequently over the smell caustic.

Negotiating round the corner as a rustic.

Reached the destination  in a manner stoic.

 

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An Exciting Land.


The soil is ever beautiful,

With sand colourful.

White is the colour of the beach sand.

Red  forms the fertile sand.

Black takes up the alluvial sand.

Brown is attributed to river sand.

A large colourful hue is in the band.

Adding a ray of gold to the land.

Fixing a streak of silver to the land.

Enhancing the glow and the glitter of the land,

With fertility, fecundity and productivity all  in a grand.

Oh! It is a lovely  land!

Indeed it is an exciting  land!

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Experience Interpretation learning Lesson Life Nature Poem Study subscriptions thoughts turmoil

The Red Haunt


It is a red-letter day they hail

It is a red alert they caution.

It is a red light area they call.

It is a red zone they enforce.

It is scorching  red fire they mourn.

It is a red wound they shout.

It is a red stain they blurt.

It is a red blood bath they scream.

It is  red in most fronts we admit.

The colour red strikes a discordance.

It spreads a discomfort somewhere.

It signifies a flamboyance everywhere.

 

 

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A Little Bit Of Me


Wandering physically is a threat to me,

Moving from home is disagreeable to me,

Putting things in a bag is a distraction to me,

Exiting from the vibrancy of the house is impractical to me.

 

Well, that may be the case for my physical activity,

I get ahead in great acceleration with my mind in totality,

It travels through all spheres in fine dexterity,

Crossing countries and continents in high velocity.

 

 

Alighting  on the wings of fantasy my mind flies,

Goes as far as the fourteenth century events in tries,

Gleefully transcends in the realm in short strides.

Galloping as fast as it could as likely as  the horse rides.

 

Lying in comfort, I visualise the Great Barrier reef in its glory,

Sitting in the patio, I dream of the  Alps in its beauty,

Walking around, I hear the London Bridge revealing its story,

Attending to my duties, my inward eyes capture the Himalayas in stability.

 

It might sound odd to most of you as far from reality,

You might term me mildly lunatic  distanced from sensibility,

I might look a little peculiar figure  leading away from credibility,

Well, that is me a lonely being very much  against rationality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Actions Environment Experience fatigue Nature Progress Study subscriptions Theory thoughts turmoil

The Warming


The sun shines fiery red,

The sky is sparkling bright,

It is a dazzling sight.

 

The temperature rises high,

The heat makes us sigh,

Forcing us to utter a cry.

 

The sun becomes fierce,

The redness turns vitreous.

It evolves a lot of fears.

 

The  trees are cut,

The flow of water is shut,

The land turns into a rut.

 

It is an ominous portraiture,

It is  a neglect of nature,

It is an environmental  disaster.

 

There is no retributive action,

Summits are arranged for discussions,

Involving expenses in large proportions.

 

Leaders fly across the world,

Talk long with eloquence gold,

Return with no solution bold.

 

Years go in speed,

Yet there is no lead,

To sort out the bleed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sprucing Up


The garden was stocked with fallen leaves,

Gathering them up was a task in a fleece,

There was an uninterrupted fall from trees,

Leaves came down slowly after a gentle breeze.

 

Green and yellow leaves  lay scattered without a cease,

Twigs small and big landed down in the crease,

They made the garden look like a messy freeze,

Inadvertently it seemed an entertainment set to please.

 

Cleaning up was a target beyond reach,

Finding a team was a difficult breach,

The work had to be done with a screech,

As there was no time to impeach.

 

Like the dry leaves thoughts crowd

The mind quivers in a desperate shroud,

Sprucing it up seems to be a task loud,

Resuming equanimity is like a falling cloud. 

 

The imbalance strikes hard mercilessly,

Reviewing it generates apprehension enormously,

 Yet gardens could be swept and cleaned spotlessly,

 But the mind  withholds the trials though not erroneously.