Looking Beyond the Mist

I settle to observe so far the things that are still vague n hazy
Numerous happening in our life having no meaning apparently
Still nothing is meaningless I presume may be obscuring infinitely
In our haste of surging ahead we tend to ignore them
Considering them insignificant and inconsequential
Those tiny small bits of sentimental proposals, so precious,
Remain uncared, unnoticed and disregarded as veracious
As we continue being obstinate, unmoved and unconcerned…
Till we find missing them, we don’t recognize their values.
Countless faces we notice during our daily movement ahead
Ambling to come near us with indigence written in their eyes
But restricting ourselves to be more inquisitive to trace
We nudge on swiftly, apathetically glancing them with disgrace
Ignoring the aspiration and desires looming on their face

God has bestowed fortunes, fame and resources to us benignly.
He wants us to be more compassionate and caring in return
But how many of us feel about being fortunate as we are?
Never could visualize His benign ness with gratitude
Instead we consider the worldly gain we have, as our feat
Believing us to be happy disdainfully making merry for the treat
We move on and on contemptuously never to retreat
Unabashed, undaunted about our deed in our solo proceeding
We miss the splinters of happiness we left behind the haze
Shall we ever care to gather those vital fragments of life?
Shall we ever entail to share together, the happiness we enjoy?
For those wondering eyes looking inquisitively with trace of hope…
Shall we ever consider gazing beyond, tearing the mist

The Goal of Life

Sitting quietly and thinking I was amazed to gather
What for we are here?
As we proceed towards attaining our ambitions
Tend to forget the very goal and our mission.
We all know we are mortal creations,
Just sent here to perform what ever asked for,
Still we tend to believe always
What we have done is our deed?
We take this as our own feat, yet
The stage has been preset,
The role, the cast has been predetermined,
All we need to do, just to keep in mind
The dialogue we have to deliver.
Under surveillance of the great Director
Who is the only responsible for the entire show?
And we have to perform only under His direction
For which also He has set the guidelines
Some times we tend to forget
The dialogues we have to deliver
Which he does prompt instantaneously?
Our movements, pauses and actions,
Every thing is under close observation
To make our performance immaculate.
Nonetheless….
Being jubilant for our feat
We forget that this is not our deed
But we are simply the characters performing,
As we are directed to perform?
The Director who is sitting there up
Keeping every one under close surveillance.
Provides the ambiance for which we feel arrogant.
But we fail to see that with a simple snap
He can snatch what we boast for now
It’s so momentary…
As we proceed in our life and gather some momentum
Start taking things in wrong prospective
Thinking things around us to be our feat
We overlook very easily, it’s only the provisional arena
Designed for our performance and the same will be dismantled
As soon the curtains are drown.
The stage will be set again for a new play to commence
Entire scaffolding is temporary and as transient as our life.
We must thank Him though who has given us some duties
That we must dispose with immaculate precision,
And never shall feel proud for what we achieved.
Likewise in plays there are some characters
Around whom the entire story revolves,
The character termed as the Hero of the play.
Similarly if one is assigned to perform as hero
His responsibility goes even greater
The success of entire show rests on his shoulders,
Any wrong move ruins the entire play,
A performance to perfection is desired from him

Sand in fist

Entailed now in summarizing the impeccable phase
Trying to recall the moments of triumph
When acquiring affluences was at my will
The going was good and every thing seem accessible
Those golden moments of my life, now impregnable
Never considered in my fanaticism to conquer
That it’s not me who is the front-runner
There is some thing like also called destiny
Which favors us to become triumphant
But never ever believed in fortune
Considered as the maker of my self world
How confined was my vision now I analyze
Facing the blatant reality of the world
Left alone to ponder no one to stand by me
Who in my moments of triumphs I never considered
A manifestation of self-complacency is painful now
Slowly being engulfed in the waves of providence
Now being tossed here and there in the midst
Trying hesitantly to reach the shore ineffectively
My world has tumbled toppling my self-made empire
Not allowing me even the least to acquire
Pulling my self above the tides of time
Only able to hold a hand full of sand
Which I watch desolately helplessly
Slipping out of my fist gradually.