A Park's Bench

A Park's Bench

From the most beautiful mornings,

To the most enchanting evenings,

From the spring to the frosty fall,

It's lived through to witness it all.

It's been there across generations and yet more to come,

Be it scientists or the philosophers, to it they succumb.

It has shouldered many a tired backs,

And more so of such kindly acts.

It has sheltered many homeless folks,

In many, a sense of nostalgia it invokes.

As it's always been there under the yew tree,

Open to everyone, without as little as a fee.

Scribbled across its surface are countless marks,

A sense of wonder in me every time it sparks.

A living history book it is for all, to see and touch,

Just be gentle with it... It's already aged much!

From a homeless man counting his days,

To a young artist experimenting his ways.

Carving in it animals and smiling faces,

It's wood has preserved their long left traces.

It sits there as it has always had: peacefully,

Under the yew tree, ageing beautifully.

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End of The Road

End of The Road

It feels as though you've nothing more to give,

It feels as though you've nothing left for to live,

Left all alone without a comforting friend,

It's apparent that the road has come to an end.

The daylight is covered by a veil of darkness,

Life seems to you but a beautiful mess.

And to your open wounds with no one to tend,

It's apparent that the road has come to an end.

Where has all your strength gone you wonder,

Where did it all start to go wrong you ponder.

Wondering if your ways you'll ever mend,

It's apparent that the road has come to an end.

Standing at life's crossroads helpless,

With no words to express your distress.

When finally you run out of happiness to pretend,

It's apparent that the road has come to an end.

Just get out of your grief for an instant,

And fix your gaze on that 'end' not so distant. 

For what you yourself made a so called 'end',

Was actually nothing more than a mere 'bend'.

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The Philosophical Kid

The Philosophical Kid

The world was a strange place for a little kid,

He used to feel accountable for all that he did.

There was no evil in that world he knew,

Only good. In everyone. That was his view.

Yet, one thing about that child was really odd,

That clothing of all sorts, he'd label them as fraud.

It was a strange fact, very strange indeed,

But the little brain had an explanation for the deed.

For it would change the people he'd recognize,

Not people exactly, their personalities to be precise.

The way they'd walk, and how they'd behave,

It would all confuse the little child so naive.

From casuals to fancy suits and dresses,

Their behavioral changes met his guesses.

Expensive clothing had a serious effect,

The clothes themselves demanded respect!

The child went on and on with his imagination,

He concluded. It was all an act of domination.

With the clothes ironically, the masters,

And the people; slaves of their captors!

People could only behave, he admitted,

The way their fancy clothing permitted.

And obliterated was the idea of men born free,

Enslaved they were since their first clothing thought he.

And while fancy clothes stood by waiting to be adorned,

An innocent little kid, into a philosopher had transformed.

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Dual Personality

Dual Personality

Ever wondered that behind a sincere smile,

Might have lurked intentions that were vile?

Or behind the curtain of anonymity,

Was a heart dripping with enmity?

My intention is not that through this rhyme,

Should you look at everything as a crime.

And at everyone with a suspicious glance,

As if they're ever ready to take their chance.

Every chance they get at depriving you,

Robbing you off all joy, leaving you blue.

Unfortunately, that's what it has come down to,

And nobility today is only found in an elite few.

The people who abstain from hypocrisy,

Are lambs amidst wolves in the society.

For today, if by the rules you were to abide,

You would find next to no one by your side.

Fake friends, fake relatives, fake people,

But on the outside they'd seem to be feeble.

They'd talk to you looking in the eye,

If only you realized that it were a lie.

It is a frightful disease, if not more,

But like everything, to it there's a cure.

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As If Time Stood Still

As If Time Stood Still

It was as if the time stood still,

 Down the valley and up the hill.

Across the fields and round the corner,

Van Gogh's works did him great honour.

It was as if the time stood still,

When the peasants tore down Bastille.

When they marched in, chanting slogans

Death upon the king was their only notion.

And yet again, time stood terribly still,

As the atom bombs made their first kill.

Vaporising all there ever was of happiness,

Bestowing upon them profound darkness.

Stood back and patiently waited  time and tide,

As the first man-made bird stretched it's wings wide.

Made up of but spruce and canvas,

Effectively clothing it's wooden truss.

Time must have stood still and watched,

As humans, one small step up we notched.

But that small step was one of its kind,

It was one giant leap for mankind.

Caesar fell as the time watched,

Some say that it had even stopped.

Bursting through his heart was a  dagger,

His once most loyal friend was his attacker

Clocks of that room stood still in a silent awe

As it was the single greatest thing they ever saw.

Having cracked the Enigma, stood a team of men,

Hitler and the Nazi were defeated only then.

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