Poems By Raj Sharma

A Dew Drop 

A Shepherd is My Dream

Broken Bench

I

The Path

The Void

I - by Raj Sharma

"I was not made by the God

He (just) sent me

to be called as his son,"

he said to me.

"It did not make me either

He (just) sent me

to be called

as a Man,"

he replied.

The Path - by Raj Sharma

I walk it, day in and day out,

I go straight,

take a turn, and another,

and another, and another;

Every day it's a new turn,

every day it's a new path;

Every day I stop for some time,

time and again,

and look back to find

I am on the right path;

I kick some stones,

I topple over some,

and I crush some leaves,

and I leave them behind.

I walk it,

this path which seems unending,

but ends where it starts,

sometimes, ends before it starts,

and, it's never the same,

though, it has same turns,

has same leaves,

has same stones.

Broken Bench - By Raj Sharma

He sat there, on the broken bench,

half eaten by rust,

half by age,

he sat there.

He sat gaping deep into the empty sky,

looking for something,

which he knows is not there,

but, he sat there.

He sat there, with arms outstretched,

outstretched on the top of bench,

looking like Jesus crucified,

the Christ who got tired,

and sat there,

and, thus, he sat there.

He won't look down,

he can't,

he's afraid,

he's tired.

His gaze goes deep into the sky,

deep beneath the unknown,

it went past Orion,

it glanced at Andromeda,

but, kept on,

and this universe could not stop it,

and it went beyond,

beyond one unknown to another,

that which was always there,

for him to go,

and he knew it,

as it knew him,

while he sat there.

A moment passed an age,

he sat there for ages,

I touched him,

but the gaze did not return.

Christ had left.

A Shepherd is My Dream - By Raj Sharma

That guy, over there,
with those awake eyes;
with a hundred dreams
floating in the myriad lakes;
looking up,
searching the heavens and the world,
for dreams,
to dream more.

I never dreamt dreams,
though my eyes searched for dreams,
through my life, beyond the life,
beyond any life.

Those wild fantasies,
dreams for some, life for others,
seen with dreart eyes and dead minds,
by those, for whom, a brain is a brain;
a shepherd heard God, and,
brought ten commandments
for the world to live by,
for the life to create;
A shepherd is my Dream.

A Dew Drop - By Raj Sharma

There's something that glitters there;
over there in that dark bush,
with leaves the size of my palm,
whose name I know not,
which beckons me.

I move away,
and it glitters again,
and again,
it is pleading now,
and, so,
I give in.

At fifty,
it seemed it's a firefly,
with fire within and out;
At Thrity,
a diamond,
shimmering in the hot white moonlight.
At Ten,
it's a mirage;
at One,
A Dew Drop.

Sitting there, at the top of the leaf,
it had a world of its own,
which stood still
lest it may fall;
Ah!
how beauty shrouds itself
in a drop,
sitting, where the veins of life
take birth.

Stop!
stop that gush of air,
which makes this tiny ocean swell with tumult,
when the high - ground shudders.
Ah!
it stops,
but, wait,
the drop is dropping,
painfully sliding down the middle;
Oh! watch,
watch how it stops at the drooping tip,
it's clinging on to it,
wouldn't let go of it's world,
its kingdom for so long,
that it stretched through the night.

But, then,
it falls,
it falls on my open palm,
my attempt to save a drop,
from dropping to its end.
But, now,
it's no more a drop,
just a bit of water,
splashed
and spread,
right in the middle of my palm,
my open palm.

What can I do?
Nothing;
I clench my fist and turn it,
and the water flows,
and flows out from
beneath
and drops down
towards its end.

But look,
Oh! look,
Ah! look,
its a drop again,
a Dew Drop,
that sat there,
at the top of a leaf,
a world of its own.

The Void - By Raj Sharma

Whensoever I cry out to myself, the Void,
             filled to the brim,
             in my heart,
             echoes back,
             the silence that lies there.

My benumbed heart,
             feels the shrillness of the pitch,
             and the life,
             dead long ago,
             sits up in the grave,
             turns,
             and falls down with a "thud".
The heart rejoices at that,
             though I turn more deaf,
             with every "thud" I hear.

I long to break free,
             from the shackles,
             that bind me;
the spirit in me,
             looks out, looks up,
             and wishes,
             to soar high,
             in the sky;
It wants to rise,
             be it wings of life,
             or on death,
             if it flies.

My eyes,
            if only they could break open,
            the cage that holds me,
            my spirit,
            my heart,
            and, my life.

My wings,
            crushed and bruised and battered,
            that never will raise a flutter,
            though they wish to rise,
            but their wish may never suffice,
            the gaping ghosts,
            filled with vice.
           And the wish pains my heart,
            the same benumbed heart,
            that feels nothing.

Though,
           I might not break free,
           from the cage that holds me,
But, my soul,
           will thee,
           break free,
           from the cage inside me?

But, hold,
they say animals have no soul;
Then,
          who is it that I am talking to?
          Have they taken away,
          the one thing,
                                 that made me STAY?