Young Blood

I’m a widowed land of beauty

Left with scars

Still burning in the fire of sati.

This fire is threatening

Heard of dormant volcanoes?

Flood in the city is merely a distant curse

For I melt glaciers now.

Down with black cats crossing our way

We have learnt a tiger’s leap.

You have created human industries

Of inhuman rat race.

Without caring much about plague.

The war cry of revolution may be long lost

But the piteous groans of aspirations and broken dreams

Won’t fit in your altar of orthodoxy.

Down with this liberal brigade of slaved freemen.

Before you burry me again

Remember I am a seed.

– King of Monks

Advertisements

The Solitary Bench

I was finely carved.

I still have those nodes at the back.

These are evergreen scars.

I have wept with the heart broken

And cried of joy

When those souls merged within eachother.

I have sheltered intoxicated spirits late night.

To them I have shown the moon

And assured them the walk is long

But the meadows are beautiful.

I have greeted early risers

And saw them smile when they heard the birds sing.

Striving men have learnt from me

That rest is a state of contemplation.

It heals unfelt wounds

And boosts you in life.

Just like winds to a sailboat.

I have smelt the green springs,

Met dry leaves in autumn

And now –

As I gaze to the sky while it rains

I cherish those past seasons

For seasons don’t change anymore.

As nature is enslaved

And doctors have become mechanics.

I see science has advanced the peril of art.

Mechanised hearts with machine made bones

But the soul still strives for liberation.

– King of Monks

The Soldier

Long back he has killed his emotions

With no understanding of human relations

Other than friends and enemies

And acts untouched by miseries.

He lives a regimented life

Each day is war and strife.

He has betrayed the sky when it clouds

Challenged the mountains – so filled with fearless vows.

Well built in shape he stands tall

And have seen the oceans roll.

He looks in the eye and smiles to death

Trained to perfection- undeterred is his faith.

Upon those thorny bushes

Now he has passed to deep slumber.

With his mind still wakefull

His bearded face still has the glimmer.

He summons all his strength

And sings the victory song.

His blood oozing in this loominng darkness

The battle won’t be long.

The stars shine upon him

For the demons he did slain.

Hey injured soldier

Rise to life again.

– King of Monks

The Traveller

This is a story

Of a traveller with scars

Waiting for his turn in history.

Deafening silence is all he hears

In a silent valley where mountains of darkness closes in

” Life has its own folly”

A sudden flurry of realisations within.

The pebbles are sharp

The trees are lifeless

And the bushel have thorns.

Oh! The poor creature in distress.

And now he looks up to the stars

And gets reminded of a man in that shanty lane

In his village who could read hands.

He smiles within for broken destiny can be built again.

Long back he has buried broken fetters

With light in his heart and courage undettered.

He walks past his past shadows

Untill he could rest in those green meadows.

And travellers now in gruesome worry

Of uncertainty. Relives his story.

– King Of Monks

The Civilised Wild

Let me glance into the wild

Where giant canopies do not prove kind

To the rays of the civilised land

For beasts don’t walk hand in hand.

And yet they excell in liberty,

Birds have no barriers and lions act in solidarity.

Leopards and deers near the pond wear no good

Oh the beauty of silent brotherhood.

And now back to the land of stones

Where architecture is fixed before broken bones.

Thirsty lands with mines are rich

And weapons do religions preach.

Fine skills and cultured ideas

Fails to flow and are obstructed by barriers.

Painters hold massive guns

And a voiceless land where democracy shuns.

Time, a healer can act a foe

For as the pendulum swings

Birds getting caged in a golden cage

And butterflies with broken wings.

-King of Monks

Songs of the Beach

In times of agony, in times of despair

Renounce the world and flee

Admire my endless beauty

And find the eternal glee.

My breath so gentle and pleasant

Has called upon the roaring waves

And the romantic poets of the bygone time

Who now rest in their graves.

Watch more peace-seekers

There across the horizon.

Floating vessels drifting in the deep

Oh the all time soothing season.

Walk across my body

Feel you feet so wet.

Dance with the dancing colours

And sketch the sunset.

Hear the grumble of the waves

As they dash against the shore.

Help the boatmen tying their boats

Repeating the same folklore.

“I have rolled forever” says the sea

To the sands who do the footprints keep.

Pure bliss and salvation within

Now let me doze off to sleep.

– King of Monks

Dreams..

I’m the music

That ceases to sound after a while.

Broken threads or dead corals in the beach

Which aren’t arranged in a line.

I’m the sea you can dive deeper and deeper

And still not find the pearls.

Or you can wait for a winter morning

As the fog of the night clears.

I can be foretold rains

In a village cursed with drought.

I can be some dull memories or thoughts

You simply left unthought.

I love the darkness

For it suits my pursuit

Like pristine clear waters or clouded sky

So disciplinedly unscheduled.

As a stranger of the same land

Or veiled beauty of a desert women-so shy

Born of some deepest carvings or passions or secrets

Like undiscovered islands. Let them not die.
– King of Monks