Ravana

The golden orb, smirked at him, at his folly. Far in the horizon, he could see the monstrous silhouette of his brother, lifeless. He moaned, bowing his head in due respect, just as thousands of others did. The sun too bowed low, shrouding a veil of moaning darkness over Lanka. The birds were returning to their homes after having witnessed the greatest fight they had ever seen. They would chirp chirp all night, discussing their hero, their martyr, Kumbhakarna. The greater fight was yet to come, they knew it. Ravana stared as the light of dusk faded out.

He had no regrets. He had wronged none. He remembered the first time he had seen her, wandering in the wilderness, playing with the chitals. Her beauty was pure as a sparkling drop of dew, gently resting on the edge of a leaf. But it would drop off the leaf soon. He shuddered, he wanted to protect her; he wanted her. He brought her to his kingdom. She was juvenile; she wouldn’t come, but he tricked her. He tricked her to a happier life, where he would adore her, worship her. She never accepted him. He waited, he would wait forever. Standing at his balcony, he could see the Vatika where she stayed. She despised his palace, his love. He never complained. His love was unconditional. He would wait.

It would be a long night. He had lost all his dear ones; his brother, his son, his brave soldiers. All had died for their king. He too would never witness the dusk mocking at him again. He knew it. He was a proud man. He was ready to die for love.

Tales of Existence

The lights shimmer,
In the fading daylight.
The noise grows louder,
Relentless, unnerving.
The horns, the coots, the rattles,
Echo,
In the blinding ambience.
Life, scintillating.
There,
Hoards hang on to the door frame,
The rambling bus drags on.
Faces dull tread the sidewalk.
I stare at the facades …
They narrate,
Their tales of existence.

Few Lines

The autumn breeze soothes the air,
Seared by the day.
The day was long, and longer the wait,
The dusk, the cool is here.

Leaves dry strewed on the road,
Trampled and withered.
They were green a day ago,
Before the autumn breeze blew.

The Morning Walk

The morning seemed cooler, silent;
Shutters were down, faces scarce.
Buses few plied the road, empty.
Curs, two of them, on a gravel pile, noisy
The entire market their territory now,
Soon to be plundered by a noisier race.

Soliloquy

I tread alone the dusty tracks,
The world no more a stage.
A dry relief, I see no greens,
Drops saline, count my age.

You smirk at me, in fading dusk,
And tread towards the brighter east.
I beseech, sweet memories implore.
As pricks of time shred my core.

I walk the grime, and trip and fall.
And walk again against the time.
You look at me in a brutal glee,
As I fight with my life sublime.

Many a mile, yet I tread alone,
And my lips still bear an aching smile.
I pray, as I drag my tattered knees,
An ardent wish as I drain my bile.

Let not tears wash hearts seared dry,
May sparks of love endure …
And in those bereft who cry in vain,
Rekindle the hope I implore.