Date : March 28, 2016

The Guide
Living on the land kissing oceans,
He wandered for time unknown,
Between smoggy lines of restlessness and fear,
Of a sedate life with planted feet,
And the freshness of a life beyond the horizon.

He chose the death by an adventure,
To life of firm boredom.
Then he needed a guide,
To sail through the unknown,
And, the search began.

Fear of unknown and detachment was never a guide,
Hence once his eyes closed, they detached.
Courage became the boat,
But where is the guide?

He searched behind the rocks,
Over the plains,
Across the rivers,
And atop the hills.

But how one living on land can master,
The crests and troughs of seas?
Heartbroken he returned to the beach,
And looked far, far into the sea.

Then he sailed.

And sailed he,
At first failed and toiled,
And when he found the guide,
It was him, all along.

He the seaman, who let go of,
Fear, disappointment, time and passion
For courage, adventure, timelessness and peace.
Of sailing on a seas of highs and lows,
Free and liberating.

Posted by Abhilash Nanda at 5:16 a.m.

Date : Dec. 19, 2015

Containing Void And Null
Life of a stone,
Mimicking breath,
In a body cotton soft,
Pretending life.

Incoherent mind and heart,
Fighting each other,
Standing on the same side,
Opting for the end.

Walking with a silent wail,
Wherever it goes,
Neither serenity skips a beat,
Nor divinity makes it beat.

A shell of pretension,
Containing void and null,
Free of dreams or will,
Keeps floating.

Posted by Abhilash Nanda at 9:50 a.m.

Date : Dec. 18, 2015

A Rolling Tear
A rolling tear,
Or is it slipping?
Down the eyes,
Into a sea of emotions,
Dense, slowly undulating.

Sliding over it,
It climb rocks,
Merging through the sand,
Trying forward the dry sand,
To reach its end.

Paths of hardships,
Aching the hearts that carves itself,
In the sky,
Under the ground,
Aiming the flatlands.

The land of pastures,
Of calm, steadiness and a relaxed long breath,
In summer, rain and winter,
It reaches self tamed till the end,
And closes its eyes.

Posted by Abhilash Nanda at 9:54 a.m.

Date : June 21, 2015

Father
I was the dust,
Flowing with the wind,
Mixing with the soil,
Floating on the water,
Before the day those hands came,
And gathered me inside his bag.

Then I became clay,
Soft, impressionable and slippery,
Yet he placed me on his wheel,
To give me the shape worth remembering.

Then I became a pot,
Hardened by his fire,
Shaped by his desire,
So when the day comes,
I can leave the hands,
That gave me my shape.

Today am the pot,
Holding water,
Quenching thirst of others,
All cause of him,
Him, my creator,
My well wisher,
My Father.

Posted by Abhilash Nanda at 9:56 a.m.

Date : April 9, 2015

Walking Across The Street Of Life
Fallen, crumbled words resting under the street lamp,
Let in the cold like orphans.
As I walked past the street with my flair for indecisiveness,
The word “Life” stuttered in harmony with its tremble
"Please don't leave me here."

I knew not whom that word belong to
My indecision decided to leave it and move ahead,
In search of the word that belonged to me,
That I had made with the hands of patient time
To loose in an instance of severe pain.

Walking across the street of Life
I met many other words,
"Console, forgiveness, kindness, beauty"
I wanted them all, but then I wanted my “Life”,
My life that contained them all.

At the end of the street, I turned back
In hope to find it following me,
But found myself alone, deserted in cold
Just the like other words, many "Life" among them
None of them approached, none of them mine.

But one had fixed its eyes on mine.
I went near it to find who it was,
It was the same “Life” I had left in indecision,
But it clasped my hand with the divine feel of,
Console, kindness, forgiveness and beauty.

Posted by Abhilash Nanda at 9:58 a.m.