Not long ago was the earth
An abode beauteous,
Carpeted by the velvet green,
Roofed by the halcyon blue;
And ribboned by babbling brooks
Of a metallic sheen.

Gnarled giants stood patient guard-
Wizened gentleness cast in
Frames stout and hard,
Peering at the cheerful white clouds
Scurrying across the azure above.

The giants laughed at the pranks
Of the frolicking streams,
As they wound by their knotty feet
On their journey to the lushest leas.

The clouds loved the leafy fragrance
Of the canopies that stroked them,
And at times, their woes they wept out
Against the loving brown bosoms.
Confided the winds in these soothing giants
And left with souls purged
Of the burning angst.

Birds perched on the giants’ arms
And sang to them mellifluous strains,
While the giants smiled and swayed
In rhythmic beat, their emerald heads.

But invaded into this paradise
The ruthless villain Man-
With hard glittering eyes
Full of avarice and lies,
Carrying razor-like smiles,
And something shiny besides.

The cold metal glistened in the sun,
Held in Man’s brutal clasp;
With stony swipes they fell
On the bewildered hapless giants,
Whose limbs they hacked,
Whose hearts they pierced,
And left lying dead
In a pool of betrayed blood.

The whole land went into mourning
Of their beloved giants;
The velvet carpets tore and smudged,
The halcyon blue paled into ugly grey.
No more did the birds sing,
No more did the winds sigh,
No more did the brooks laugh,
No more did the clouds cry,
No more, no more....

And where once resounded
The lovely dance beats of life,
Echoed the sinister silence of death,
Sharpened by metallic silver blades.

Each shimmering star,
A soul shivering
In the loveless cold-
Broken hearts scattered
Across a murky blue reality,
Trembling with untold grief
Amidst the unknowing,
Unfeeling, steady moonshine.

A woman’s love runs deeper
Than the springs of sorrow
That crisscross life;
A woman’s love is purer
Than the first snow that swathes
The mountain tops.

A woman’s love flows free
As the doves that wing
The cerulean dome;
A woman’s love is gentle
As the happy breath
Of a sleeping babe.

Mysterious as the mist
That swirls in a vale astray;
A woman’s love is wild,
Like a forest fire
On a summer’s day.

A woman’s love, honestly returned,
Swells like the tide
On a full moon night,
And engulfs her lover
In perennial spate.

A woman’s love, if basely spurned,
Kindles fury- that shakes the hills,
Stills the roaring seas;
And spawns hurt that smoulders
In her grave.

Here, hold my heart,
I’m much better off
Without this throbbing pain,
Without this need to love and to feel,
To laugh and to bleed.

Here, take my heart;
I’m much better off
In a static scorching summer
Sans emotion and all;
The colourful spring
Of blossom and birdsong,
Leads but to a melancholy autumn
Of smiles turning yellow and brown,
And falling off my life
With hardly a sound-
Like the tears from my eyes,
And ending in a frozen winter
Of perennial pain.

Here, hold my heart,
Please take it and leave,
And just dump it
In the nearest trash bin
You find, thank you.

This love has grown mouldy,
Left neglected in the monsoon,
Got rusty with disuse.
Words tender and true at the time,
With stony silence now turned stale-
Our perfect symphony
Long decayed into cacophony,
Memories of Heaven before Hell do pale...
Worm-eaten dreams and cankerous vows-
So much for our garden-fresh love!

Delivered in a bright blue carton,
Bought at an exorbitant price,
From that cheerful chubby lad
In the store down the street;
Sigh! Our hard-earned time
Gone down the drain!

"Sorry, madam, I’m afraid nothing
Can be done about it," said the lad
Politely, cheerful as ever,
When the unsatisfactory product
I thrust on the counter.
"The affection, I agree, has curdled,
The happiness has rotten, the memories mouldy;
But the pain, the hurt, the bleeding wound,
Are still so fresh, as we promised."

Cursing myself, I returned dejected-
I should have read the fine print
On that bright blue carton
Of garden-fresh love.

In the beginning,
Puddles of joy,
Paper boats and splashed laughter,
Joyous drenchings, Mama’s scoldings,
Wet classrooms with the wet-sock-stink,
And along muddy ways, the great
Umbrella chase, in spirits
Undampened by the gale.

Later, silver dreams by a window sill,
With a steaming cup of coffee,
Watching the silver tassels
Tumbling from a dark saree
Draped across a swarthy sky;
And pitter-patter lullabies-
Or whispered sweet nothings???
Rainy smiles on rainy nights....

And now... soulful strains
Of a melancholy mood,
A rhythmic recital
Of ineffable loss,
Plaintive notes arising
From sunny days of yore;
Tears streaming down the window pane-
My own or the weeping sky’s???

Wish I could delete
The frozen pain,
The aching silence;
Empty the recycle bin
And lose them forever.

Wish I could copy-paste
The good old days,
Over and over again
In place of this numb pain.

Wish I could undo the mistakes,
Start over anew,
And when the hurt
Makes my life hang,
Instantly shut down and
Restart afresh.

And when it all gets too much,
I could just crash.