STRONGLY YOURS

Why not ... Rabbit in the clouds? Fairies in stories? Rainbow in dreams? Why not ... Butterflies in the garden? Birds on Windows? Grandmothers in Houses? Why not ... Plainness in childhood? Warmth in youth? Satisfaction in old age? SUGGESTED READ 1. Sustain the struggle 2. Not pseudo optimist

Life is like a horizon Where The sky-like dream is meeting To ground of reality. Dreams Which keep on flying With all efforts And The reality Which is lying Like endless desert Agonizingly. One who keeps on flying High in the sky; To him, The sight of the horizon is impossible And One who steps out Always with caution; To him, Reaching to the horizon is never possible.

In the night of my secluded life A corner of darkness I own; Because of the claimants of light Are spread around everywhere, For this, therefore, has to fight fiercely.

Some pieces of memories Clothes hanging on hooks Claypot placed in a corner And strokes of luck ... Just passed the childhood But looks fifty-five, Broken body and mind And the clangor of pots... Big talks of knowledge, Intestines shrunk of hunger, Saheb's merciless kicks And visits of Kammo... His name is so grand But has to work day and night Being paid too little, Shyam has no life...

My room And My memories Both are full of Rotten suffocation, I live among them. Changing weather And Passing days Keep bringing So many shifts! Good and bad- I keep on sorting. Bitter memories Could I erase Out of my mind Anyhow, I live in this effort. With golden moments May I decorate My home Sequentially, I keep on searching such a plan. Sometimes When the darkness of mind Envelopes me with black, I come to my balcony. May a beam Come spontaneously From somewhere To enlighten me, I keep on waiting. Trap of Life Can be broken Only by an Arjun, I search for him in Abhimanyu.

Bapu! What have you got? You hear abuses of riders, You abuse riders, You do occasionally scramble You earn money in this way; Such money buys me These toffees, these copies, These things seem like abuses, Appear like kicks and slaps. Bapu! Why do you pull Rickshaw?

String in my hand The rustle of flying kites, Such as the association between God and man.

When the moon, in the lap of a night Smiles hearing a lullaby, Comes the moonshine-like reminiscence, O Mummy, Of aanchal of your moonly endearment...

I cannot see the moon From the roof, today; But, in the twinkles of so many stars I am sensing - Moonshine is being poured upon me.