Saturday, 14 April 2012


I have dreams of a life that bears only love,
I have dreams of a life that makes me always glad,
But terrible thing is that dreams are blocked
By the cycle of reality where life has purposes, 
Where fantasy has no resolution, no hope,
And on every walk, I face hard tests on the floor.

I always meet a masked man on the path,
He makes sand-art-works of fragil forms,
All are washed away with flow of tides,
I see four words are written, these follow –
Background, transformation, division, formation -
I read cell cycles are blood bound, plight of life.

The masked man sometimes vanishes in the mist,
I have to learn to walk on own way in this transit,
Step by step, moment after moment, I walk past
That formation of my life’s journey in search of aim,
With my dependence on the activity of my kith and kin,
Who toss me in tide of formation over age, time and again.

After sometime, I find a few children are playing,
They are making sand dune on the sea shore,
They are more accurate to create love with passion and love,
I feel my act has got torn, I am recruited again,
To the old age life that depends on new comers' concern.
It is an inevitable occurrence, over time and age.

Life has phases, life has shapes, and life has an aim,
To bring forth inheritance to move on time’s scale,
All revelations of life is not fulfilled in one life's tenure,
Many symptoms of love has to play on the concurrence. 
In the share and tear game on the dependence,
Breathing and living are two last words, remaining in game.

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