Creative Imagination

                                                                   My lovely imagination                                       

                                                                 Has a mission for creation

                                                                   All good for all lessons  

                                                                  All great for all sermons

                                                                     It is a fruit in fruition

                                                                 To satiate all deep hunger.

                                                                    It rushes a living river 

                                                              To quench all parching throats

                                                                     Not for physical boots

                                                                 But for intellectual pursuits

                                                                   It, by itself, is complete

                                                                     In form and in theme

                                                                  It differs in its own ways 

                                                                 The one to coo the cuckoo

                                                             With melodies of rhythmic race

                                                                With a tinge of message true

                                                                The one, a narrative in flow

                                                               Short in space, twists in race

                                                            Crosses the dark to flood of light           

                                                          Or, the one to flow in long narration            

                                                              With the exposition as its start

                                                             With its move thro complication

                                                                With crisis and with climax,

                                                                     Leading to resolution                                                                                                           It gushes in ink and rushes in forte

                                                                  From the throbs of hearts         

                                                               Not from the layers of throats

                                                               Lovely imagination mirrors life    

                                                                  That flows lively in a genre

                                                                       As a life in literature.

Published

METVERSE MUSE

Nos. 61st to 63rd Triple Issue (April 2021)

MUSINGS

Musings like the tides

Rush to the fore

Touch the shore

Leave marks in strides

They arise to disappear

Soon in a fraction

Maybe its mission

Away from the capture

They touch the screen

For a gentle touch

Not to be in couch

To relax, no such keen

Not a flower in bower

In life ephemeral,

Not a man mortal

Not a bubble in a river

Like the shrewd hunter

Readily to catch,

Players in match

Their team to be winner

The poet must be alert

To paint musings

To shape inklings,

Never to let them avert

Once he is the victor

Those shine bright

In immortal might

In sketching on paper

It is the unseen clash

Of all transience

For permanence

In pages ever to flash

Published

METVERSE MUSE

Nos. 61st to 63rd Triple Issue (April 2021)

WILD GROWTH OF WEEDS A Villanelle in Hexameter (lines of 12 Syllables)

Supreme, humans strew weed thorns in your ways golden,

        You filled the human garden with plant-gaieties,

        They forgot you and your ways to be beholden!

    Overgrown weed-sins concealed plant-heaven, Eden,

   Their spoilsport spoilt the green virtues of all beauties,

Supreme, humans strew weed thorns in your ways golden.

         You present all wonderful insight to gladden,

       With greens in sheens for their joyful amenities,

       They forgot you and your ways to be beholden! 

      Wilder growth-violence for the wealth well hidden,

          Weed-cheats, weed-rapists resort to brutalities.

 Supreme, humans strew weed thorns in your ways golden.

 

       You are in heaven and shrine fully joy-ridden,

          You hoped all to adhere to humanist duties,

       They forgot you and your ways to be beholden!

     They solely aim to reap sins, weed fruits forbidden,

                Oblivious of plant-like magnanimities. 

 Supreme, humans strew weed thorns in your ways golden

         They forgot you and your ways to be beholden!

Published

METVERSE MUSE

Nos. 61st to 63rd Triple Issue (April 2021)