When it rains...
Mahabalipuram, India
When it rains and the heavens look upon me with a remorseful look,
my orbs search for azure gems a midst the vast expanse of darkness.
This déjà vu of hours and sometimes days,
bestowing equanimity to my heart and to millions more.
I sit en-girdled by the gushing winds, the pouring rain, in a reverie..
A reverie of bliss, a reverie of beauty.
I dream of fairies,
I dream of nymphs,
I dream of elves, yakshas, and apsaras in fleeting visions.
Them dancing alacritously a midst the sparkling pearls.
The rain reveals a rainbow of hues in the once barren land.
As it goes...
I wish it will come back again.
For, when it rains, youth blooms like a phoenix reborn,
as spring awakens beneath the veil of old.
-Sulzhan
my orbs search for azure gems a midst the vast expanse of darkness.
This déjà vu of hours and sometimes days,
bestowing equanimity to my heart and to millions more.
I sit en-girdled by the gushing winds, the pouring rain, in a reverie..
A reverie of bliss, a reverie of beauty.
I dream of fairies,
I dream of nymphs,
I dream of elves, yakshas, and apsaras in fleeting visions.
Them dancing alacritously a midst the sparkling pearls.
The rain reveals a rainbow of hues in the once barren land.
As it goes...
I wish it will come back again.
For, when it rains, youth blooms like a phoenix reborn,
as spring awakens beneath the veil of old.
-Sulzhan
He lay on the silver snow
Oxford, UK
He lay on the silver snow,
distinct, as the radiant sun over the evening horizon.
The scarlet fluid oozing from his limbs,
his mind full of memories.
Memories of his little angels,
memories of love, care, and history.
He lay on the silver snow,
paralysed, yet his heart full of patriotism.
Patriotism which led him to his lonely grave.
He lay on the silver snow,
conscious, that his name would soon be forgotten,
as if a drop in an ocean.
He lay on the silver snow,
with his heart full of passion and desire..
..To win, to live.
He lay on the silver snow,
his heart scorched,
his hands numb,
for he had heard the shriek of the Baanshi.
Before the fading horizon,
he lay on the red snow..
Red with his blood.
Red with his life.
Red with their war.
-Sulzhan
distinct, as the radiant sun over the evening horizon.
The scarlet fluid oozing from his limbs,
his mind full of memories.
Memories of his little angels,
memories of love, care, and history.
He lay on the silver snow,
paralysed, yet his heart full of patriotism.
Patriotism which led him to his lonely grave.
He lay on the silver snow,
conscious, that his name would soon be forgotten,
as if a drop in an ocean.
He lay on the silver snow,
with his heart full of passion and desire..
..To win, to live.
He lay on the silver snow,
his heart scorched,
his hands numb,
for he had heard the shriek of the Baanshi.
Before the fading horizon,
he lay on the red snow..
Red with his blood.
Red with his life.
Red with their war.
-Sulzhan
Witness to the Pages of history
Chapel Hill, USA
Her angelic face lay on her mother's lap.
Her apple-seed gaze adhered onto her wooden toys,
as she wept the tears of gold.
Tears of moments spent playing in the grass.
Tears of laughter, tears of love, tears of goodbyes, and tears of pain.
Ah! these tears taking her to unfamiliar terrains.
In blues,
the pale wrinkled face of her mother- an artifact of chaos and anguish of mind.
Her only son,
a victim to the beastly war.
His grave unmarked, his body unknown.
Her only son now a ghost of her mind.
No one suffered as she- the creator, the bearer, the mother.
They had hurled him in the battle ground.
Her pallid self in a stupor of emotions.
The air rumbled,
the sirens became a lion's roar.
They had to go!
They had to live!
Running towards their doom in chants of mercy.
The sight outside repulsive.
The earth crimson.
The air pungent.
As they stood sillhouting the burning horizon,
a plane whirled by,
leaving behind thunderous noise and a cloak of gloom.
The smoke revealed,
heaps of cadavers that once were enthused with life.
Among the ashes lay the bodies of a mother and a daughter- witness to the pages of history.
-Sulzhan
Her apple-seed gaze adhered onto her wooden toys,
as she wept the tears of gold.
Tears of moments spent playing in the grass.
Tears of laughter, tears of love, tears of goodbyes, and tears of pain.
Ah! these tears taking her to unfamiliar terrains.
In blues,
the pale wrinkled face of her mother- an artifact of chaos and anguish of mind.
Her only son,
a victim to the beastly war.
His grave unmarked, his body unknown.
Her only son now a ghost of her mind.
No one suffered as she- the creator, the bearer, the mother.
They had hurled him in the battle ground.
Her pallid self in a stupor of emotions.
The air rumbled,
the sirens became a lion's roar.
They had to go!
They had to live!
Running towards their doom in chants of mercy.
The sight outside repulsive.
The earth crimson.
The air pungent.
As they stood sillhouting the burning horizon,
a plane whirled by,
leaving behind thunderous noise and a cloak of gloom.
The smoke revealed,
heaps of cadavers that once were enthused with life.
Among the ashes lay the bodies of a mother and a daughter- witness to the pages of history.
-Sulzhan