Cycle

Life is cyclic
because the same flood and drought of emotions repeats itself
every year
I am thrown helter skelter by the rising tides of enthusiasm
Eloquent and full of promises
None can understand the secret of the bubbling energy
while it does not take much of time to be in the next phase
the slow ... not steady ... travel of mine
silence pervading me... funeral like
now it is my turn not to believe myself
what is happening all in me
the inflated balloon with its air oozing out
I am alone at this end to realise when must I stop
this cycle to a steady state
do not tell me that it may happen after my lifeline becomes steady and horizontal

Impasse

I am restless, wanting to run off from the room
when those uneasy thoughts do not spare me

A clouded view of the future
gory glimpses of the past
a sleepy lonely present I walk through

I am asked to survey the frontiers and limits of mine
But I am no where interested
to see myself incapable

Nothing interests me
When the book of equations are rendered invisible
by the looming shadows of instability and uncertainty

The rise and fall of my spirit
the spurts of joy and anger
the (evil) consequences of my words told in absolute insensitivity
the divulging of the truths of life
and later the regret for these unthoughtful words and deeds

Often I am left with the dreams about the pictures of the green country
when I take the train back home
the thoughts of the warmth of my mother's lap
and the dear ones

But the sudden realization of the clutches of bondage
and precepts of responsibility
takes back the joy of them

But amidst all these
adding an ice cool and crystal pure feeling to my psyche
memories of my lost purity
which gives me a momentary spell of happiness

a rope to climb out of this dilemma
a drop of water to fan the fire out deep inside