Thursday, 17 April 2014

In search of mythical bliss



Living life in doses,
Smiling but in parts,
Chasing a shadow,
Reaching for the stars,
Missing out on moments,
Which define our breathing,
In search of something,
Where are we speeding?
Going round in circles,
Never reaching end,
Racing towards nothing,
Till death makes us bend.

Eating; not tasting,
Mind so preoccupied,
Burning midnight oil,
Even the darkness cried,
Measuring our success,
In terms of printed paper,
Following mirages,
While life begins to taper,
Setting out to conquer,
What doesn’t even exist,
We all are just racing,
In search of mythical bliss.






4 comments:

  1. Till death makes us bend.. loved it..
    Setting out to conquer,
    What doesn’t even exist..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. thanks for the motivation boss and also for suggesting me this topic

      Delete
  2. In search of a PG seat wud be more appropriate ;-)

    Well written !

    ReplyDelete
  3. SOMEWHERE I’D LIKE TO BE
    Surajit Dasgupta

    I have walked like a man, crept like worms,
    Slept like there wouldn’t be tomorrow.
    Future never beckoned me. Future squirms
    at the past to this day, to harrow
    the one like me. With no ilk that affirms
    that clones did arise from the marrow.

    I migrated to your ghetto a bit too soon
    to make sure the lingo catches my parlance.
    Or if some night I refuse to see the moon,
    though twilight alludes to as much askance;
    I could at least pose as a cartoon
    hoping you’ll empathise with my penitence.

    No. My copies I wouldn’t have espoused
    Never in my dreams, do I see factories.
    Yet in purlieus, emotions are aroused
    as the vicissitude of life’s trajectories—
    Like Holika fire—ignited, then doused—
    comprise such destined cemeteries.

    And alas! I got betrothed once again
    to the concubine who bade the loudest…
    Taverns and harems don’t know my pains.
    My office’s essence – a ghoulish tempest;
    as wine in a goblet’s insecure terrains,
    the droplets that trickle are the feeblest.

    Where on this earth rest the heathen?
    Where in hell went the believers?
    Where rationale discovers a haven,
    and shuns but narrow demeanours?
    No such site in sight where awaken
    wretched agnostics amid receivers.
    ___

    ReplyDelete