Author: Kinng2014

A Beautiful Blue Butterfly

A Beautiful Blue Butterfly

In the backdrop of the yellow fields
I see the beautiful blue butterfly
Fluttering its wings with zealous zeals
Trying to go high as much as possible to fly.

Then slowly it drops down to a flower
And sits as quietly as it can:
It’s wings resting in the parlour
Of the petals, like a crazy stan.

It is the only one unique
Which is lively enough to seek
Whatever it wishes for in the yellow bleak
The blues on her wings so tender and sleek.

The blue in yellow is what makes it more beautiful,
Her persistence to float is what makes it more admirable,
It is the epitome of strength and beauty making its life so colourful
And nothing more can I see is so alluring and relatable.
These laughs with teary eyes
Hides more than ever the thin silver line of hope amongst these darkest skies!

My love for you!

My love for you!

I know I am good with words,
But all of them are for you.
Without you,
They have no meaning to add to,
And they remain dry like a desert,
As my life is without you.

I know I reach my best expressions,
But all of that to express my love for you.
Without you,
I am a shallow view,
For they will never be beautiful,
Without my love for you.

I know I live in solitude,
So that I can always think of you.
Without you,
I will have nothing to do,
And this love is the reason why I live
As I will cease to exist without you.

I dont know if its right or wrong,
The only question being you.
Without you,
The moments dont appear to be true,
So, will you be mine, my beloved,
With all my love for you?


The Crusader of Faith and Love

The Crusader of Faith and Love

She stood there like a mountain,
Against the wind that blew harder,
She stood there with the feet cemented,
For the cause that she felt right to stand for.
The world rejected her completely,
Flay her with curse words,
But still, she did not kneel,
As she stood for faith and love.
Her faith in the action against the wrong,
Her love for the devotion to the right,
Both together in her, versus the injustice,
From which she derived the strength to stand.
Her life inspiring than of mighty Gods,
Her present that would be a glorious history,
But all she needs some more faith in her and some more love,
So that the strength does not dissolve in this crusader of faith and love.

The Kind Gentleman

He always came alone;

Yet the brightness shone,

Of calm, of peace,

On his face – a skinny bone.

Relieved us from tense,

With a smile – no pretence:

Genuine and pure,

A heart so cleansed.

Few words to say,

Carefully chosen were they,

Creating a mist,

Innocent as a child’s play.

The serenity in his eyes,

As God’s own voice !

Calming us all,

Like some key operated toys.

That was faith in him,

That made us believe Kim.

And he only talked about us,

Making our darkness dim.

One day he didn’t come:

So I asked my mum.

To which She replied,

“May death had put up its thumb!”

Then I heard it in talks,

From all around the folks,

Death indeed come to him,

With its dark black cloaks.

One for itself as it wore,

Other for old Kim it store.

And took him away –

The kind gentleman from a war.

Few people began to unfurl,

About the oyster of the old pearl.

Whether he was truly so good,

Or had a past with a bad curl ?

I pondered for some moments,

Over the thoughts on the comments;

About dishevelled image

Of the old man now dormant.

After a few seconds of abide,

I then realized,

I had a choice,

On which thought to ride.

Whatever he had been,

In his youth, in his teen,

He must have sorted it,

Where in future to be seen..

As I cherish him now,

And his gentle bow,

I just see,

The kind gentleman in thou.

The Photograph

Its been long since this was taken.
It will always be long from that moment.
It has been still and unshaken,
With time passing  never losing its scent.

The paper which was blank once,
Has colours of life from the past;
Smiles, joy and other feelings in tons,
All captured in a moment very fast.

It is reminiscence of the old time;
Of those days, of those years sublime,
Its not just one moment in prime,
But linked are other memories chime.

Its been long since this was taken.
It will always be long from that moment;
The photograph in the  hand still maiden,
Though old and faded yet without a dent.

The White Paper

A clean empty white paper,
Looks beautiful, empty, peaceful bearer.
If written good, it shines the words,
If painted good, it befriends the colours.
What if written horribly poor?
Beauty dies like dying flower,
What if painted bad with squirting brush?
It can bring anyone a red flush.
Its always the white paper which bears,
The action of the writers or painters feelings and fears,
Which could have been the same old,
Beautiful, lovely, peaceful white gold.
Some say life as a white paper,
They even know about this dapper,
Still just play seriously funny,
May be thrown into the dustbin tummy.
Some lived the white paper sweetly deserved,
Their names then written on the white paper preserved .

The Darkness

It’s the darkness, the darkness, the darkness !
The darkness of a man's soul,
That no one can console.
The darkness of the empty roads,
Of the new moon night of course.
The darkness of the mighty jungle,
That nobody wants to mingle.
They say it as the absence of light,
But no one says who stole its bright.
It’s the darkness that universe covers,
It's the darkness that shows star showers.
It's the darkness that shows the good,
Only not ever it had been so rude.
It's the darkness that makes beautiful the light,
In which bright will the light have shown its bright.
It is light because there is the dark,
It is good because there is bad,
It does not mean to adopt the darkness,
Because no one is that good for sure
It is always just to live with it,
Not to hate it but to peacefully deal with it.
It's the darkness, the darkness, the darkness !

The Balcony Love

It all started one evening,
When it was heavily raining.
I like the rains too much, 
The drops are amazing to touch. 
Didn’t knew there was someone else too, 
Who loved the rains as much as I do. 
She had arrived newly as neighbour, 
Beside my flat, a lucky favour. 
She stood there too enjoying the rains, 
I was paused and just looking at her. 
She was a complete stranger, 
And yes I was her neighbour. 
She looked as if the morning sunshine, 
Pretty, sweet and beautiful as the red wine. 
She noticed me, and looked at me, 
I turned away, feeling ashamed totally. 
She was a beauty never seen before, 
Through my eyes went to my heart core. 
After a break she said hi, 
I turned around and replied hesitatingly bye. 
She raised her eyebrow, 
I lowered mine down, 
I closed my eyes and said hi looking down town. 
Thus it all started that evening, 
The balcony love, an amazing thing.
Next morning we met again at balcony, 
Prayers from her mouth seemed like symphony. 
Then she said, "good morning", 
I looked at myself I never had such early bathing. 
I replied the same and went inside, 
To take bath so early was itself a pride. 
Then all over the day I thought of her, 
Trying to divert but everything seemed blur. 
We met again in the evening at the balcony, 
Now I went only for one thing to see. 
She talked a bit and I couraged the same, 
She was so friendly and so no one to blame. 
A silence arrived as her mom called, 
I just looked at her and continued to behold. 
We talked about the setting sun, 
I could only hear a pretty song sung. 
She smiled on something I said, 
I thought again what I just said. 
Whatever it was she was smiling, 
A live Monalisa coming out from painting. 
Slowly slowly the night fell, 
We wished good night and take care well. 
That night I didn’t sleep and was awake, 
Thinking whatever just happened was it fake?
It all went many days long, 
We grew from strangers to friends strong. 
But things began to grow more complex, 
As sometimes we went close to unrest. 
That balcony now was special to both, 
Didn’t knew of her, at least for me like a flower to a moth. 
We talked about everything and all, 
And shared our feelings but never made love a call. 
Suddenly it all happened one day, 
When once again it was raining in may. 
She was wet with rain and me too, 
Closeness between us tremendously grew. 
I felt it perfect to kneel down, 
And say to her that I loved her eyes brown. 
Say to her that I loved her hair long and black, 
And her lips, her nose and her ears with earrings black. 
Say to her all I felt for her, 
And confess with the red roses fur. 
But the heart was thumping hard and fast, 
Shivering I knelt down with the thunder blast, 
And said to her, "I Love you", 
With lightning she replied, "I love you too !". 
This is the balcony now where I stand, 
She is beside me, holding my hand !

She – In My Memories !

The light of the evening was falling on my face,

I could only remember her smile though a trace,

My eyes shone bright with a slow pace,

She was living in my memory, after death was the case.

I cherished her in the setting sun,

Those beautiful evenings spent together – the best one,

All I could do was hear her, as she spoke words weighing ton,

Which brought love in my life, yet replaced by none.

Those last words she said, before she died,

All bring tears in my eyes, leaving me alone and tongue tied,

But then I smiled as I even feel her now in the wind stride,

And feel auspicious as she happened to me, and life seemed the best ride.

What I see in the setting sun, is the spring kiss,

That she kept on my cheek, that I still miss

And after all this time,

It’s her with me, my life’s only bliss !

It’s Been Ages !

Its been ages since I wrote last;

Not even a few lines in the long past.

It feels drained out with feelings impelling,

No words left even for a short story telling.

The world seems deprived of beauty,

All I see is boring waste which is creepy,

Even from that cannot ignite one,

As they say a poet does it from a garbage ton.

My mind has stopped working;

It won’t start even after lots of poking,

Its been ages since I wrote last;

Not even few lines in the long past.

I neither feel joy nor sorrow,

As if they hid in some deep burrow;

Not definitely a kind of salvation,

As for a poet it is the poem’s creation.

There is nothing that interests me anymore,

All around I look, just to see a bore,

This drain has sustained for too long,

The hands of time killing me with their prong.

How do I find something new to write ?

Only time will tell, is my future bright ?

Its been ages since I wrote last;

Not even few lines in the long past.