Transition

It's not the rain that I love so much,
Nor the heat of the sun that scorches,
It's the slim transition of weather,
From one extreme to the other,
On a dull, gloomy day, when arrive thin rays,
And the sun brings out his bright face,
Or on a hot, dreary noon,
The sky's filled with dark clouds' bloom,
Which shield the parched ground and evaporating waters,
And bathe me in their first showers,

So is my love for you, my dear,
Intensifying as our separation draws near,
Kindled most intense at the time of farewell,
And the meet after years, when unspoken tears well.

This poem seems to have been inspired by this one by Niharika Anupam, apoet I admire.

A Tryst with Terror (Part II)

It came all of a sudden, thundering down,
From a height that seemed nothing like I'd known,
Raising it's mighty head like it feared nothing,
Casting me a look sans mercy nor cunning,

I looked down for I could not look into its eye,
Though an honest man I thought I'd been,
It brought down the world I'd built on my own,
A world I thought, I'd carved out of stone,

Independent, I thought I had indeed become,
Leaning not upon the shoulder of another man,
And now I saw each brick, strewn upon the ground,
While my face became red, for I'd been found,

Fear, whom I'd hoodwinked for years on end,
Now smiled at me, pointing my game's eerie end,
I blink, guilty, for I cannot but concede defeat,
Surrendering to the very arms that put me in this plight,

I pick up the courage to look into those eyes,
Fearless, for now, I have nothing to lose,
I raise my brows in unavoidable question,
For to do what I'm told is my only position,

And suddenly I wonder, if I'm the victor,
For I feel in my soul, enormous power,
And I see now, more than I have ever seen,
That my life'd been the only thing holding me victim,

Letting go relieves me of every burden,
Releasing me from the cuffs that were on,
For yes, the hands still remain tied,
But how can I be, for now they're no longer mine?

5:28pm, 3.6.2017

A Tryst with Terror

Years of endless study and toil,
And profuse sweating upon hard soil,
Never ending, long pages,
Of books and journals weighing tonnes,

Work filling libraries,
And money that's filled banks,
And before I turn to pat myself for these,
I hear, so close, a sneery voice,

It isn't evil for I know it means well,
But it holds the power to crumble,
The castle of appreciation I built for myself,
All this with just words that're chiseled,
Words such words that are but blunt,
Yet sharper than any I've heard,

I cannot escape it, for it speaks from within,
Aiming for that pride by which I've been smitten,
It raises its inevitable hand, striking terror in my soul,
Driving out every thought, every dream and goal,

It shakes the very foundation of my person,
Roaring its might to the chest that's swollen,
Threatening my arms that built for me my house,
Not the building, though, for in me lies my arrogance,

The fear that comes, it conquers and quells,
Chasing my identity out, in my heart it dwells,
Challenging the independence that I'd boasted of for so long,
Proving to me that my assumptions were all wrong,

I sit here, thanking fate for this rock,
Panting for breath sans thought of clock,
I bend, in all humility, forgetting my achievements,
Bowing down to the universe that can slay me any second.

5:12pm on 3.6.2017