Saturday, 29 March 2014


From the meadow yonder

The Gorgon scurried;

Lost inside the witty woods,

Was a soul vexed and worried.

Stalking its quarry sub rosa,

She donned a a mask of fay;

Her exhilirant aroma,

Succumbed the grass gay.

Dews watched desperately;

As she allured the soul supine

He could see Cupid shooting,

As he esteemed the Evangeline.

Endowed with ambroisal beauty,

Evading the darkness she gleamed;

He walked to her with bated breath,

An Angel from Heaven she seemed.

Imprudent the soul blind in lust,

Reckoned her the solace to his strife;

The Medusa concealed deep down;

Athirst to take his life.

In the proximity of her grace,

A rhyth divine; breathing her breath;

Too tempted to realise he was,

Strangling straight to his death.

Affrighted eyes sunk in dubiety,

Glared her pupils turning red;

Avalanche of pain he gulped,

His last breath he breathed.

To the temptation of a habitue,

He'd fallen a paltry prey;

About her shoulders tasseled aegis,

Absconding the stone she made out her way.
Killed By Gorgon

Liked this poem? Also Read Deep Romantic Love Poems

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

The Secret Lover - PART I

"Slow down, boy," a passerby shouted mockingly. He was passionately showing off his Karizma ZMR, a rare scenario in my town. With what seemed like the velocity of light, my heart pounded. Reluctantly my neck swerved and I was glaring at her bungalow. My bike was slowing down and so was time. She was there in the balcony, chuckling as she talked on the phone. For a moment, I was quaking with my worst nightmare, but then I thought who I am to care anyway. The two hundred metres between us were enough to hide my tears. It all started in 6th grade, so I always reckoned she was nothing but a crush, a result of my incessant movie-addiction. While watching RHTDM, I would be engrossed in making out a story of my life. It was when I was debating over what her voice would be like, when I was interrupted. "Excuse me, Where should I sit? This is my first day of this school." "Lata Mangeshkar", I muttered. Her voice was the same as Lata Mangeshkar's. Her eyesbrows raised. "There," I gestured to the last row. "Thank you." She said. From the corner of my eyes, I watched her. Pink top and jeans, hair in a pony-tail and a peculiar glint in her eyes. "Which school?" I asked, fighting my urge to adore her as she sipped water. "Adarsh..." Before she could utter more, a great hullaballoo had already befallen. "Oh Arya, welcome to the school! Aww this dress!" "Not of a great deal for the Joshis," the new admission said. Her last word concise. 'TUNE MERE JANA, KABHI NAHI JANA' my phone ringed and I woke up from my naustalgic reverie. It was Akshara, my girlfriend. "Hey baby? What's up? Where're you? You weren't at the Batch Seperation Test. Afraid of IIT, eh?" "I am home. Wasn't feelin' well." "Otay otay, come soon. Missing you. They're starting alcohol today." "I'll be there tomorrow" Akshara was the sixth girl in my life. Hexane, as I called her. Nevertheless, the reaction with Methane was the most perplexing one. Since five years we'd not spoken a word. None of the students of opposite sex talked in the class. Narrow mentality, I tell you. Inspite of my relationships, Arya flashed my mind everyday. I had maintained a diary that comprised of 150 poems on her. These poems were the 150 encounters I'd with her that caused me equal number of mini Heart-Attacks. I stood there on the highway, my eyes glaring at her. No, she won't recognize you Aryan. Not until you dwindle the distance that departed you since five years. She won't notice you unless you cease being shy and show her you love her. Before I could know, my bike had paced half the distance. Maybe it wanted to prove that it was superior to my bicycle, which would have been too fragile to start. No, she won't have a boyfriend, I convinced myself as her chuckling intensified. Her chirping had paused. Our eyes met. I watched her and watched her, and she stared back, flabbergasted. A guy so reckless in my town is a guy who will get his face red soon. Two minutes later, she ran inside. Alright Arya, it was a cue for me to leave, I thought.

For Reference, You May Like To Read The Secret Lover Poem

Sunday, 23 March 2014

Heaven's on Earth.

"That's enough, Pooja." I scorned her, my eyes blazing. Twelfth time she'd splashed water over me.

"Why, Aryan, I love you like this, it gives me... goosebumps" She grinned and blushed.

"Oh, does it? Perhaps a kiss will switch you to normal again."
She moaned. I could feel her tears on my cheeks.
"I missed you, Aryan."

"I missed you too," I said, "But I ought to make myself on my own"

"I know." She was all tears, sobbing against my chest.
I stayed in Nagpur, 200 km away from her. The hustle and bustle of my job left me just evenings, to spare on the phone.
"I think I've a heck lot fantasies, for our honeymoon"
I gave her my I-am-crazy-for-you look. She pinched me.
"Sure, you do. My Fifty Shades." She said, blushing as we were strolling along the banks of a reservoir.

"Where?" I asked.

"Umm. I've in my mind. The Jewel of Kedah."

"How many gems in this Jewel, milady?"

"104, Cap'n"

"Aye. What makes me heartie scour there?"

"A myth, Cap'n." Her eyes were scintillating as she continued. "The legend of true love bet'n two spiritual souls."

"Aye! Get on the deck then!" I said and we kissed again.
A thud on my door interrupted me. Beside the door were my pictures with Pooja, showcasing our excursions to random Historical places. Ajanta-Ellora, Elephanta, all were there.
"I don't want to go out, Dad." I shouted.
How could I go out when the only reason for me to venture had been taken away from me, by that Almighty, to the Heavens. How could I go for a drive, for every drive reminded me of her last drive? I wanted to be alone. Sunk in her memories.
The voice wasn't my Dad's. It was Pooja's mother. She handed me a note and walked off. There was a peculiar glint in her eyes. The note read -
A reddish-brown Eagle, in colloquial Malay,

Yonder there, Embracing the Thai,

Just like us; Entwined together,

Away from strife; Away from fie.

On sun-drenched beaches,

Walking hand-in-hand,

Two spiritual lovers unite,

Straying the enchanting islands.

Magnificient mountains,

Watch us making love;

Cruising the mangroves we soar,

Evading the flora foe.

I was standing on the Langkawi island, usurping the reason why Pooja devoured Malaysia. A few ripples ticked my feet, while the breeze whispered, 'I love you, Aryan.'

Yes Pooja, we deduced the legend of true love between spiritual souls. 'Heaven's on Earth, milady'.

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

And The King Beackoned To His Subjects - PART II

She arrived at 8:05, Ms. Arya Sarnaik; my ex classmate. It was she who'd procurred the coin. We seated on the marble seats in the temple of Balaji, built by a Maratha Sardar Bhawani Kalu in 1779.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed her feeling uncomfortable. I was quaking too. She broke the silence.
"Have you heard the history of this temple, Aryan?" 
"I preferred reading it." I said. 
Silence Again. 
"I'm confused whether the myth is true." 
"Don't you believe in your own King?" She needed answers.
 "More than anyone. But people love to make a fuss." I said, as a girl waved her hand at us. Ajay was gone. Bastards will always be bastards. 
"What if the Myth is true?" She was furious now. 
The Balaji Temple, as myths said, had a hidden passage to a distant fortress, most probably Raigad and that it was dug by Shivaji . However I hardly believed it. The temple was constructed after Shivaji passed away. 
"Avanti, I would leave that myth rathar undiscussed. Concerning the coin, elaborate for Heaven's Sake. Where did you get it?" 
"This same temple." She replied quickly. 
"Yes, the myth is true and the proof is in front of you." 
Was it a rhyme? 
Reading my mind, she started again. 
"Yes Aryan, though it is rumoured there's a secret passage, it ain't completely a truth. However, the little time I was in, I can say it's a chamber. And it is just beneath us." 
I looked into her eyes, yes she told no falsehoods. Bedazzled, not by the mascara that embroidered her calm eyes, but the sight of her walking underground, beneath the place we were seating, I jumped in astonishment. 
"HUH? Avanti, do you even know what have you sought! The secret passage! One of those that remain forbidden in the forts of Maharashtra! What did the chamber contain? And how did you know the entrance? Where it is? How did you get in?" 
"Calm down. There's enough time"
 She said as she raised her hand. I followed her index finger. There, where Ajay and his girlfriend had been seating a few moments before, was a slit in the grand structure, a small gap to contain Ajay and Neha at once- heart by heart. 

 "Are you sure? Is this the entrance?" 
We stood parallel to the rear wall of the edifice, our eyes squinting at the slit. It was decored with cobwebs. Just beside the fissure was a three feet tall opening from which the worshippers departed in order to do the Pradaksheena around the temple. An old man gave me a wry look from the bars, as his wife kneeled to escape. 
I'd been in that fissure before. A tough regimen as I remember. 
A year ago, I was nearly struck in it, when I endeavoured to find out if there was actually an opening. Coming out, suffocating and sweating, I'd become a subject to children's giggling; their filthy noses cupped by their palms. Yes, I smelled of histoplasmosis fungus. 
How the hell did this girl tackled the feat? 
I imagined Arya, wrapped in Bat droppings. It wasn't a great sight to imagine as I recalled her beautiful array at our School Annual Gathering, four years ago. 
"It was dark inside. I stumbled upon the stairs which were many. Horrified as the room smelled of blood with each step I took, I had this Hon that came beneath my heels." 
Blood? Strange. 
"Did you climb down all the stairs?" I was curious. 
"Hardly five."
 Arya's courage was breathtaking. I'd never knew she was so brave. However, regarding the times she complained against me as I eve-teased, she wasn't vulnerable too. 
"But how did you enter from here?" I asked, apparently myself. The roughtwalls had no trace of any door. Arya quickly produced a paper from her pockets and handed over to me. 
"Let's see how you incur it". 
I began to read. With every letter I read, adrenaline rushed in my veins, while the great gong of the temple sent sparkles down my skin. 
  "Glory of thy fortitude fadeth away
As every stream that 'ntwine her,
Naive too to splash against the dust..
Esteem but those whose ardor,
Strive to laud His finesse,
He who's reverred the first."

Monday, 17 March 2014

And The King Beackoned To His Subjects.. PART I

As stealth as a cat lurking in the shadows, the silhoutte approached the leisure-flickered antique, while his lips incessantly hymned a ballad - 
"Awake... Awake the braveheart. All the things you owed, are broken apart."
 His words resonated through every corner of the dark chamber and echoed back to him; as if thousands of souls were pleading, repeating the same ballad. The silhoutte took a dream breath and gripped a tapering, slender armour that adorned his perfect masculine hip. It was a sheath. Nevertheless, the heavy metal hardly had any effect on him. A few seconds after savouring the sight of the sword that illuminated in the reddish glow, his hands trembled. To his fret, there was a loud thud of footsteps in the corridors outside and a bunch of Septuagenerians rushed in, breaking down the door in one shot and munching down the echoes. The blur metal plate on the marvelous tiles read - 'Indian Armour, Royal Collection Trust'. 

"Awake", the victim said again, and his words fade away...

"Chya Aila Tuzya," said Ajay, triumphantly smacking me with my pillow. How dare he do that!
"Huh?" Annoyed, taken aback, I jumped out of my bed.
"There's someone who intends to meet you," he said, his eyes knowing a secret. Before I could mutter a curse, Ajay bent down to me. "Balaji Temple, at 8 a.m."
As he finished, he handed over to me a peculiar coin, and clutched my fist. He gaved me a completely bizarre smile and dashed off. Confused, I opened by fist and stared at the lustrous coin. I could feel my jaw drop to the floor and rebound. The coin was pure Gold, enscribbled, and all I could decipher at the moment were the four numbers in Devanagri - year 1664.
 "This can't be!" cried Ajay as we stood inside the large walls of the temple waiting for someone I was dying to meet.
Surmising who would possess such a rare antique in my city, and why wants to meet me, my mind was brimming with queries. 
"This can't be real, Aryan, is it?" asked Ajay, flipping the Hon from one palm to other, equally struck by the weight of pure Gold. Yes dude, It is real. Real for all the money in the world. Symbol of freedom from foreign tyranny and establishment of a sovereign state; a state and management so perfect that it highly influenced the politcians in today's world. A coin issued by Chattrapati Shivaji Maharaj himself.