Good People

Spells

I can see the child in her,

I can see swingsets where,

Tiny feet dangle,

The cold air nipping at her legs,

She turns puddles playful,

As she splish splashes them all over the sidewalk,

Her rainboots comets,

Smacking down those tiny oceans,

Spilling sea shells into my hand,

She smiles sweet like candy canes,

She laughs lovely like lavender,

Without her a walk is just a walk,

I don't see the cinnamon square streets,

Or the gingerbread houses,

The dandelions don't smile back,

The trampolines and diving boards,

Are just mattresses left out for trash,

I've checked between the couch cushions,

Under the carpet which surely takes flight,

No fairy dust.

No propeller.

Just her,

Those story- telling eyes,

Whichever potion she applied to her neck,

It's always her,

And whatever magic she was born with,

The magic I felt when we first met,

Beating those drums in my chest,

Singing me smitten the first night,

She is a symphony,

 Ringing in my ears,

She is a dance party,

blistering my feet,

She's a magician,

I don't go a day without her spell,

 

 

 

 

Good People are Going Away

Good people are going away,


As do the seasons and each day,


Some are leaving forever,


Switching stations some are.


 

The good ones have exceptionality,


Which the bad ones can sense rightly,


And driven by Iago-like-jealousy,


Turn the priceless moments into inferno eventually.


 

If the good people raise their voice,


Stopped they are at once; they hardly have a choice,


The commoners seem to be devoid of humanity,


Since blind like Oedipus they are with eyes healthy.


 

Sometimes I think,


About changing everything in a blink,


If any step I take,


None is there for justice’s sake.


 

Unfairness has become the statute now,


I wonder how,


The world is going to change for the better,

 

Change it shall, sooner or later.

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Some are Born to Live Forever

Some are born simply to die,


Some are born to ceaselessly fly,


Through the dreams for eternity,


Even after entering the dead-city.


 

The very moment the mortal stars start apprehending,


The real meaning,


Of life and its decisive goal,


Each dedicates for humanity his soul.

 

 

They do not ever hanker after money,


As is done by the commoners consistently,


Brilliant they are in their contemplations,


Tread on like the Trojan warriors evading every fence.


 

If the luminaries glow,


The world shines too,


Since enthused myriad are,


Far and near.


 

As wheels are to a cart,


So are the saint-like beings for the earth’s heart,


They scarcely yearn for anything,

 

And let their glorious works for civilization sing.

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