The Futile Chase

Flapping its wings,
It hopped,
From one flower to another;
Creating a beautiful sight,
With bright hue and colour.

She was running behind to catch;
Working hard,
And sweating her way,
To take it in her grasp.

But as they say;
The closer you go,
The farther it flies away.

Not the story of a day,
Continued for ages - the play;
She would run through the garden,
Just to do - a futile chase.

One fine day,
The realization dawned;
She sat peacefully,
Enjoying the sun go down;
Getting absorbed,
In the lovely vista it formed.

Made her happy,
She exuded charm;
Her pleasant fragrance,
Adorned the air around.

Cynosure she became,
Calm and composed - was her frame;
Not bothered by the worry and hurry,
Not smothered by the thoughts of pain.

Who else,
But the butterfly itself,
Leaving the flowerbeds,
Made its way;
To steal the nectar from her smile,
And enjoy the caress of her breath.

The Dark Side

Its harsh,
Just rips you apart;
With its dagger-like tentacles,
Cutting deep into your heart.

With the shrewdness of a chess player,
And the strength of a boxer in the ring;
But alas, all the games it plays,
None of these, are fair and clean.

Masks of different shapes and colors,
Is what it wears,
To hide the treachery and deceit,
That it carries, without fear.

Murky and shabby like a swamp it is,
Once you get in, it just keeps you in;
And waits for you to start rotting,
And lead the life of a lowly being.

That's the dark side,
Of this world;
Which we call our home,
And in it, we twirl.

Face of Adversity

Its deep and dark,
Inside the well;
Excruciating,
Just like hell.

The surface is,
A bed of thorns,
And pierced stones,
That make you bleed
With pain, and groan.

The walls are,
Slimy and filthy,
That make you tumble,
Whenever you
Try to clamber.

Stifling with
An air of oppression,
Sweltering with
The heat of suppression.

No ray of hope shines,
No shower of mercy pours,
No sign of escape appears,
No one answers knocks on the doors.

Afflicted by disaster,
Brutally tortured;
Here you are made to,
Go through the wringer.

A trap it is,
Which sucks you vehemently;
Leaving you traumatized,
In the face of adversity.

A Poem

Flows like a river of thoughts,
With the pen marking its path.

Meanders gently through the meadows,
Collecting words on its course,
Remoulding those into expressions,
That strike the chords, and feelings evoke.

Rejuvenates by its touch,
Gives life to the otherwise dull;
That's the beauty of a poem,
Enlivens the minds, tired and worn.

Rise from the Ashes

You pull me down,
You chain me down,
Even if you try,
To burn me down.
I would rise;
Rise from the ashes,
Like a phoenix,
That never crashes.

You encage me,
In the dark clouds;
Fear and dullness,
All abound.
I would fly;
Fly through the dark;
High up,
Up, above the clouds.

Where, I,
Shake hands with light,
And make my days bright.

Where, I,
Break the shackles,
That arrest my growth.

Where, I,
Think and act freely,
And get myself out of ropes.

Where, I,
Play the host;
And share my love,
With the ones I indulge.

Where, I,
Be the shield,
To protect the meek,
From uncanny tyrannies,
Of the winds and the heat.

Where, I,
Raise my hands,
To give;
And not, to seek.

Where, I,
Succeed in,
Lighting a spark of inspiration,
In those surrounded by desolation.

Where, I,
Rejoice in,
Kindling feelings of joy and hope,
In hearts from which these have eloped.

Where, I,
Fear no limits;
And keep moving ahead,
Crossing daunting goals,
Achieving miraculous feats;
And spreading invaluable smiles,
Across far and wide.

Then, as they say,
When fate comes to play,
One day;
And, I fall,
I would not regret,
Coz I,
Would have, lived it all.