Homeward Bound

I told my son, come walk with me.

One obedient son. But today he asked,

"But why, Father?" Although in fright;

"Son watch my back, as I challenge His might."

He was small and weak, so followed me.

As I tread along the mountain path,

My innocent little one, once again asked,

"Father, where are we headed? Why do you climb?"

I said they say up above there originates a light.

"Isn't it the sun, Father? That shines so bright?"

"Well" I said, "Stop the talk."

"This road is a challenge, will you let me walk?"

He did quieten up, and I walked on.

Another hundred steps, until he asked,

"But father, why would you?

Has He done a great wrong?

Are His hands red?"

This infuriated me, I said, " Your sister is dead.

He took her away. Still love Him?"

"But everybody says she rests in peace."

"Keep quiet Martin" I said "and follow up."

"But Father, He created nature.

He created the rivers, the valleys,

He created the forest and the tree.

He created the very mountain on which you walk so free."

I looked back at him, and as soon as I,

Did this I tripped, had a fall.

On the ledge, to hold onto my hand was all.

Thousand feet above the ground, so close to death.

A hand reached me, still heavy was my breath.

"Take my hand, Father", said my son,

And I shrank within.

The world around me shrank, too.

The moment of reckoning was here.

The moment of knowing what was where.

Holding my son's little hand, I shrank.

Little did I realise,

The years do not matter.

And the years did not matter.

What mattered in that moment,

was the journey,

Homeward Bound.

I in my child's innocent worldly ways,

Found my true calling,

As I was Homeward Bound.

Poem - Man's Tale

When the stars lost their shine

And darkness blazing forth.

When the days seemed numbered,

For the ground and skies both.

When the clouds seemed devoid of a silver line,

And the resting sun on the horizon lacked hope.

When the jaunty waves lost their moves

And imbecility overshadowed the gold.

And oblivion was on the way, it seemed as if

The devils of darkness from the underworld

Had surfaced to tackle man’s stronghold.

To cut down every raised hand,

To bring to ruin every bailey.

To bring obscurity to faith itself,

Not stopping unless every quanta of light

And every evidence of life was sold.

And the moment, defined by every man’s voice

Screaming, “It’s the end of days.”

In the wake of all the rusty skies,

Deeds became noble, and hearts went foul.

Venomed by the call of judgement

And ruled by barbaric austere.

Until one man, amongst the debris announced,

“Every dusk is a dawn, and

Spectral shows follow the storm.”

A spark which ignites the biggest fire of all.

Touché Shakespeare, well said,

“All the world’s a stage, and men merely players.”

But that one man led the skit of his time.

After whom everyone held hands,

And everyone felt strong.

When the darkness was won over,

All that was heard was applaud.

And He was just another man, who could take a stand,

Whom they called, their God.

Another small lesson

It was a chilly winter evening, the lamplight beaming down from the night sky. It was breathing yellow light, in an attempt to imitate the sun. As I walked down the ramp to the street, the cold asphalt, radiating peaceful vibes, and the proceeding blackness slowly uniting with the road. My eyes fell on the roadside. I witnessed a creature, one of the billion creations of God. It was a dog, relaxing on its feet, as stray as a weed on a deserted footpath. But he did not seem to care. Neither about the cruelty of the world, the harsh weather nor the sluttishness of time. I rested my bossom on the cold sands and sat beside him. He sensed my presence not more than the chilly winds. I turned to him, looked into his eyes. Like quicksand, his eyes were getting a grip on my regularity. It was not a mirror where you could see yourself. It was a window, a peephole. And I found a story hidden in his eyes. Some grotesque account, something that could not be woven into voices. His eyes sang a ballad his heart wanted to conceal. Silence surrounded him, gloom overpowered him. His innocent face hid the darkest secrets. I sat up on my place and offered him a loaf of bread. Forgetting everything, he consumed it completely, to the last, minutest quantum of it, with a sense of satisfaction man can barely imagine. So I let the silvery moonlight fall upon him as a healer. He reminded me of a past. Another regular evening, another small lesson, guess that is how its meant to proceed.

Poem- The Dawn

Daybreak,

The sun begins to shine,

and defines dawn.

When I look up I see

a cloud with a silver line.

Like a waterfall the sunrays,

washed away my sins.

And all the lakes turn to mirrors,

the same I was avoiding,

now I was bathing in.

And as I strolled on under the morning sky,

on the sunlit sidewalk wincing I.

Felt a fresh wind upon my face,

and as my walk ended,

a new life began,

I felt of a different race.

The grotesque chapters of my life I closed.

I have turned to a being from a corpse.

I have chosen this morning, for a life,

though  be I brimmed with remorse.