Myriad Reflections. Shastri Akella

Too Many Yesteryears

I stare across my window sill,
beyond the frenzied patterns of the rusting grill

A stark sky dotted with dazzling stars,
as if a satanic face of heavens gorged with bright scars

Tucked under creased blankets, a stank bedspread under my hind,
A thought creeps into my mind

How does my little window frame this infinite sky’s face?
Audacity conducted with grace

The sky color strangely reminds of old, blotted ink,
& the smell of smudged words appear along memory’s brink

Words incessantly scribbled with undulating passion,
and woven thereafter for fictitious fashion

Where are those words where are those tales?
Oh, my memory is stained with darkness my senses pale

Those stories have now escaped beyond the gates of anonymity,
their presence consumed by failure’s sorority

Stories that once carried torches of hope,
in a young heart to which everything seemed possible – with any difficulty it could cope,

It dawns on me that my heart has grown old,
my yesteryears have jaded it with mildew of melancholy and a lachrymose mold

So many yesteryears nothing that can console,
all they have left in my heart is a tear-stained hole

No warmth of love no material glory,
If only the book of my life had but one happy story

I let out a tired sigh,
my tears dried up I cannot even cry

Hope has eluded me each time I knocked on its door,
Oh, I have no faith left in its allure

My heart is as cold as the winter night outside,
all is icy within – the flowing warm blood stirs nothing inside

And then the clock chimes the midnight tune,
the desert of my life loaded with another day, another dune

It suddenly dawns on me it is the 19th of December,
I surprise myself – cause I never expected to remember

I knit my arms around my shoulders giving myself a hug,
I wish myself “happy birthday” & sense wilted yesteryears giving tear-flooded eyes a tug

Ballads of love

Music of anklets usher for him an era of ecstasy,
shadows swept away by the winds of change

Her little footsteps bridging the spaces the separate,
hearts alternately whispering tales of anxiety and promises

Games of peek-a-boo played with fluttering curtains,
moonlight etching out nimble emotions

He and she now in the open – nothing more to hide,
their arms entwining in an embrace of urgency

Gasps fill the air – wondering over the potency of love,
almost immediately unseen kisses felt by faces in the dark

Throes of applause resound as curtains descent,
Audience sigh & utter, “Ah, if life were but a ballad of love”

Pilgrim

A tiny swallow descending over the crumbling port
her brilliant azure lost
to the ocean’s immense blue

A dot of red placed over shut eyes
a tear of infinite piety
veiled by a sudden rush of Benrasi silks

Ahir Bhairav emerging from the moving boat
eternity in transience across some distant shore
suddenly muffled by the clamor of the devout

Terrains of dreamland drowned in an omnipotent mauve
promises of ecstasy vaguely crumbled by the alarm of dawn
reminders of the mundane of existence that lies ahead

Tired eyes stolen from the blinking screen
in moments of hushed contemplation
quest for the purpose of pilgrimages – so lost to the witchcraft of routine

An answer emerges –luminescent as the oil lamp that flickers on the altar
Amidst the fragrance & smoke of frankincense sticks
& a reverent gaze watches across folded palms even when eyes lay shut

The clangs of the temple bell remains and so does the peal of the conch
Starkly reminiscent of the cry of soul
so eager to merge with point of origin

The holy chants remain and so do the songs of distant lands
all placid reminders of the sublime journey to undertaken
from darkness to light

Yes indeed reassure the infinite, loving eyes from my little altar
what remains of a pilgrimage is the very essence of life
the ambrosia of after that parched lips yearn to sip

My questions are laid to rest
tired limbs drift to sleep
life experienced as a lilting petal floating over the Ganges between me and Him

Journey

As the sun fades in the twilight zone,
I feel awfully alone,
A boat moves along the tumultuous river,
& my being feels a tender shiver,
As shadows from the past appear menacingly near,
My well of grief consumes another tear,
I beseech unto the boatman, “Pray, your name I wish to hear”,
In a hapless conversation, I hope to forget that I have lost something dear,
But I realize – there in no way out,
I ought to face the reality and fight it out,
I wish to forget; I wish to rise,
I have to take myself by surprise,
I need to travel and move on,
The journey of life beckons – I cannot stay on,
Many more miles to go, a lot many things to achieve,
My true identity I must retrieve,
The world is not kind to a lonely soul and yet I shall not rest,
Till I discover that which is the best,
So I knell the fear and the tear,
And I move on, with the hope that one day my destination will be near,
But for now, as the sun sets and all is stark,
On my journey – lonesome and solitary, I embark…

Across the shores of vicissitude
Shattered dreams, broken window panes,
Echoes of a lifetime scattered across barren planes,
Searching glances responded to with an accusing gaze,
Promises of an eternity effaced by a distending haze,
A riot of thoughts squabble with intimidating questions,
The heart a hapless prey for the ensuing belligerent machinations,
Roses of love pile up in discarded heaps,
Their sheen lies wilted, their beauty consumed in eager leaps,
Stealthy marauders pilfer from the garden of the soul,
Leaving behind a bleeding gash and an unending hole,
The soul as always offers congenially,
Eclectic beams of love veiling its eyes ingeniously,
That the marauder is an alley is the soul’s surmise,
Only after the damage is done does it awake to the guise,
Aching with the pangs of a lost bloom,
Tear-stained eyes watch the merry marauder with irrepressible gloom,
Eyes shut on illusory promises and unfaithful love,
Life shut on discarded horizons and a wing-broken dove,
Moments limp along on the crutches of the past,
Hoping the end is approaching fast,
And then one day, a prosaic truth draped in a ashen white cloak,
Knocks on the closed doors of life with a gentle stroke,
‘Pray, let me in the shut doors’ it pleads,
The heart refuses even as it pitifully bleeds,
Utters an unperturbed truth, ‘The faster you accept me as a guest,
The easier can you giver your turmoil a rest,
It is in your best interest,
That you accept my behest’
Doors splay open, the charred innards revealed,
Truth stares on, its calm disposition pealed,
‘My name in unrequited love’ states the guest,
‘You have loved and lost, left with but an aching chest,
Mark my words – new horizons await,
There is much more to life than infidel love that offers you as bait,
Life is a canto divine,
If you but become mine,
That’s the secret of life my dear,
Accept the truth, and redolent blooms appear swiftly nearly’,
As the heart throws truth a suspicious glance,
A waft reaches it – almost by chance,
The aromatic wafts heal it some,
And the heart absentmindedly utter, ‘Many more dawns, yet to come’,
‘A thousand suns wait to be discovered behind every cloud,
If only the eyes discern and shed their melencholic shroud’.