Introduction

The bold spirit in those feeble eyes of sparrow around sudden dark flurries in the sky, the will to stand unwavering and to not kneel yet in those tired knees, the flickering hope to continue among those tough stones of existence, the stubbornness to choose to strive and live instead of falling into the great slumber of darkness. The courage of trying after falling, to make it, to create. To survive against all odds. Perhaps that’s why we sing, love, and create art to empower ourselves, for them to be our sustenance in sour times. And such is an art of poetry. The gushing of individuals into words which hum all of the feelings. Making beings bear the unbearable. Acting as a beacon to illuminate and a bread to sustain in times of rock bottom. And also being the heart to share all the happiness of life. Because the soul in poetry holds us, helps us, enliven us in the times needed.

So here is a fine thread of poems in tandem, encapsulating the feelings of love, hope, and courage, with the hope that your wings of heart resonate with them.  

FOR LOVE

The matters inhabited in this world are subjected to variety.
Things are always of kinds;
A heterogeneous array of catalogues kissed upon lips of everything.
Even of great love
unrequited, tragic; like of
the moon and tides,
snow and the sun,
lone parents in old age homes and of their kids.
One of the types is divine,
which is of red colour embodying all examples of devoted lovers of history.
And then there is my love of faint brown colour,
ironically puny by the tongue.
The love which nothing but keeps hiccuping and heaving in swirls of flowers never taken out of the back pocket.
whose bated breaths are always silenced in unaddressed love letters, tender those wiles from afar.
Hovering and suffusing its smell just in air, never caressing the destined nape.
Living all those relationship moments of sunshine and downpour in scenarios of head.
The love only poured out in passionate verses, and poems such as this.
Which is not artless and fearless like a child.
but conditional, rational and practical like adults.
Maybe that’s one reason why adults long to be a child again.
But it is LOVE... I guess!
A one never conveyed, for reasons so small yet powerful in their own sense.
A one which dies with you,
And to be brimmed with unvoiced love is both curse and blessing.
Just like having a life.
~ voice of unsaid love  

My beloved, we will meet.
At the placid land above cloud,
Abode of souls who adore a loving crowd.
Where we will bask in loving love's light,
When eyes perceive love with one sight.
My beloved, we will meet.
Where colour, gender, identity, religion don't adulterate this pristine feeling,
Where adoration trumpet with no concealing.
At perch where entwined hands comfort & sit,
Where they don't need omnipresent eyes permit
My beloved, We will meet.
Where two souls could content themselves with hearts—gay,
Where empowering wind sway.
It's the rendezvous of every lover,
Where they can live happily together.
My beloved, we will meet.
Our bodies must be dying, but love lives eternally,
My beloved, we will meet, that meeting even God desires to see.
~ wish of beloveds 

FOR HOPE

Who armours?
The measured thread of fleeting life - so fragile,
like amazon’s parcel of ornamented glassware.
Yet teetering ahead through rugged roads of destined isles.
Who resuscitates?
The wish of spirited deer to not get kissed by the headlights in moonlight,
Again.
What wakens waning tigers, believing their stripes would not fade into oblivion,
So soon.
Who trusts?
And prods to place our kites in the sky on seemingly windless days.
Relentlessly,
indeed when the clock's hands are frail, and the season is clattering cold.
We still wait for the breezes of spring to bloom.
Who nurses?
The maimed liberty besets in fences,
and succours the sore heartbeats of captives,
making them envision the sparrow on a perch of barbed wires.
Something in me always hopingly says it’s hope.
What else could it be?
and what a man stuck in intrinsic sorrow and time can do, if not hope?~ life of hope 

AND FOR THE THING IN BETWEEN

Be like those white twinkling pigeons,
In a grey sky,
Who break out from their safe palaces,
To soar higher in strong gales,
Which in every way possible try to suppress them,
But they tear the fear down
To transcend above their limitless self,
To soar to the infinite,
Sure they fall but they don't just lie there
Again they fly because facing and doing you fear is true courage,
Other companion birds spectate this marvel
un attending, but
Applaud at the times of their surest success!

                         EPILOUGE  

As words can be shaped into transcendental possibilities and strum the harp of mind and soul of a person in countless ways, and so does poetry, which is meant more to be felt in deep senses of a being than to be just extracted into the single defined meaning. One poem can touch various emotions. Hence sometimes it becomes significant to just dive in that enigma of the poem and feel the magic it brings to us while our eyes delve inside its lines rather than just trying hard to scratch for one meaning into it.

.     .     .