Love

It is indeed amazing

How a starry night rang bells,

Igniting romance that was to follow.

A romance that was pure intimacy

And an ever-deepening love.

It was never easy

To pull up the sock

in a relationship

That is complicated,

Unless the two hearts unite

And sync in perfect harmony.

This harmony is a passionate grouping

Of musical notes that alter

Itself to respond to the signs of time.

A time that never was constant.

The only constant

Being passionate love

Burning bright in the two hearts.

The two hearts were beat

One after the other so the vacuum

Was never felt even in the beating.

Lup dup indeed spelt

You, me

Through out.

You were you

And I was I,

That is what made us We.

We built ourselves

Into being one, soulfully.

Our souls resonated freedom

Of existence of our individual identity

Within each other.

This identity is what we live in each other.

Days have passed,

Months have passed,

Years too; yet it still feels new

Each day going by

Because our love penetrates

Through all ills to exist

In its own unique fashion.

So unique to stand out

Among the many that exist.

This not in comparison,

But boasting in experience

Of living as one.

Today to have lived

A few days in your presence,

Gives me strength to face the odds.

The contagious fragrance

Of strength, that you hold, 

Pierces through fear

Tearing it apart.

Love, fun and romance

With the amalgamation

Of passion, grace and endurance

Is combination of a life-long togetherness,

Foreseen.

The beauty of it,

Is seen through the eyes

Of a perichoratic,

Ever deepening,

Un-phobic

And a supercalifragalisticexpialidocious

Love that transcends,

Our comprehension of love.

-Vinod Shemron 

Cocooned or Caged?

Cocooned or caged a battle within,

Fighting all odds with hope so thin,

I strive to challenge so as to save my life,

From the double-edged blades of this marital knife.

Assuming a beauty of love from within,

Expecting a life that would color everythin'.

I plunged to dive into this disguised pool,

A marital knot, that knot me like a fool.

Wounds and scars cut me through,

Making me weak and my heart pierced through.

In its extravagance of pain, I crawled to the top,

Just to seek help, so that this life would stop,

But, just then a bright vision of a future hope,

Wrangled my mind to climb the misery-slope.

A parting, an answer, as its base,

To find a life of glorious days.

Though the feeling and pain of being caged,

The glory of everything this knot had staged,

T’was only a mirage of a life that was to crumble,

Not knowing the depth I stooped to stumble.

I prefer to see my life in a cocoon than a cage,

So that I spread my wings as I age.

The joys and smile I would spread around,

Will be the base that my new-life found.

Beyond the sky

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,

Did not just stop there, but asked the earth to bring forth;

Making everything the earth needed in just a week,

Made the humans to fill the earth and be meek.

But the significance in that was the creation of motherhood,

Making her, in the process, to bleed blood;

She did so happily bearing the pain,

Knowing that in pain she’d even be slain.

God was content by making humans in a day,

But she was made, for ten months, in pain to stay.

She gracefully collaborated in this creating act,

She partnered with God and made this pact.

Jesus the saviour, a wonder worker was he,

Turned water into wine for the men to be merry;

The first of his great works, the people then witnessed,

He was called the saviour of the lowly and the oppressed.

O mother, O mother, a woman was she,

Turned blood into milk, so her child never goes hungry;

One of her many great works, people still witness,

Yet, raped, abused and killed and made to remain in silence.

Wine or milk? is a question of existence,

Though the latter denotes a life in abundance,

Wine wins over, despite the resistance.

For men can, with their least be overjoyed,

Just to make the women speak of these men’s pride.

Jesus, we know, bled in Calvary,

While humans on earth continued their rivalry;

As a human he bled for that moment,

His sacrifice is revered a sacrament.

But the women God created, bleeds every cycle,

This bleeding and pain still considered dishonourable;

She still in dignity walks,

While the patriarchal society still mocks.

Holy is the blood Christ shed,

Pure is the blood she bled.

Worthy is the lamb, worthy to be praised;

Therefore worthy is she, from the clutches to be raised.

Utterly brutal, even God would not agree,

The sheer betrayal of the creator’s dignity;

Was this icon of godliness, God had created,

Only for men to torment and leave her decimated?

Salvation for men is when women live in peace,

When she lives free from the world of injustice;

When she walks with her head held high;

And dream her dream to go beyond the sky.

-Vinod Shemron 

Faith

It was a chill dark night,

I saw something that caught my sight,

Sailing in the middle of the sea,

I saw a man walking, but how could he?

Walking not on land, but on water;

As he came closer I could see better,

It was Jesus our master;

In fear and in joy I leaped;

Asking the lord if it was he,

“Yes”, he answered, and asked me to come;

I stepped out to walk, that was witnessed by some;

I could not believe my eyes because my faith was little,

I sank just then, before I could settle,

‘Lord, save me’, I cried, from a fall that could be fatal;

He caught my hand and asked,

Questioning my faith in him, that I basked,

Speechless was I, by that very thought,

A confusion that my mind could not sort;

The wind ceased and all of us praised,

Realizing that he truly is the ‘Son of God’,

Then I learnt a lesson, to put my faith in him;

-Vinod Shemron

She

She was born of a woman,

And grows to attain her womanhood;

But succumbing to the societal man,

She loses her childhood;

She desires and craves for a world of her own,

But fails to get it, and all her choices, gone;

Does only child-bearing qualify her motherhood,

Or the family-rearing from her childhood?

She like an ant is made to toil,

Harder and harder on all kinds of soil;

She happily does it, with all her heart,

With no regrets, she does her part;

All summed-up in pain from bed to grave,

All she does is just for her dear ones to be safe;