Poem-Random Thoughts

Abhyuday (Villanelle)



The sun had been setting softly at the bank of Daya…

He, being overjoyed and basking in the victory, came out.

The end of the day was casting its curtain over the field…


He holds, retraced and looked around over his victory–

The broken chariots, the carcass, the waving war flags

The sun had been setting softly at the bank of Daya…


A sound of flapping let him hold haft firmly and attentively while eyes moved at sky,

There was kettle; he follows their flight down and saw there was a wake at a distance.

The end of the day was casting its curtain over the field…


Isn’t it adorable, oh Chandashok, isn’t it…a female voice made him turned around.

Her clothes were torn, hair askew, eyes red, and blood oozing out from the corner of lips…

The sun had been setting softly at the bank of Daya…


I have lost my husband, my father, my son and now my purity…isn’t it adorable…

Look there…isn’t it adorable…the Emperor looked at Daya where she pointed;

The end of the day was casting its curtain over the field…


The Emperor walked lost towards the river; his hand scratched from broken spears;–

His sword dropped; Daya was redfor the setting sun or…his eyes turned serene

The sun had been setting softly at the bank of Daya… 

The end of the day was casting its curtain over the field…


From Poet’s Desk: 

Few days, while searching for the featured image, I came upon the Triumph of Death by Pieter Bruegel Elder (1862). And the idea of this poem struck vaguely.

Abhyuday means sunrise. The title had been used in a metaphorical way. The scene was based on Samrat Ashoka and the Lady after Kalinga War–a popular historical lore which says that after this Ashoka decided to quit violence. 

Daily Prompts

The Dream of My Assassination

The night was a starry one with the full moon in its majestic queen beauty.

Poem-Random Thoughts

A Triptych of Romance

The Act

The young Captain stands straight,  his head held high,–

As enemy marched forward in rapid fast way towards the camp of his company.

He gave the war cry “Bharat Mata ki jai“; the small troupe of forty joined in unison–

Sending chill down the spine in many of the enemy infantry–double of its number.

They hurled like wild lions, kept in captive for long, and released to hunt.

They progress like a regained power waterfall in monsoon, washing away–

The enemy infantry like a log get washed away in the strong current–

Of a fall down the river.

Breaking out of a war was stopped in one evening followed by the night–

As they fought to keep the Tiranga fly high on the peak.

As the SAFFRON sun bid the night and welcome the new day,

Country was safe, was in peace, was enjoying the tranquility;

Reading the bravery in the daily next few days and talking on it–

Like they were in the line of control.

Yes, this is not boasting; this is the pride that speaks of, that get reflected in the voices…


The Honor

She looked at the clock. She can’t remain steady as the hands of the clock slowly, it seems,

Move to the denoted the specific time. She stopped her reading the daily, when–

The grandfather clock strikes the time, she took up the remote and turn on the television.

But she was not at ease. She wanted to flash forward the program, the parade .

At last the moment arrived. She quickly wiped her glasses and stooped forward–

A little in her wheelchair, when, a lady wearing WHITE jamdani–

And wrapped in BLUE shawl gracefully went up the podium–

To receive Vir Chakra.

Her eyes turned watery; she wiped them by back of her nerve-visible lean hand;

Her eyes went up to the two frames kept above the television–

One black and white, another colored.

Both are lookalike, except they are from two varied generations…


The Wind

The infantry gathering around the pole silently.

Memorials that had been erected three months ago

for the gallant act, seven months ago, polished mid-sized obelisks,

Different from others erected there–

At different times to commemorate the victory and bravery, to celebrate gallant acts,

Are at one corner with Captain in ‘ween erected on the GREEN grass–

Besides the majestic booen* of the camp.

The morning young sun warm them, complimenting the polished surface;

The winter sky, smeared with clouds, shading them often with momentary shades;

The majestic shade of the tree, though, shading much, —

But,this west side memorial get bathe daily by the light of the sun,

Reflected on and projected from the mountains around.

The Lieutenant, after infantry gathered, pull the rope and unfurl the Flag.

The Flag bask in glory in the morning light–

It waved in the gentle January mountain breeze; the sun, while, illuminate it.

Flowers, that had been wrapped in the unfurled Flag,–

Flew around, as, meanwhile, twenty one gun shots are fired.

The valleys around get echo in relentless manners before it gains its serenity–

When jawans start  Jana Gana Mana… in unison.

The valley, in the young sun light, resonates the anthem,–

Spreading it as the warm, spring, breeze over the icy valley.

A gust of mountain wind, meanwhile, sweep flowers of the flag to the obelisks–

As booen made psithurism** to join the anthem…



From The Poet’s Desk:

The word “Romance” in title render its meaning in term to the chivalric literature of the High Medieval Period (1001 AD-1300 AD) and Early Modern Europe (roughly between late 15th century and late 18th century).

*Chinar Tree in Kashmiri dialect known as Booen.

** Psithurism–The sound of the wind in the trees and rustling of leaves


As The Valley Sleep That Night

She was tumbling in the bed–left to right; right to left.

But, for more than once, she might had asked self–

or to the vacant that was surrounding her–

“where’s the sleep had gone…”

I don’t know (for sure) ’cause I only saw she had been rolling in her bed–

in the moonlight.

(I remember) The droplets of icicles, the muffled hushing snowy breeze and–

The silent droppings of flake of snow–

Peppered with shots and bangs–

Used to create a queer blue sound of silence.

She had gotten up and had a glass of water before she came up to me;

She brushed her hand on the glass of the frame and smiled with teary eyes–

I was smiling, as I had been posing for last one year, with bright eyes.

She had left a sigh, as the moved garland let me know,

and said under the breath, as her lips moved–

“It was my dream to have this–

and it was your to fulfill that…”

She went back to the bed after, again, brushing the glass on me.

She closed her eyes before, after few minutes, starting the loop —

of left to right and right to left–

’til the night welcome the dawn without siren or another bang…

It was long since the silent had prevailed–

over the snowy valley–after a long time…