Month: February 2019

There’s something about dilapidated buildings,
the forgotten inhabitants and era.
The cracks spreading its roots like branches.
Tales of lost time, traditions and terra.
What grandeur it must have possessed?
Who lived within those red brick walls?
Just huge portraits are all that’s left.
No defense works when tragedy befalls.
Those who trudged on the long corridors,
carrying the burden of power or sin.
The women of the Manor veiled from the world,
peeping through the blinds- hiding their chagrin.

The Red Manor stands tall- its expanse mum.
Haunted by forgotten tales and tourist humdrum.
Quietly witnessing the passage of time.
Bearing the remnants of a beauty sublime.

© Taruchaya

For those who live in the window world
Perceive through the lens of a window pane
The cozy nest within walls bit troubled
Crazed eyes gazing at the life insane

Men who butcher at the drop of a hat
Women who cuss and swear at random
Brainwashed youth in suicidal combat
Tyranny and terrorism unleashed in tandem

No wall is there so strong and secure
To guard against any form of oppression
The war engulfs all – minds obscure
Bloodied hands desperate for redemption

No place remains for monsters to hide
No forgiveness for monstrous cruelty
Martyrdom is not for demons who died
Undeserving of any tears, prayers or pity

© Taruchaya

Your love is like the vibrant spring.
You colour me in a lovely hue.
These lips of mine are thirsty leaves,
And your kisses are like the morning dew.

Your love is like the summer heat,
and I am a golden sandy beach.
You send the waves to caress me,
and then you ebb out of my reach.

Your love is like the lightning,
which paints my life with streaks of pink.
My heart roars like the thunder.
How deep is your love, you make me think.

Your love is like the serene autumn,
and I’m a fallen maple leaf.
You change my colour from green to red,
or a bright orange with your mischief.

Your love is like the snowy winter,
and I am the falling flakes from sky.
You envelope me in your steady arms.
You’re fire in ice- I moan and sigh.

© Taruchaya

Pebbles scattered on the road

Run over by vehicle after vehicle

They still don’t break but scatter

Then is poured hot tar and gravel

The road roller grinds them over

The base must be strong they say

The black tar so sticky on the surface

Hardens and smoothes the way

Now that the road is ready

It bears the weight of all

Common man, cattle and cars

Even the heat, dust and rainfall

It suffers for not breaking down

For showing strength unbeatable

Still it leads to a destination

Undaunted, impartial and uncritical.

© Taruchaya