Hope

As the clock strikes three,
In the darkness of the night,
A frightful nightmare steals
Into my pair of sleepy eyes.

I’m walking in the forest
Stalked by animals wild.
Fear rises as they chase,
But I can’t run though I try.

And yet, against every odd,
I’m pushed into wakefulness,
And returned to this world
With a feeling of hopefulness.

Yes, hope is that brave knight
Who rides into all nightmares
Fighting valiantly against fright,
And rescuing people from scares.

And there is no well or storm
That can hinder his mission.
Be it a deep ocean or dark barn,
He defeats all ghastly villains.

And so, I go to bed each night
Unsure of what I may dream,
Yet, hoping to see the dawn’s light
Through the shivers and screams.

From My Dreams

A quaint little cottage on the hillside
With a warm fire burning in the hearth,
And a little window to peer outside.

A cozy rocking chair with a soft quilt,
And a mug of freshly brewed coffee
Placed on a small wooden side table.

A book about magic, fairies, and elves,
A carpet of verdant green in the vale,
The yonder hills wearing a misty veil.

And, me, curled up in that cozy chair
With no deadlines to chase that day,
Just taking in the fresh mountain air.

Sipping the hot coffee from the mug,
Reading, from the book, a happy tale
With my feet on a plush, woolly rug.

This is the place I visit when I sleep,
A place that’s warm, like your embrace,
This beautiful place is from my dreams.

Whispers of a Forgotten Time

A forgotten scrapbook –
Of memories
Suddenly popped up in a nook
As I cleaned up the attic.

I sat down and flipped through it.
The pages were yellowish and worn,
And soon, I was transported
To a time long lost and gone.

Colorful stickers of fairies
From a time when magic existed;
Me and my friends wearing wide smiles
Posing in photos that were pasted.

Sketches of flowers and butterflies,
Oodles and oodles of doodles,
The Sun crayoned in the blue skies,
And streams meandering like noodles.

Yes, those were the days, indeed,
When dolls made of candy wrappings
And purses made of mango tree leaves
Brought me immense happiness.

With each page, I walked
Slowly down memory lane,
When deep within, I heard a whisper
Like someone speaking from far away.

“The joy you seek day after day
Is not in the things you chase,
But, inside you, it has always lain,
Waiting to be found from its hiding place.

There is no perfect place or time
For you to decide to be happy.
The phase you thought you’d left behind
Is a map for creating more memories.”

And this was what the voice spoke
As I sat with my scrapbook in the attic.
Enlightened, I was, as I arose
With a song on my lips and a beat in my step.

A Secret Carved in Stone

Circa 500 BC.
It was his secret.
She was his secret,
That, in his heart, he hid.

He’d spend the mornings
Gazing at the skies
All the time, imagining
Her in the clouds passing by.

At night, he’d look for her
In the twinkling stars.
They were like her eyes
That beckoned him from afar.

At times, he sat by the river
And, in the sand, drew her silhouette –
The curves that defined her,
Her rose-petal like lips,

Her slender neck,
And her voluptuous body.
Yes, he was addicted
To someone imaginary.

Then, one day, he wished.
Wished she was alive.
So, with a stone and chisel,
He started bringing her to life.

He toiled for days
In a secluded place.
Creating her delicate features,
He etched her beauty and grace.

And it was his secret for life.
She was his secret.
He hid her from all the prying eyes
And never let anyone in on it.

The year is 2025 AD.
The archeologist was excited.
His team had just unearthed
A stone statue at the digging site.

A beauty beyond compare,
Carved with exquisite detail
From the strands of her hair
To her feet adorned with anklets.

With all the dirt cleaned,
She looked radiant.
It was his greatest finding –
A feminine form in stone so brilliant.

Soon, she was in a glass display
In the “Civilization” section
In the Museum of Art and History
Labeled “Goddess in Stone – Ancient.”

The Three Brothers

Once upon a long time ago,
In a village far, far away,
There lived three brothers –
Needy, Greedy, and Wisey.

One day, as they walked
In a forest deep and dark,
They found a dusty lamp,
And, then, a genie appeared.

“O Masters!” Said the genie.
“Your will is my command!
To all of you three wishes
With my magic, I can grant.”

Needy was the first to go.
He wished to be wealthy.
So, anything he would touch
Should turn to gold instantly.

“So be it!” Boomed the genie.
And Needy’s wish came true.
He clapped his hands excitedly
And… became a golden statue!

Now, Greedy said he’d go next
He wanted the ultimate power.
So, he wished to be like a wizard
Who would wall up tomorrow.

“So be it!” The genie spoke,
And Greedy’s wish he fulfilled.
He turned him into an ugly toad
And cast him in a deep well.

Now, Wisey observed all this
And realized the turn was his.
He used the third wish to release
His brothers from their curses.

“So be it!” The genie roared,
And he granted Wisey’s wish.
He and the lamp then vanished
In the darkness of the forest.

The brothers were reunited!
It was like they’d been reborn!
They praised and thanked Wisey
For his selfless act of wisdom.

As this story ends, my friends,
I hope you, too, can decide –
When Life grants you anything,
It always helps to be wise.

The Edge of the Unknown

The edge of the unknown
Is a mythical milestone.

A toddler standing for the first time
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till he takes the first step.

A woman who is pregnant
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till she holds her child in her hands.

A girl getting married
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till she becomes a part of her new family.

A child going to school
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till he reads the first letter in his book.

Every hour, every minute, every second
Leads us to the edge of the unknown.

But it’s the decision to take that first step
That enlightens the mind with knowledge.

And the edge of the unknown
Disappears with the expanding horizon.

The Zero

Yes, there are countless numbers
That exist in this vast Universe.
Some are sought for bank balances,
And some for rankings and scores.

But the number that I like the most
Is that which is nothingness – a zero.
Now you may think it foolish, almost
Imbecilic, ludicrous, and absurd.

But listen carefully when I say
It has more value than anything else.
On the face of it, it might look worthless,
But it’s a point from where to commence.

It holds innumerable possibilities
For the end, and also, the beginning.
The entire Universe was born from it.
In a zero, there’s space for everything.

Its emptiness is extremely powerful
And, you’d agree when I say so –
A true student is one who lets go,
For enlightenment is in the state of zero.

The Armageddon

The threads of memories
In myriad vibrant hues and shades
Create beautiful tapestries.

Or so, you’d think.
Sometimes, these tapestries
Turn into something different.

Threads wind around one another
Forming tight and gnarly knots,
Color over color replacing each color.

The mind struggles to make sense
Of the changing memoryscapes.
Faces once familiar now seem strange.

The constant tugging and pulling
Leads to the strings snapping.
This is a war in which everyone’s losing.

The tapestry tattered,
Some threads lie scattered.
Precious images are forever shattered.

Like a withering autumn leaf,
Battered by the elements, on the tree,
One by one, the memories leave.

Nothing overcomes the inertia.
A blank space forms like an empty shell
In the armageddon of dementia.

Confessions of an Insomniac

Silently, the day takes flight.
Across the dark sky, the Moon glides.
Through the curtains, a ray of light
Makes a shape on the wall as it slides.

Silently, I lie awake
Waiting and waiting for sleep to overtake,
But like a falling snowflake,
With a fleeting touch, it does forsake.

Silently, I remember
Lullabies that drew me into slumber.
Your voice that only in memories I hear
Is lost now in the autumnal zephyr.

Your gentle song guided me
As I voyaged to the realm of sleep.
Each night, it was the keeper of my dream
And a sign of your love for me so deep.

I long to hear that cradle song!
To sleep ensconced in its warmth!
But, the silence stays with me till dawn
With a sleeplessness that feels so wrong.

The Candle and The Wind

Once upon a long time ago,
A candle burned alone.
Its tiny flame spread the light
In the pitch black moonless night.

Soon, the wind picked up speed
Tossing away the fallen leaves.
Towards the candle, it rushed
Eager to swipe it with its gusts.

The little flame clung helplessly
Flickering wildly in the breeze.
But, with a sudden cold gush,
The solitary candle was snuffed.

The wanderer saw everything –
The battle of the candle and the wind.
But, in his mind, a light had been lit,
And he scribbled in his manuscript.

“A little candle; A little wind
Is what’s needed for the flame to be lit.
Too much candle or too much wind
Will unleash a power that’s destructing.

If both of them are just right,
The path would light up at night.
And just so, that mind is enlightened
In which the candle and wind are balanced.”

I Wish

I wish I could wish for a wish
And wish for that wish to manifest.
O wouldn’t it be splendidly lovely
If I stumbled upon a wish tree!

I would sit in its shade in the glade
And watch my wishes come true all day.
If I was hungry, I’d wish for a pie,
And the tree would bake for me a slice.

If I was thirsty, I’d wish for lemonade,
And voila! I’d get it in a glass on a tray.
If I was sleepy, I’d wish for a bed,
And on a soft mattress, I’d lay my head.

If I was bored, I’d wish for a story,
And the tree would narrate one to me.
If I was lonely, I’d wish for my friends,
And on the leaves, they’d all descend.

But here I am, in this war-torn city!
With screams and sirens all around me!
I’m frightened, and all I wish for is peace.
But I’m just a child without a wish tree.

Happiness

Happiness is only for a chosen few.
So don’t try to argue that
I can be happy just as I am.
Although you may think otherwise,
I can’t afford luxuries.
And it would not be false to admit –
Only the rich own palaces, cars, and gold.
As I ponder further, I see –
One can never be happy without money.
It’s also hard to accept that
Happiness is in the little things.
And, it is a fact –
I can’t really be happy just as I am.
So, I refuse to believe –
Happiness isn’t about being wealthy.
For every day really gets me wondering –
Is happiness only for a chosen few?

PS: This is a Reverse poem. Please read the poem from top to bottom first, and then from bottom to the top.