NOTES OF MUSIC

NOTES OF MUSIC

  

The ruddy drops of blood

That bleed from my heart

Will keep oozing out

Till the notes of music start.

Be it a soulful symphony

A Beethoven, a Mozart

A raga seeped in melody

Malhar, Yaman or Nat.

The crooning of a cuckoo

A cicada’s tymbal art

The Angelus bell tolling

The rumbling wheels of a cart.

A gentle cradle song

Sung  by a mother’s heart.

Or sullen dirges chanted

When  two lovers depart.

  

The ruddy drops of blood

That bleed from my heart

Will keep oozing out

Till the notes of music start.

                                            Anurag

EYES

          

         

EYES....

The sonnet of a poet

A playwright’s Act or two

The shimmering full moon

The early morning dew

The flight of a silvery swan

The notes of a crooning cuckoo

The quirks of a fickle fate

Memories, old and new

The cosmic blue of the skies

I seek in your limpid eyes...

                                         Anurag

THE MASK

      

THE MASK

Do you wish to see me?

Bereft of all deceptions

The way I am, naked

Devoid of all contraptions

My scars will all be visible

Some gaping wounds still oozing

Angst, hate, malice and greed

Through my veins cruising

My fetching visage will shatter

My ugliness coming to the fore

My baser drives palpable

My soul, stripped to the core

Think deeply and ponder again

On my knees, I pray

Let me be the way I am

Let the mask on my façade stay

Do you wish to see me?

Bereft of all deceptions

The way I am, naked

Devoid of all contraptions

                                    Anurag

A POET, I AM NOT

A POET, I AM NOT………

A writer jotting down

     A novel, random thought

         Playing with words, in deserted parks

              My only friends, by a long shot

          Calculating the win-loss ratio

             Of the countless battles fought.

   Singing doleful melodies

           With longings that are fraught.

              Loving, losing and loving again

              Life has been a lengthy draught

            A dreamer and a drifter maybe

                    A poet, I am not. A poet, I am not………....

                                                     Anurag

                                      

PLUCK ME

PLUCK  ME

To bloom is my nature

To wither, my fate

The glory of my countenance

The fragrance of my soul

The nectar on my lips

Belong to you, my mate

The spring is all but gone

I can feel the chills approach

Pluck me before the autumn draught

Let our love consummate...

To bloom is my nature

To wither, my fate

Pluck me before the autumn draught

Let our love consummate...

                                                     Anurag