-


The Leader   


They say the leader was a fool,
that his naïveté cost him his life ,
that his only weakness was this rule,
that he didn't abandon his will at times of strife.

When all chose to leave his side,
he made the mistake of sticking to what was right,
battered and bleeding, yet standing strong inside,
the leader fought into the the thick of the night,

Knowing well of his imminent fate,
when others chose 'peace' he married the blade,
and as death loomed the skies,he willingly took the bait...
and they say his naïveté took his life.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
मुझसे दूर तुम चली तो गयी थी लेकिन, कुछ भी भुला ना पाया था मैं, तुम्हारी याद में, तुम्हे ढूंढ़ता हुआ , फिर एक बार उन गलियों में आज आया था मैं लेकिन ना तुम मिले, ना मिले 'हम' वहां बस एक सन्नाटा सा था, उस भीड़ में , जहाँ कभी हाथ थामे चले थे हम, धूल की एक चादर थी,कोई निशान भी न मिले.. याद है वो नाव , और पुरे चाँद के निचे हम कुछ डरे डरे से ,छुपे छुपे से हम , पानी में भटकती वो चुप चाप सी नाव, आज किनारे रखी थी, उदास ज़्यादा, इंतज़ार में कम की कोई उसे फिरसे ले जाए उन लहरों में, लेकिन अब वो चाँद कहाँ, ना ही थी वो हवा एक तूफ़ान सा उठा है, काले बादल हैं हर जगह इस पुरे हलाहल में,बस वो नाव ही है एक,हमारा गवाह शायद अब वो समय आकर भी नहीं आ पायेगा ना तुम , तुम रहे, ना मैं , मैं रह पाउँगा  .. पता नहीं ऐसा कैसे हो गया.. और क्यों, पर सब भुलाकर भी,मैं कुछ भूल ना पाउँगा  ..
Read more
-
The Gift """"""""""""""" The shell sat there smiling, As the core beat strong far away, And hence was accomplished the greatest trick, No, no trickery it was ,it was magic All the miles he had pushed, Of all the pain that was endured.. This was the fruit,this was the all, For finally a way had been conjured To give a final gift,the parting gift, To live on finally with her,within her.. One in body and one in soul And for a prize so big,such a  small toll For her eyes will still see the morning shine, And the heart beating the life in her will be mine.. I have nothing to lose I leave content, Glad to have chosen this end…                                            ---Soumitra
Read more
-
The Sparks In My Head The colour of blood is red... not the bright one, oozing with life, but a rustic, dirty tone... Once bright, through which the breath once flowed... Neither warm nor flowing, but a viscous stale, and red for once what carried life around, is now infected, cold and dead. What happened to the memories though, I guess the sparks last longer than the beats, what was once a living loving heart, is now reduced to a piece of meat, with a lust to reanimate Rotting in my own grave, putrid is the smell of earth, the only pure thing left  is this undying fatal love  An arrow through the chest,  shot through my heart, the wounds were mortal enough, for my mortal self ... and yet the cogs keep turning, as the engine roars a death bellow, the cog-works refuse to stop, and just keep on turning... The last sparks of thought, washing through my neural network, flashing frantically to find a voice, to l...
Read more