Why do I write?

Why do I write? Why do I want to write?
Perhaps, I have the impulse to guide
Probably, I don’t have other know-how to survive
But most of the time, I feel the urge to write

I pen the emotion; I make a living out of emotions
I’ve developed an obsessive compulsion
Of observing around me many a thing and phenomenon

Sometimes I recollect, sometimes I let me fly
High and high in the imagination’s sky,
A white broad sheet of paper becomes my canvas to paint
On which pent-up frustrations, sometimes, do defecate
One day, I cast gloom
Other day, I predict bloom

All said and done, I write to defy the fear of mortality
I suffer too, from the pang of immortality

Nostalgia

At the twilight zone of my life
Lived enough, time is just passing by
I see a child lying-down on his mother’s lap
Listening to her crooning with affectionate tap
On his temple, while the dusty smell of raining outside
Sneaking into the nook and cranny of the room inside

The child tugging at her sari’s free end
To let him free to be danced and drenched
In the rain. The bout of nostalgia left me enervated
The child within wept uncontrollably for his mother, long dead

Today, I am father of a grown-up son
In the twilight zone, still searching in him my mother’s lost son

The dirge of mortals

We are plain mortals doomed to be dead
Mortals are forgotten for immortals,
Who keep immortals alive to be cherished by Generation Next
We, the mortals who remember immortals.

Immortality thrives on mortality
Frailties of mortals make you stand apart
Captivated, inspired, enthralled by the lotus’ beauty,
It is the mud, dirt and mirth; adds juice to its birth
Truth prevails at the expense of lies
If there is no black (wrong), how to validate the white (right)

We die unsung to let your fame fly.
We, dwarf, giving every meaning to your height.
Never forget the simple reality
You blossom and bloom out of us.
Immortality piggybacks on mortality
Don’t mitigate our dearth with any fuss