Thursday, November 03, 2011


Womb of Time Book I

Womb of Time
Book I

There was neither light nor darkness,
no source to cast a shadow,
the sky and earth merged in grey,
no morning , no dusk.

A deflated sail fallen on deck,
‘Oh Hoi! hoist the sail', but no sailor,
no hands on ship,
all perished under rising waves,

engulfed by the nether gods,
satiated, the sea was calm,
and the breeze was gentle and serenading,
waiting for things to happen.

Time, lying like a sleeping python,
horizons without a speck of cloud,
bereft of myriad colours,
of the the rainbow vibrant.

Winds sucked back in the open jaw,
“did the world deserve to be nourished?
world full of venom and blood,
my breath, do not pollute',

not ever in the future, if there would be one,
to hold the mankind in its lap,
could be baneful and against the will”.
Or will it be?

Who said the cobras were venom full,
pus and blood all over the world,
pouring out of weeping wounds,
bitten by the serpents of the day,

look where the man is going,
away from the crust of being,
the gods had said “we gave you everything
passion to knowledge, feeling of satiation,

and the karma and the results, but in vain
undoing remained your accomplishments,
thoughts and matters rewind,
tweets reminders time again,

man took to niches unexplored,
and got lost in the labyrinth,
sat behind the unfallen rocks,
and waited for the wind to unwind.

Mighty winds are silent and quite,
wait for the time to unfold yet,
whenever birds stop to chirp,
one feels scared of the moments,

whenever a child stops smiling,
world stands still for a while,
whenever time stops ticking, it
gives birth to stony silence.

The wind has gone and hid behind
the mountains, are silent drained,
of its mighty power to give birth to flowing
fountains, rivers, vaults of nectar,

rocks trying to hold drops of water,
not really succeeding at it.
the little streams have become silent, lost its music,
the shingles wait for harmonics of muse,

to resume its songs, praises to gods,
the morning, noon, evening, and night,
are devoid of hues and shades,
merging together on a canvas, not painted yet.

Time stands still,
waiting for the knot to unwrap,
held by destiny's hands,
wondering where the fate went sour,

What has the mankind done,
To deserve such a fate?
What will future generations say?
And, search in the vaults of time!

Time waits for the moment,
moment of resurgence,
when the destiny's hands will unwrap,
and shreds of canvas unfold,

the evening without twilight,
the conch on lips without a sound,
no winds, no cradle,
to carry vibrations afar.

All waiting for that one vibe,
The evening without twilight,
the conch on lips without a sound,
when womb of time will tick again.

the womb of time pulsating forever,
‘time' the endless poem,
never gives birth, as birth also means death,
and time never dies.

Feet chained on terra firma,
overcast sky full of rolling clouds above,
man, ensnared in virtual tinnel,
searches the path, the way beyond,

a part of thought says ‘stay put',
another says ‘go ahead',
men are servants of karma,
and everyone must do his bit.

Thus he gets up from the dust,
picks up the oars and the sail,
a toy where springs unlock,
and hermitage dances commence,

unending and non repetitious
till end of the road of oblivion,
till the mirage lasts,
and till the distant white gate comes alive,

chiselled face of the moon,
casting a sweet glance, sheding nector,
inviing with sweet looks,
warmth of love and cool of the night,

High up on the mountain cave
man opened his eyes to find confined
greeted by stony silence,
sheet of darkness all around.

He looked towards the sky
the only source of faint light
but vision stopped at the roof of the cave,
a limit, a dimension yet to be learnt.

Tumultous journey was matter of the past
the path traversed were forgotton,
lost in the journey with time,
he wondered whether it was his fault!

Lost in thought he kept there
for a long time reflecting
where did he came from and
where was he destined to go!

When finally he got up and walked
came to the mouth of the cave,
peered outside to find,
day full of light and sunshine,

His heart raced, hope awakened
dispair swept,desire and lust took shape
mind full of hopefull dimensions
of finding the truth, the secret of life.

Looked up to sky, as if to search
origin of his but the bluish dome
stopped the serach, bounding the
vision to that much, no more!

Tufts of clouds wavering around,
heavily laden with water drops
searching for a seat, a foothold,
or perhaps eternally thirsty oceans!

Oceans never get satiated by rain,
year after year the clouds pour
thirst is an endless pit
where every desire get submerged.

Some time some one whispered
in the ears the story of the evil exit,
exit from the garden of eden
of disobedience, the fruit and the serpent

Even before as the story goes
was it a union, a fusion?
endless search continues, but
never was the origin found.

Lalji verma



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