The Bridge

The Bridge

Ever heard 'Bridge' the differences?

Ever heard 'Bridge' the gaps?

Of a bridge one can make several inferences,

Most importantly two ends together it clasps.

A bridge is a binding force,

One of many a name.

To the force that many endorse,

But their work is all the same.

Some call it the cementing material,

Of the building blocks of the society.

Yet others find the description unreal,

But hey! I'm not here to discuss their anxiety.

The Bridge seems fine by me.

And it wouldn't be wrong to think,

That we need lots of them to be,

For the people to interlink!

For the society to act as one,

For communities to be united.

Many ideas are born under the sun,

But none of them have left me so delighted!

So let's create bridges wherever we go!

For they be the seeds of happiness we sow.

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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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The Laughing King

The Laughing King

Once upon a time, in a land not far away,

Laughter was all that'd be heard through the day.

For it had a king whose all interests lay,

In laughing at jokes throughout the day.

The king in his dwelling had a score of clowns,

Professionals, hired from the best of towns.

Practical jokers too, were high in demand,

To quench the laughter of the king of the land.

The battalion of clowns and the army of jokers,

All had the same job offers:

Keep his majesty's pot belly jumping up and down,

And take home his own weight of silver crowns.

For money to the state was secondary,

And a happy king to the people meant prosperity.

But even when the things were all good and smooth sailing,

There certainly were lots of serious things worth discussing.

And so the ministers would hold a grand meeting,

For the king, there'd be arranged a special seating.

And while the ministers would argue and debate,

The king in his chair, would keep shifting his weight.

And would occasionally wipe some sweat off his brow,

He'd wish he could just run away from there somehow.

He'd really miss all the clowns and their jokes,

And would sadly wait for the arguing folks.

To just come to an agreement for a second!

Huh... I hope it doesn't take long he reckoned.

And then! As if by magic they all stopped!

And brought forth a new resolution to adopt.

Finally, the king had been relieved,

A long sigh of relief he heaved.

And he could now attend to the more important matters at hand,

Like laughing his wits off till no more jokes he could stand.

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Snowflakes

Snowflakes

United they come as the winter dawns,

Blanketing white, the hedges and the lawns.

Formed in the sky, millions of icy shapes,

For the trees, make the perfect winter capes!

Swirling slowly as they descend,

Young and old, they befriend.

A soft white fleece they come to be,

Over which, the delighted children ski.

Fluttering as they float in the winter wind,

Each one different from its fellow twin.

Bearing the most intricate patterns and designs,

Each in its brilliance, incandescently shines.

Glistening like gems in the moonlight,

Setting ablaze the darkness of the night,

They swirl and swirl and forever descend,

Till at last into the landscape they blend.

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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 Ark of Good Hope

The Ark of Good Hope

Our ship; our vessel is battered and damaged,

Sleepless nights have left the crew famished.

And over each and every decaying log of wood,

My worthy crew, once pompously stood.

But now, they're thrown to every corner,

I beg of them to bear with me a little longer.

The raging storms have left us all battered,

And the black horizon above: hope's shattered.

Oh how we long to the warmth of the sun,

Oh if we could lay our hands upon some bun!

But I've got keep them from wailing and despairing.

You see? I say. Our hope, the Ark's still sailing.

We'll soon make it ashore, to the bells,

To the harbour, the sun and the sea shells.

Oh men get up and take your positions,

We won't abandon the finest of expeditions!

And ah! finally! Some hope within them stirs,

The storm we then faced, my memory it blurs.

Yet when we opened our eyes through our shrouds,

Our star; the sun, shone brightly through the clouds.

Oh wake each of you from your deathly slumber!

The Most Merciful has made the storm encumber.

And see! At a distance is an earthly piece of land,

Our ship will now only rest on its golden sand.

Our ghost ship was greeted with whistles and bells,

And although my tattered Ark now peacefully dwells.

It's safe in the harbour but that's not what it's for,

It's meant to sail the oceans, it's meant to explore.

Regardless of it being made of wood and scrap,

It's meant to sail beyond the edges of the map.

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Gladiator

Gladiator

Standing by the Colosseum's door,

In the shimmering armour he wore.

He grunts and takes a step forward,

As the massive doors open inward.

His metal chains clink as he paces,

Staring up at the thousands of faces.

That greet him with screams of death,

Fueling the gladiator's so fiery a breath.

A table is laid over which the blades rest,

He tries them all, then chooses the best.

The choice of which he makes,

There is no room for mistakes.

The sun batters down upon the field,

He looks upwards and raises his shield.

Standing at a distance is his foe, 

His death would be painful and slow.

Both ready to fight till the death'd bite,

Either or both of them and end this fight

With no further thought they charged,

As the massive doors were barred.

The crowd burst into screams of life and death,

As dodging a blow, he swore under his breath.

His adversary was furious, he no less,

Each move counted, like a game of chess.

Blows he'd dodge and blows he'd give,

It was for what he'd come down to live.

The crowd chants death as if it were a hymn,

Spilling blood had become routine for him.

And when it was felt they fought equally hard,

One swift move of his caught the foe off guard.

The crowd erupted into screams once again,

As it looked like he won his part of the bargain.

The foe numb with pain, started to sway,

Death for him was just a fatal blow away.

He crouched, now at the mercy of his foe,

Closing his eyes, awaiting the final blow.

With a sword in his hand, a helpless foe at his feet.

The dominance he felt, was strangely incomplete.

Although the sword he bore was at his will,

Ready to strike down his worthy kill.

A faint conscience somewhere within him stirs,

Which expeditiously grows till him it blurs.

An ominous silence now covers the crowd,

As guilt, now hovers above him like a cloud.

Astonishingly, his sword rises to take the blow,

Bringing it fiercely downwards then he lets go.

It's a moment previously  unwitnessed in history,

That someone lets go an inch away from victory.

The crowd, their mouths now wide open,

His deed, screamed what couldn't be spoken.

Cowardice! Someone from the crowd bellowed,

Soon enough, across the Colosseum 'coward' echoed.

He ignored them and turned around,

His feet still felt shaky on the ground.

But his mighty heart was content at last,

Never had he felt happiness so vast.

His foe though hadn't forgotten his part,

He had long practised, mastered the art.

The final blow, he was the one to impart,

As he put his sword through a content heart.

And as he fell, a feeble smile escaped his lips,

As with both hands his bleeding heart he grips.

The feeble smile now a painful laughter,

As he'd achieved the much sought after.

The hooting crowd now fell dead silent,

Was the scene for them a bit too violent?

Or perhaps the dead had become the valiant? 

Hearts were moved. That was apparent.

And even as the gladiator peacefully lay,

People had learnt a lesson, if only for a day.

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