Midnight Rain

Her arrival, heralded by a mighty gale,
Had all its grandeur and inspiring awe.

The gentle breeze, soon gathered speed,
Like an immense engine, wheezing on a rail

The first of droplets soon followed by,
Raising from the earth an enchanting musk.

Invisible in the dark, the soothing shower,
Soon she grew into a heavy downpour.

The spray was amazingly seductive and cold,
Cloaking the earth with an aqueous shroud.

But this shroud refreshes, rejuvenates and nurture,
New life, the yearning sapling's green.

Then came a blinding light so bright,
The midnight seemed to witness a sunrise.

Following which, there was a deafening thunder,
And the earth almost gave a shudder.

All this while she kept her stead,
And a chilling breeze stole into my bed.

Goosebumps erupted upon her touch,
Sending shivers up my spine.

Midnight rain the enchantress, amuses me always,
For each time she arrives with a different face.

Transition

Sitting at my desk under a fluorescent lamp

On a friendly advice I deeply ponder.

“Try not to rhyme” He had said.

“Why though?” I cannot help, but wonder.

 Maybe my poems all look the same,

Written in short, stubby couplets.

Or maybe they are rather lame,

Of which – sadly – I can’t be the judge

But then I recall the works of some greats,

Neruda, Shelly, Frost and the like.

“They never rhymed for the sake of a rhyme.”

Somewhere in me that fact did strike.

Rhymes are for children and not for the mature,

Though amateur, I surely am no beginner.

And it’s time to change my poetry’s nature.

But, such a transition is no easy thing.

I have to start from square number one,

Free myself from the shackles of rhyme.

My days of couplets are over and done,

No more matching of cat with mat.

Just like the way how it all began,

I’ll – once again – scribble some nonsense lines,

And will declare – with definite élan,

That these are my thoughts, when streamlined.

Race Horses

I compare you to an Arabian steed,

Trying, always, to be in the lead

Your eyes are patched, preventing peripheral sight,

You gallop ahead, challenging the speed of light.

You gallop ahead for that’s all you’ve been taught,

Ever since the day you began your trot.

A bridle has been strapped upon your face,

To curb your movement and your pace

You sense a whip in your rider’s hand,

Egging you on towards the victory stand

Winning this race is your only aim,

It is your life’s ultimate game.

At last you win and your heart rejoices,

Surrounding you are complimenting voices.

You are glad it’s over, you feel complacent,

You rest, hoping tomorrow will be pleasant.

But next day you are brought into the field, once again,

Before you even recovered from yesterday’s strain

A new bridle, a new rider, and the same old whip,

The reins have you under their sinister grip.

The whip cracks and you gallop ahead once more,

Though this race doesn’t seem worth running for

But you are stripped of a choice and there is only one way,

To race ahead, and to do the same on every single day

A new bridle, a new rider, a new race in which to fight,

A new syllabus, a new teacher, a new exam to write