The reasonable man adapts himself to the world. The unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.

~ Bernard Shaw ~

Little Lark:

Little flower; why so shy?

Snowflakes; did moon cry?

I lost the rainbow on the trenches

With Its colors sitting on tiny benches

Oh mother! When can I fly?

Mother Lark:

Little flower will learn one day

How to hold head in the wind’s way

Snowflakes are angels’ dice

Rolling over; once, twice and thrice

Where the rainbow comes from

Neither does Lyla know, nor do I!

The day you learn to skim the sky

Little one! Then off you fly

The dusk of today will call us conspirator

The dawn of tomorrow will label us traitor

All would talk, oblivious to deception of time

That forms the seed of their own duality

Providence will identify, it will validate

Since it’s all about the game of singularity

Corridors of darkness

Fetched lights from elation

We searched for stillness

Whilst traveling through seclusion

 

The fret of tiredness

The sweat of struggle

Rest to soul; nowhere we saw

At halt, some lost themselves into delusion

 

Often there were wonders

Who were those who conquered dimensions?

Then these questions to be so revealing

For all the answers to lie within

 

These times will pass

This tiredness would wear off

We’ll have a recall; we’ll see a renaissance

Then many will find these questions, themselves amusing

My ungodliness brought me to a wonder

Was it a child’s innocence?

Or the onslaught of plunder

A moment’s thought, then a lost sight

 

The other day, the haunting came back

It was little red riding hood surrounded by the pack

I shook off the feeling; and the music broke through

Turned back to the rhythm; something I no more knew

 

Conversation followed; tinkering flowed

I looked for a companion on the dance floor

There was a hand; it told me to let go

And I found myself waltzing with my last night’s foe

 

O my nightmare! You tell me so

Was it reality or just a dream to let go

The music broke through, surrounding mist grew

It parted silently, leaving me yet again sans clue

 

Now it was juggler’s turn to put on a show

Beings hustled, they too wanting to let go

I saw in glassy eyes; I smelt in subdued murmurs

They were also daunted by my last night’s foe

 

There was laughter and music continued

The juggler himself haunted, put on a good show

Pennies for smiles; fortunes for laughter

Frozen hearts; loud applause; the house rocked to and fro

 

The show came to an end; yet nobody knew

Who it was playing behind the clown’s crew

I traced the strings of the ring master’s lyre

And came to look into eyes of my last night’s foe

 

You bring pleasure; lest naught settles the pain

I don’t understand the rules of this game

Pray! Make me known to this mystery

It is haunting me beyond any death’s bellow

 

I saw its eyes change colors by dozen

Yet I couldn’t decide, it was beauty

Or a savage lost in the brazen

Yet I waited for an answer to come through

 

Pleasure is a stage; pain is the play

Relief is ending; suffering is zenith’s bray

Worry thou naught: O thinker!

For the likes of you; my bite lies astray

 

You seek answers; the blood continues its flow

You fall in pattern; ice descends in these veins so blue

I am here and I will wait

Till the day you cease tries, to catch the day

 

I will return to give you taste of frost’s blood

Then you will laugh, unknown to joy’s bud

To cast off, you will pick a Stream of Life to pursue

And will become someone’s last night foe

 

Pray creature of last night

Are you a friend, or an ominous fright?

Why letting me in on secrets of such plight

Go on, and resume your journey past the skies

 

Though unstoppable, my quest and deft

Yet the vault, I build is not for mine to thrive

I build for masters from another world

Yet I suffer for myself, an unquenchable theft

 

I can seduce: I can lure

But the flesh lost its meaning one bloody night

Blood is what, now I collect; sensation is such I prune

I play with colors, yet I stand a bland sight

 

I inflict wounds by a measure

Then I give pain and I give pleasure

The being plays; whilst I collect

Love, laughter and joy’s treasure

 

There is a market and there are bazzars

Having authority beyond those of Tsars

One part joy; nine parts lust

One pint luck; nine pints rust

 

This is what they long

My commodity, makes them feel, loved and belonged

Enslaved by their own worldly mires

These poor beings walk happily, into siren’s pyres

 

Pray Creature! So strange, so true

Why to unfold a ruse so lewd

Then ‘tis the last, I heard from my parting last night’s foe

Because once, I too, was a creature of love like you

Yesterday was a day spent

Tomorrow is a day yet to come

Surviving in today’s fleeting tent

Is an art known only to some

Orthodox; the natives of convention

Secular; laying on basis of conviction

 

Atheists meet the world with assertion

Spirituals; say to redefine declaration

 

Tis’ faith that traces revelation

Carrying belief in The Religion

Whatever you lost, was a yesterday lived

Such like you gain, will be a tomorrow, yet to live

Every moment that we relish today

Alas! The sun of tomorrow will call it yesterday

[pro-player]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EgOpIlZcTs[/pro-player]