The fragrance of nostalgia

Once upon a time at a starry sheen moonlight
heart rending serenade passionately responded I
as luring whiff of unmistakable fragrance of nostalgia
plummeted me through childhood hazy maze
and with crystal longing stares of forgotten voices
stoked the smoldering embers of sleeping fires
and once again retrospect’s court summoned me
to drink the bittersweet verdict of ambivalence.

Paths not taken, smiles not returned
Seeds half sowed in stunted growth
insatiate disrupted oyster deep diving swims
scintillating fishing expedition thrills gnawed
berry picking sprees, jungle-hunting packs
truancy-laden schools barefooted trodden.

Puberty slapped and hurtled me
headlong into the preposterous travail
pits of the hazy mazes of adolescence
naive serenading virgins ventured
behind flowering shrubs wittingly lured
sent away limping as initiating tasted
naivety fled leaving a gnawing quest
unwitting scapegoats of juvenile delinquency
Oh! But how many childhood sweethearts!
ripe fruits untainted, not plucked!
dreams unfulfilled, snares not dodged
eggs in nest not hatched and songs unsung

what remains is only the fragrance of nostalgia

Charting the path of future hunches without regrets. 

The Path Taken

Today may offer me dualities

the sole chance of a rare charisma
those childhood steps to retrace

but tempt not my lofty dreams

yesterday’s hunches are
today’s serendipity savored

by intellectual stimulation

yesterday is today

and today is tomorrow charted

by revolution which is only permanent

tomorrow is the future

and the future is forever propelled

by vestiges of subtle forces

forever is infinity

and infinity is captured

by becoming one with nature. 

A path to chart I have

the flock to pasture

dead conscience to revive

the stony hearts of mankind

to sail on

the turbulent waves of serendipity
until the berth

at the serene mooring of humanity

where the sound of silence

is painted in bright colour of love.

The Brainyard

The moon shone on the silent graveyard

sniffing dusty dieing footsteps of mourners

subtle echoing dirges rekindle old tassels

forgotten sleeping fires leaped from sages past.

The cool evening breeze blew over the earth

the weary living seek repose from the day’s toil

solemnly I strolled this very hour the ranks

where forerunners lay in perpetual sleep

their cradles neatly lay in rows of reminiscence.

The cool rain has watered and sodden the ground

yet they stubbornly refuse to germinate

the cock had crowed yet they remain asleep

the cool gentle breeze to pacify them they ignore.

why are the living shunned by the dead?

Perhaps the dead are angry at our mournful pity

or maybe they are full of many regrets in retrospect

of what should have been done that was left undone.

Behold the graveyard has become the brain yard of ideas

replete with so many lofty dreams that lay untried 

brilliant masterpieces wasted on the alter of indecision

complacency has murdered ingenuity in cold blood

beloved, hearken to the hoarse voice of wisdom

the green leaves take a cue when the dry leaves fall.

the earth is starved of sane ideas because they lay hidden

buried in the graveyards of procrastination.

Weep not when I die, and place no RIP - Return Impossible

I do not seek any “Revel In Procrastination.”

So against all odds I set forth limping and crawling early at dawn.

to let it be swift but powerful, altruistic and memorable.

So help me God.