In circles

The world goes around in silent circles.
What do they matter in the grand scheme of things
These little tragedies of Sophocles.
Theaters across the universe are jam-packed
with plays like these and mainly these
till the actors are down, wrinkled and cracked.
How is your thing different? Does it involve the gods?
Restive questions from the audience. Then it's announced.
"This one has lot of hope" and everyone applauds.
Hope is heavy on them after all these tragedies
But still, is an intoxicant with
a strong spell like the elixiric remedies.

Some memories

In the racks of thoughts
some memories are hidden books.
Sleeping behind the slanting volumes
they seem to be out of place now.
But back then, there was a purpose
which is now forgotten.
A calculus text in a psychology row
that is what I wished for that
memory to become. Untraceable and
unconnected is what I had planned.
But now years after, my thoughts flow
in search of that memory like rainwater
in search of a depression in the plain surface.

Olympus

On the ramparts of Olympus
there is a chess board spread.
Pawns are being sacrificed with tact.
It is time the king shows up
with his much awaited single step act.

Far down the hill is Sisyphus
still rolling his boulder
while Atlas is suffering
from an aching shoulder.

The idle gods come to life
with Homer pouring out his epics
Vesuvius has bad stomach
and Pompeii is turned into relics

Brahe is losing sight and
is misplacing the heavens.
He is calling with hope
to hark his grievance.

Davinci is still dabbling
while Newton is eying the apple
and Galileo is grappling
with old age in a prison.

There are Socrates and Plato
awake round the clock
discussing reason and rationale
and the right dosage of hemlock.

The game is heading to a deadlock
and the next move would take time.
May be eternity, may be now
Zeus is stuck.

Under the tree

Pushed away by the wind
the little drops of rain
run towards her for a hurried kiss.
Heavy with the rain, the tree droops
as if to curtain off this scene.
Our eyes meet as fellow refugees
eagerly exchanging their stories.
It feels forever under the tree
as rain resounds like applause.
She inquires if it would stop
I flinch and ask back, what?
She says rain, I pray again.

Reason

I walk through the lanes of lines
like in the aisles of a library.
I make my way to the window of meaning
where the beams of essence bend
through the glass of perception.
Dust sparkles in those beams
filling them with commotion
like our wandering lives
trying to escape reason.

Clock

The clock is dying.
The seconds hand is convulsing
like a dying man and the other two hands
are helpless near and dear.
It shows 3:20
It might have slowed down much before
like grand father did, before he died.
It was his clock anyways.
It feels good to see time being helpless
without ticking away hurriedly
like a night watchman in early hours.

Love

How it starts and how it ends
How it bends and then extends
How it breaches and then reaches
How there is never enough of it
How it makes our lives bit by bit.
How little squabbles turn out
How naughtiness would sprout
How it is one of the purest
How it is one of the surest
How it spans the entire universe
How it is present in a humble verse
How sacrifice makes clear sense
How sometimes there is no sense
How tears dry in each others faces
How elastic it is through all the phases
How one day it might breakup
How one day it might end up.