The Cron: Periodical Notifier

Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Undying Hope

Those runs along the dusty corridors,
through the rattles of the paddles and
wheels of the old bicycle, and
drops of sweat on that wrinkled face,
pale dusty cloth stitched more than seven times,
drying, darkening eyes
but, thoughtless feable smiles.

How could he smile with that belly
that shrank due to hunger?
How could he smile when those eyes
rarely saw a comfy slumber?
What drove him across when
His youth had tanned to the age of darkness;
darkness finely blending with shapely wrinkles?

Fuel that ignited that timid smile
and strengthened the feet to paddle along,
The undying hope in a feable silhoutte
leads him on his cycle's route,
cycling through the hits of hunger
paddling across the proverty's river.

His mighty will,
zeal to live,
majestic hope,
and ceaseless treading on the troubles...

That make him smile; smile soulfully!

- Cron

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Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Beloveds Oceans Apart

Regardless of it that,
we're oceans apart.
Trust me, my ducky,
across the continents,
and along the boundaries,
even today, the same wind blows.
No matter that...
we're oceans apart,
In mine and yours, heart
the same love glows..!

- Cron

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Saturday, January 19, 2008

Ek Pal Muskurahat Ka

Ek pal muskarahat ke bina,
lagta hai jaise
ek madhushala bin paimano ki khanak ke,
ek mandir bin aastha ki awaaz ke,
ek saagar bin laharon ke unmaad ke,
aur ek jeevan chalti saanso ke ehsaas ke.

Hawayen tarasti hain,
ki kab teri saanso ki khushboo
unke nas nas ko sarabor kar de,
ki kab teri khilkhilahat,
fizaaon mein sangeet bhar de.
ki tere gaalon ke bhanwar kab,
hawaon ke bawandar ban jayen,
aur tere is deewane ke hosh,
apne saath udaa le jaayen.

Teri rukti muskurahat se,
meri raaton ke sitaare,
chamak kho rahe hain,
aur mera chand gumshuda hai.
tumhi bata do mujhe ki kaise,
kaise main is jeevan ko jee loon jab,
yeh mere yeh nagme,
tere sur ki sangat kho rahe hain.

lauta do woh pal,
woh pal sitaron ki timtim ka
aur gumshuda chaand ki ek jhalak ka.
woh pal mere nagmo ki gunjan ka,
aur woh pal fizaaon mein bikhri khushboo ka.
Lauta do is deewane ke hosh udatee hawayen,
Lauta do, sirf...
Woh ek pal muskurahat ka.

- Cron

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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Undefined..intensity of love

Aah..they talk about intensity of love,
I say, undefined.
They think, undefined usually means, infinity.
..I'm afraid, it's not.


Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Love..well, a Fashion!

Archaic tales of love and passion,
do they serve now?
Well.. Love is a fashion!
Changes as the cloths they wear,
Breaks as the papers they tear,
Indifferent Individuals,
No trickling drops of tear.

Thinking aloud philosophers die,
Poets and writers left to cry,
Lunar comparisons, and glowing flames,
Forgotten Individuals,
To think of such names.

Sharing nights and heat is the passion,
gifting and flirting; yet another fashion.
Trouble to so-called classic lovers,
Finding the places in fictions' covers,
Orthodox individuals, being laughed at,
For crying to fill those salty rivers.



Monday, March 19, 2007

Life that you abolished!!

The blossoming love
and blooming nights
and two unturned,
natural lives.
splurging, panting,
knealing emotions,
no moments resting,
movements and motions.
earthy souls heavenly feelings,
feelings treading over the truth,
taking in stride
the far-fetched reality,
and no projections of
their own brutality.

Heat and passion eventually grown,
but to care what love has sown.
The sown piece of blood and man,
the life sown with youth and tan,
screams aloud with clogging throat,
"don't decease me, I'm your son."
falters accepting that his own life,
coming to earth on edge of knife.

Red-sprayed air, shredding noise,
dried tears and unheard voice;
Voices that are made to mumble
THE mother's dreams made to crumble,
fragging apart heart's pieces,
and burnt are dreams' jungle,
leaving the man with the only whim,
no love, compassion,jus' commit the sin.
The sin of life that you laid out,
roasted the seed with no sprout.
How on earth the mercy doesn't cry,
and why the tears so early dry?


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Wednesday, January 10, 2007

A corpse sobs..

The damp memories of survival,
on earth ..
beneath my current home,
beneath this sky of death,
I miss every pleasantry,
and I miss each tragedy.
I miss heartbreaks and
sufferings from poverty.
Amiss are all smiles
seen across faces,
amiss are all showers
and tarrying tears' traces.
Every garden, every farm,
handshakes and hugs,
everything was welcoming warm.

But I no longer miss
the reason why,
I was left,
to choose to die.
No matter what the reason,
what matters is my decision,
Now I feel in all my senses,
I left every tear to dry,
and I ran after my dreams
chased them until end of world,
chased them until end of life.
Now that I'd been in coffin,
and have my experiences recalling,
,of gods, and, of devils,
of fairies, and of angels,
inhabiting hell and beautiful heavens,
enjoying lushes and heavenly maidens.

However,I still resent my wits
that flashed up to my decision.
Why in hell couldn't I see,
Why I lacked my proclaimed vision?

Now, I sob on top of my voice,
but fail to touch my loved ones' hearts.
Which was my dream left untrue.
For the reason I ended life,
leaving alive no earthy residue.


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