Tuesday, July 26, 2011

BLACK





Before He spoke the word
of Light
I stood,King of the universe
And all was under spell
Of stillness,of shadow unknown.
The war cries began with sparks
Far into the distant black.
Now gray,now pale,now gold
Burst forth the new King's flaming crown.

I stood while my kingdom shrunk
a day etched into my despaired mind.

No king no more
no regal clout retained.
I wander now in the streets
Seen by those who cannot see.

Sheltered in the minds
within whom
the flame of fear works
To char to death a day.
A Friday?Black perhaps.


Yet,I come again
To protest the same terror
Now my flag,held high
by youth.
The streets protest.
Black they wear and hold
the candle light.
Light.Black.
Yin.Yang-
The fiercest rivals
On the same page.
For and against
the same cause.
Creator and destroyer
of the same theme.

In every story I am
the antagonist.
I must be overcome by Light
they say,and celebrate
a festival to my defeat.
Hear my plaintive cry:
Ask those scorched under the sun-
Within whose soothing shadow
they hope to rest?
The little seed must
grow in the black womb
of the Earth
before Light dare touch it.
Ask those blinded by the light
and wearied by the day-
Whom do they wish to see
when eyes close
and sleep beckons?
I wait in the shadows
for an answer
while it dawns on you.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Colour burst.



It's been at the back of my mind
that craving for colour-lust.
Eventually I do make some time
for bottles of paint,layered with dust.

Come summers in the city of gold,
The sun scorching the river's flow
And in the midst of sweltering heat
I find my first:some dazzling yellow.

The laburnum tree in sunshine galore
Lets down its golden hair
It lends to my palette some radiant gold
Driving away all gloomy despair.

The quintessence of scarlet red I seek.
All trails lead to the Middle East,
Where the land's people revolt,protest,
Thirst for the red of the oppressive beast.


Clad in orange,the demi god
Silently passes,beyond mortal land
The air heavy , solemn , gray
While men gather like weeping sand.



Irony is, when I need I will not find
The colour which connects seas,and royal hue
For when I'm back at my easel again
I'm miles and miles from feeling 'blue'.