Only one way to blossom

Only one way to blossom

In this globe blossoming is a fruitful enchantment,

Everyone wants to blossom,

Even if it is not within the reach of their accomplishment.

Every blossom in this world doesn’t bloom because it is a blossom,

But, because it has strived to make that fulfillment,

The ‘plants’ goes through a manner that is gruesome,

‘Water’ from ‘Land’ and ‘Air’ from fresh airy bands with some sunlight and chemical refreshment.

And at last with some persistence, a bud then blossoms,

A blossom is born, Redemption

A Blossom!

Followed by Regiments of appreciators and men who often like condemnation,

The gravity of being a blossom is next realized,

The ‘barbarians’ fall like prickly pebbles that don’t make ‘trebles’,

But rupture out unspoken, for it is their duty, to make one ‘blossom’,

Then one realize there is no short cut around, only one way to blossom,

Is to pass the way that is gruesome!!  

The Extremity Pathway

The Extremity Pathway

Oh! Extremity pathway,

Give the kind the extremity of mind,

But extremities to emotions?

Is it precise?

Such a feeble kind is made strong and wild,

Oh! Extremity pathway is it precise?

Happiness to extreme!

Sorrow to extreme!

Anger to a farther extreme!

And hope?

These all lead one to a poignant extremity,

Particularly the one that no one can engrave,

To some degree it’s wonderful to have them.

But to extremity!

They may turn too wild

But that is what extremity is “Wild”

The Blazing Algorithm

The Blazing Algorithm

Every conflagration in this world is supposed to burn,

And get burned.

The woods of the fire or the fern,

Are supposed to burn,

But there are some logs which burn with patience,

They are the foundation woods.

They associate together to get burned, only then if they are their,

When the conflagration starts,

Through a complex but therefore simple way of getting burned,

The various aspects combust but these at last,

The blue, the green and flushed yellow combine to blaze together,

The ferns then burn, twigs and sticks await their turn.

The flames blaze up and then comes the turn of the middle men,

They are one of the conspiracy lots,

Middle fuel that corrupts but maintains the blazing plot,

Then at last base is fumed, passing through that inferno,

These foundation associates are like sticky clots,

They support the configuration and then at last turn to Smokey float,

That’s pretty much like our life,

The termination of the feeble, the conflagration of middle strong,

And the blossoming of strong and rigid,

These rigid bodies produce more and then,

Burn down to be specters of their legacies,

This is the algorithm of every blaze a lot.

  

  

The Game of Legacy

The Game of Legacy

In my garden

There was a special tree,

 victim of struggle and trouble. 

One day I saw a huge cotton ball wedged to the tree,

As if it was trying to be free,

Next day there was another one,

Few days after I saw a little bird,

Soothing to feed its young one,

But at that time I didn’t knew!!

Facing countless flights and hell wind’s strike

It was just a solitary bird.

After some time I went near by the tree,

Between the soft roots of the young tree emerging from the branches,

I saw the bird feeding it’s young ones,

They were all grey and brown embedded in the flora crown.

I got up next day,

Came out to see the flora crown, but I saw that little bird,

Shielding the crown from the crying sky,

It was just one little bird doing all that,

Three weeks passed,,

Watching those puking young ones,

Their curls and feather grew.

Now they mewed more! Puked more!

They cried more, but it looked like they were getting bored.

Bored of being jewels of the crown.

I thought now they will flourish and nourish,

But I didn’t comprehend the supremacy of nature,

The bequest of that little bird,

Was there no more,

It left me to conjecture.

What happened to those little Jewels?

I only realized it after some time,

Those jewels were now polishers of ornaments,

Ornaments that were the legacy,

 Legacy of a mother lizard.

  This was the equilibrium of nature, the power to thrive

The bird always strived but,

The one who is feeble is for eternity, left behind!

One Morning

One Morning

In the young morning of winter,

I went on walk,

I went on a walk to get lost in the beauty of great Himalayan valley,

which makes winter's sudden sally.

On the ridges of snowing mountains,

I saw some people engaged in some hidden talk,

The first sun rays sparkled making a golden valley,

Which now made sun shines sally.

I was spell bound when I saw white mountains standing like titans,

like they were bind to earth with a eternity lock,

The people in the talk realized that I was on a walk.

They told me about the amber weed that was made up of pine seed,

It reminded me of the strength of life.

To grow out a weed out of amber seed,

On that young morning of winter,

I went on a walk,

and came back with some beautiful talk.

and with that moment of Ranikhets valley

I moved on with some beautiful memories. 

Nationalism

Nationalism

4.5 billion years ago

A mother, mother of all of us was born

and after a billion more

she wore her Jewels

jewels of life

Continents were created

a place for land animals and life

but who are we to further divide it
A tragedy, its my that one is yours
nation!!

From the first wars of monarch to
today's battle field
what is the reason?
Land, we want land

Some fight to defend their nation
some, to invade others
and some to make it all one

but what is this all about
from the years of great depression to death of demon
from Russian revolution to Iraq's invasion.
Its all about others nation's extermination.

Nation! word that gives persons pride his Honor
Americans are powerful
Europeans are advance
Africans bear wounds
and all at once they bear chains of nationalism

It should be a tragedy for human kind
if we treat each other as separated kind
nationalism should die and then should be reborn
in one nation, Nation of Humans Nation of  one kind

Not many!
But  their are some dark aspects of nationalism.

Hitler in the New World

Hitler in the New World

 

Around 80 years ago a man emerged in the society

A new ideology took a flight

Some called it demons resurrection

some called it angels death

Many died, many lived as dead

Jews met their fate

And then it ended.

Silence! silence!

And now another Hitler is on the rise,

but everyone seems alright,

no blood shed no angels death,

but is it really that alright.

He has been resurrected.

In form of corruptions.

In form of caste devastation

In form of nationalism.

In form of capitalism.

In form of human, was it really supposed to be like it

Many wanted demons ideology to die

but its rebirth has already taken place

In form of religious diversions

and poor's suppression

This is the demons urge to form a  Hitler in the new world!