Scorpion Eyes

Rich with the beauty of inner soul,
In these eyes I've found all I was looking for
Truth, understanding, devotion and love;
Oh darling I couldn't have wished for anything more.

For eyes may be lovely and eyes may be dark
And eyes may be deadly and kill with a dart
But only if they are capable of not telling lies
Can they come close to thy scorpion eyes.

And eyes may be tender and eyes may be tame
And eyes may be charming and make your heart lame
But only if they are also trusting and frank as thine
Can they be worthy of sonnets of mine.

Our eyes are so much like the other's,
               it's difficult to tell who's who
They are receptive, caring, sensitive and true;
                constantly saying I Love You.

Sometimes You'll Sigh

Sometimes you'll laugh, sometimes you'll smile,
She's doing what she wants and getting best out of life;
Sometimes you'll brood, sometimes you'll cry,
She has left your heart cold with a warm goodbye.

What if your love was true, it doesn't mean a thing,
Can the romance of passion, tender promises bring!
The fault is yours why love with all your heart,

And hope in return that you'll never be apart.

If she's gone, what's wrong -- the world is this way,
The next love you'll find will be perfect anyway!
If she's as hard as a rock, you are a diamond in guise,

And should be hard and cold is your ego's advice.

But sometimes you'll sigh, Sometimes you'll die,
She is out in the world without your love nearby.

Second

 It took me a long time to figure the truth,
That the more I say contra the more I love you.
And can I forgive me for strangling our love

Which nevertheless survived giving me the vital clue.

And the sheer audacity with which I tried
To paint your rosy cheeks with sonnets of blue
Has been rightly deceived by painting a blackened image
That by its stark contrast highlighted your actual hue.

And If it hadn't been for me trying to fool my soul,
Then who would have worried about the seeds that were sown
And now that they have got care and attention plenty
They spring out from every crevice of rock that's me.

Entangling deeper in the web as I tried to escape
I have been forced to see I love you - but alas it's too late!

First

Is it me or my heart that writes
It bleeds, it hurts, it even bites!
Knowing in advance that my love is not true,
But in matters of heart there is not much I can do.

My heart, so vain, thinks it's different from me;
It roams, it flirts, it thinks Love can be!
So in search it found refuge in your heart,
I just pray it returns if even in part.

Do you realize what you have stolen, criminal?
It was young, it was fresh, it was even virginal!
Would you keep it as I did - lovingly?
Or would it be a toy, like yours is to me?

Broken, Bruised, Battered or Blue,
I want it back, I cannot love you.

Alone At The Top

Alone I stand on the sands of time,
With footprints mine destined to shine;
Yet Lonely, Dejected, Defeated and Blue -
Of Victory's friends I had no clue.

In time maybe my Will will win,
On each step loosing a cherished kin;
Estranged and above the world at large
Labeled Outsider in this Life's Farce.

In the past when I fell there were hands to lift
The bitterness of heart made the feet move swift
Leaving behind those who helped me impromptu -
My Friends, My Dreams, A bit of Me too.

An Achiever, A Victor, The Sun rising high
My shadow disappearing; No one to hear my sigh! 

PS: This was written in the days following me getting AIR 98 in JEE '94.  (30 yrs back and is my first sonnet as far as I remember!!)

To The Artists And Philosophers

Do the stories have to be real, are the legends really limp ?
Does Art have to discover its youth in the hands of a pimp !
Should the arousal of artistic sensibility elevate God and defy men ?
Can a murder be justified if its from an artist's pen !

Do the Gods have to be created, is there nothing besides the self ?
Do we need a Philosopher to tell us that life's all about itself !
Should the search for meanings transcend the search for life ?
Can a revelation be worth the cost of breaking an armchair to philosophize !

Indeed Poets and Philosophers are a moved and miserable lot
Trying to fill with passion what they thought was an empty slot.
Looking beyond, looking without, even daring to look within --
Their range is bliss and wisdom, their domain -they forget- is the human kin.
        
All this talk of Art and Philosophy, people don't understand much;
You can keep your divine grace, all they pine for is the human touch.

So Near And Yet So Far

So near and yet so far,
like the burning consumption of a shooting star;
dazzled when checkmated with God's game-plan,
with the passionate striving countervailing the limited span.

So old and yet so new,
like the inward contraction of a tender dew;
shrunk by the fact that it cannot but Nature breach,
with the calm poise justifying the limited reach.

So moved and yet so still,
like the rhythmic flow of an army drill;
engrossed in the act bound by Man's serfdom,
with the agile dignity subsiding the limited freedom.

So ordinary as to think that to the world I can something give,
and yet so strange as to seek reasons- to write, love and live.