A Thing called Hope

Those times of chaos, when, your mind's berated.
That wilderness grows, overpowering,
You venture about, lost, misdirected,
Deeper in the woods;
Deeper! Steeper!

But beware, the deeper you go,
more the light fades
and the gloom transcends,
from that foreboding moderate,
to the despondent melancholy.
The fire foes out,
the ashes remain, smouldering.

But fear not, O' brave heart,
the ashes will smolder,
Forget, and on.
Cease them, you know them.
These are the thoughts,
that floats you on;
on those waters deep, where
you get smothered.
Or in those woods where,
the silence is stifling
and this predator looms about
in the shadows, and,
you hear the beating,
the grafting rhythm of your heart.

But listen, O' valiant soul,
there may be no light,
to guide you back to
your isle of joy, of happiness,
and away from these woods of loathing
from these waters of depression, of sadness.

But there always is,
that path you traversed,
and there will always be
A thing called Hope.

Pune

Perched a little farther from,
the country's major city of dreams.
Snuggled lovingly amidst mountainous beasts,
cozily, is the - 'Oxford of the East'.

Where sun shines merrily about,
of, a traveler is bothered the least.
Where the scenes - most lovely, exists,
which for weary eyes is a delightful feast.

Where the hills full of trees,
stands majestic, still untouched by human greed.
Where the thirst of the blazing ground,
is quenched playfully by drizzly breeze.

Come where travelers from all around,
to live their enchanted dreams.
Where the act of wandering about,
is full of joy - merrier and most serene.

Where travelers tour without a haste,
a paradise for them of exquisite taste.
Where fatigue is swiftly lost,
when a cool drizzle washes the face.

Come lonely traveler & find abode,
a shade in the life's stinging blaze.
Come and live closer to the hills and sea alike,
here, in this 'city of more pleasant dreams'

I am

I am a rusty car in your backyard,

Which has lost its touch at novelty.

But still it possess the mighty touch,

Of the godforsaken time's cruelty.

 

I am the barren old tree,

With one leaf just hanging still.

On the wild land of rocky slope,

Which has never known of care and till.

 

I am that empty reservoir,

Which hosted a spree of quenching thirst.

To the whole city or small village of beasts or man,

Without dividing who comes third or first.

 

I am those empty caverns filled,

The dwelling past of some mighty beasts.

That upheld now an empty fear,

Nothing the most but to the least.

 

I am those airy castles grand,

Which saw the grandest feasts and wars as well.

But now host some frequent crowd of logs,

Who has lost their souls and the heart it dwell.

 

Can you discern who am I, see?

For only then can you revive me.

I am rare now in those empty logs,

I am true now only to those who wrought,

I can be built up above the highest top,

I am that feeling that's too hot for the cold lot.

 

Guess who I am, where I stand,

Can you discern where or what I am?

Okay, if no, then you read on,

I am that makes you survive and live,

When you jump off the highest top,

When you slide down the steepest slope,

I am within you, your joy and hope.