Poems Archive

Truth Spoken

Posted July 25, 2014 By Raj Shekhar Rana
On the cross, hangs my King,
Beaten, bruised, not broken.
By His blood, I am made clean,
My heart cleaned, changed, and open.
Defeating the grave, giving me life,
To Him be glory, praise, devotion.
My life now a living sacrifice,
Serving, loving, truth spoken.
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Bedlam in Burbia

Posted July 24, 2014 By Raj Shekhar Rana

The fireflies were still out
just before sunrise
should have known something was wrong
When even the morning doves didn’t sing their song

The morbid popping sounds in the distance
Of left over pyrotechnic disturbance
hackneyed excitement turned excrement
floating down to the square miswatered lawns
That finds itself firmly uneducating
the late July sky

Never before has black gun powder
Ever unleashed a sound scarier
As my brow scrunched and my head cocked
I stepped out of the shower
went and peeked out my door unlocked

To my horror I stood by shell-shocked
As my eyes blurred and my jaw dropped
a harbinger of slashing fierce pit bull terrier
mercilessly shredding a young child by instinct behavior

As my shower towel fell
that moment when sonic sound stands still
Seems the newly purchased “Lord Byron”
is not what he seems,
Resonating residential urban echoing screams

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21 days to freedom

Posted July 24, 2014 By Raj Shekhar Rana

Two numbers that can change a memory.
A human brain needs time to change,
like the cycle of the moon
or sand falling through glass,
we require twenty-one days.

A cigarette burns like a beacon,
it removes doubt and muddles your mind,
it strokes your inner thoughts and whispers,
Oh so gently into your ear,
this life is just a little drag.

That shot glass fits finger and thumb,
like picking up a part that has fallen off.
It’s sweet innards carry us away from here,
to a reality that needs no coping,
a place where we are equal
even in our daughters eyes.

A change of attitude turns slowly,
the meek bloom from extinguished self doubt,
a feel of real worth bathes their fears
washing them away forever,
a new man, a new start.

Twenty-one days later
the cigarette is cancer on a stick
the shot glass is a bullet in your hand,
A brain can be reprogrammed.

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रात यों कहने लगा मुझसे गगन का चाँद,
आदमी भी क्या अनोखा जीव है ।
उलझनें अपनी बनाकर आप ही फँसता,
और फिर बेचैन हो जगता, न सोता है ।

जानता है तू कि मैं कितना पुराना हूँ?
मैं चुका हूँ देख मनु को जनमते-मरते ।
और लाखों बार तुझ-से पागलों को भी
चाँदनी में बैठ स्वप्नों पर सही करते।

आदमी का स्वप्न? है वह बुलबुला जल का
आज उठता और कल फिर फूट जाता है ।
किन्तु, फिर भी धन्य ठहरा आदमी ही तो
बुलबुलों से खेलता, कविता बनाता है ।

मैं न बोला किन्तु मेरी रागिनी बोली,
देख फिर से चाँद! मुझको जानता है तू?
स्वप्न मेरे बुलबुले हैं? है यही पानी,
आग को भी क्या नहीं पहचानता है तू?

मैं न वह जो स्वप्न पर केवल सही करते,
आग में उसको गला लोहा बनाता हूँ ।
और उस पर नींव रखता हूँ नये घर की,
इस तरह दीवार फौलादी उठाता हूँ ।

मनु नहीं, मनु-पुत्र है यह सामने, जिसकी
कल्पना की जीभ में भी धार होती है ।
वाण ही होते विचारों के नहीं केवल,
स्वप्न के भी हाथ में तलवार होती है।

स्वर्ग के सम्राट को जाकर खबर कर दे
रोज ही आकाश चढ़ते जा रहे हैं वे ।
रोकिये, जैसे बने इन स्वप्नवालों को,
स्वर्ग की ही ओर बढ़ते आ रहे हैं वे।

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The Life Of A Cupcake

Posted July 23, 2014 By Raj Shekhar Rana

They put me in the oven to bake.
Me a deprived and miserable cake.
Feeling the heat I started to bubble.
Watching the others I knew I was in trouble

They opened the door and I started my life.
Frosting me with a silver knife.
Decorating me with candy jewels.
The rest of my batch looked like fools.

Lifting me up, she took off my wrapper.
Feeling the breeze, I wanted to slap her.
Opening her mouth with shiny teeth inside.
This was the day this cupcake had died.

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A Dream Within A Dream

Posted July 22, 2014 By Raj Shekhar Rana

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow–
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

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Hapi Bufday

Posted July 22, 2014 By Raj Shekhar Rana

It’s anoda special day that comes once a year
a day where conversations fill the air
a day you dance and forget all your fears
a day you party and merry
puttin’ behind your problems and things that make you weary…

It’s a day that goes down the memory lane
a day your mum felt so much pain
and almost faint
but all this was like it never happened
’cause the joy of you been born has overclouded the wail…

Funny jokes and laughs out loud
is what you’ll get, ’cause we’ll be your crowd
don’t worry, it’s not gonna be rowdy
but composed and it will just be dandy
and we’ll make sure there’s a lot of candy…

We shall dance all through the night
with the stars sparkling bright
dining and winein tight
until our spirit are truly light
and pray all things stay right…

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