History

The pages of time is rending fast

Leaving yesterday a muted past

And though history would stay and speak

And to guide us of which road to take

To a few, it merely means nothing

But a script telling the unseen thing

But, what are we with no yesterday?

Who are we without a history?

Will our life be on a seamless path - or

Dwell in a society with no wrath?

For without history we are blind

So unaware of what lies beyond

Today, others speak of legacy

But, does not respect ones dignity

They are conceited individuals

Who think that they are of good morals

Even though they committed misdeeds

In their minds, they’re sowing the good seeds

History will tell of what we are

And in the past where we had gone far

It’s not we who will speak for ourselves

Or tell someone what we deserve

The future generation will speak

If in the past we were strong or weak

A Strong Heart

As dark as the clouds in the sky, telling

that a heavy rain is about to fall;

a poignant heart is about to burst

and tears would fall while looking at

the shadow fading, swallowed by the dark.

As vague as an object standing

from a distance, of a pale color,

unknown to the viewer; a stranger?

a feeling inside quite hard to explain;

love or hatred? Trying to decipher,

but now and again it exists and contend.

As searing as the heat of the sun in

a summer-sky; the intense heat that 

withers and annihilates the green fields

and the flowers, and thirsting the birds;

a heart that was warm and loving

which becomes weary, now refrains from

sobbing, piling-up some strength.

As odorous as the fragrance of the flowers

that blossom in the month of May;

a new love blooms that gradually

brings a smile to a worn out heart.

As calm as the tranquil sea after

the storm had passed, with the seagulls  

flying or resting upon the peaceful water;

a soul that used to battle against

life and love’s hostilities, now

more composed and vexes no more.

As happy as a child that plays around,

so carefree and frets not of any peril,

for there’s a hand who will catch and

pamper, and caress the battered flesh;

a woman who weathered the storm

of infidelity, now stands strong and

positive, for now there’s a shoulder

to lean on, stronger than before. 

Love sometimes is full of complexities,

at times down and battered, but

a strong heart survives nevertheless.

In the Plaza

The place was cleaned but hardly gleams,

though painted but it doesn’t seems.

The fence around that colored green,

reflect to wares that could be seen.

The grassy land now turns to brown,

catches the leaves of trees that frown.

The men working so lazily,

perhaps because of sunny day.

There’s a vendor pushing a cart,

selling his goods around the park.

While other kids play and have fun,

a filthy boy begging for alms.

A banner hanging between posts,

utter the greetings of the host.

So!... the place was painted and cleaned,

for there are visitors coming.

At the center a figure stands,

apparently looking around.

A witness to all that happens,

for it has been there ever since.

The daily life in the plaza,

there’s happy moment and drama.

The statue that stands there alone,

like The One who watches us all.