One more time, One more rhyme!

Have gotta pen, got a paper,
Things go on as they kiss each other,
And yeah, a slow musical sound,
Trembling my mind as a wound,
Waiting for tide and time,
So I composed this rhyme,
I love to be loved,
Even loved the hatred,
My mind for a while,
Is like an unintentional baby's smile,
Not even a trial, no denial,
Poetry takes me to a wonderland exile,
I wish I could get,
Things I would never bet,
A new breath, new glow,
New mind- this time a bit slow,
So that it makes new feelings,
As a new fruit from new saplings,
I am a soul that flies,
Am a feeling that never dies!

- VAIBHAV VARUN

No words...now that's what poetry is for me!

Ashoka- Samrat, Fierce, Ahimsak

Well, here, Varun presents to you a poem which is a complete mixer of old nd new english with a blend of Indian culture. Ashoka- he was mightiest of all, was potrait of every possible human qualities- he had rage and with it, he had peace within him. I thereby, highlight three of his mighty qualities- Samrat, Fierce & Ahimsak, something that all of us possess. It's my longest trial in poetry yet and I found that history is pretty interesting.
So GUYS, are you ready for WAR & PEACE ?

Canst any human durst,
Tarry against my mighty worst,
None knows from whence,
Nor shalt, my conquering essence,
Nary henceforth dost,
Quest my empire at any cost,
I left the history to trow,
Whither go my power's bow,
Am the cause of,
Dipavansa and Mahavansa all above,
Bindusara's son, the world has known,
Brighter than sun, I have shone,
Winds chant my name,
Oceans rise on my fame,
Hath thou never listened,
In my name birds tweeted.

"Oh Mighty Chakravati King!
Fullsome kingdom, will become with a mere thing,"
Ye not did wit,
Naught in the world. I can't make it,
Spell thy wish,
I can even make lion a cold fish,
"Oh Lord! Kalinga remains unrivalled,
Even once Ye didn't hailed,"
Pudh! this fact to be considered,
Sure, I will make Kalinga trembled,
"The city's full of pride prestige and legacy,
Exception to all, it's Rajdharma, only democracy,"
Wax the kingdom, under my charm,
Overmany swords will become rocker arm,
Bones broken, blood will be seized,
And Kalinga will be freezed.

Towards the east we will proceed,
Crush each mortal as a weed,
Time and tide wait for none,
But they do for me, I'm pre-won,
In twelve days we'll move, I announce,
On to the victory, we renounce,
On the rise of the sun, they took on,
After dozen days of rock on,
Swords- all thirsty for blood,
Bows and shields all new as a bud,
Trumpets blew, soldiers roared,
In a haste, hundred miles they soared,
All horses grimmed with a smile,
Elephants stood proud all on a while,
"And here comes King, son of Bindusara,
All set with us to conquer Kalinga."

Midst of storm, deadly winds blew,
Standing in grounds of Kalinga, was mightiest crew,
Rose high in air- Ashoka with his horse,
Set to create feeling of torture and remorse,
Arrows mer arrows, swords met swords,
'I'll kill thou', were the only words,
Warriors on foe side,
Seemed to be a bit bright,
But with swords in hand held tight,
Ashoka shaved off each pride,
As a storm blast he moved,
Shouting and cutting, with all this he grooved,
For a hundred cries, he was the reason,
He created a new bloody season,
His arrows crossed each heart and nerve,
Moved straight he, without even a curve,

"Surrender we, to thee, you our Lord!
But please forgive our lives in name of God,
O Mighty! your power has made us tremble,
Leave the blood game, please be humble,
At ye mercy now we lie,
Thy anger we couldn't defy,
King of Kings, the son of Bindusara,
To thou, here we surrender our Kalinga,"
Thou see, before your eyes, I did,
In a heavy rage, millions are killed,
This was just a drop of shower from my monsoon,
After a million kills, I spare, you as a boon,
All's land filled with rotten muscles of dead bodies,
And oceans coloured red with floating bodies,
Am now the tremendous king of Kalinga,
I, I am the super Chakravati Ashoka."

Now since all's over,all's mine,
Take my charioteer through, redeem my shine,
Move me through my new kingsdom,
All people will see the new king handsome,
And then moved his charioteer,
With blood-studded hands, slowly he steer,
But alas! Half of the kingdom was crushed,
All bodies blood brushed,
Was this all power and mighty courage can ought,
For a moment Ashoka thought,
The half dead tearless grandma,
And a naked boy crying for amma,
And an old man with burned eyeballs,
With a billion unheard calls,
All quivered, shivered and tremble,
Here and there, hither and thither, all hurled.

Am I lost or have I won,
Incognito mystery, knows none,
Does the victory gain cry,
Am I so bad that even defeat feels shy,
I may rejoice at the victory,
Or that clebration is contradictory,
Years ago, I was a mere boy,
Playing in mother's lap, all sorts of toy,
And now I'm a thriller,
Of others' mother killer,
Years ago, I was somebody's son,
And now I killed so many fathers, leaved none,
Does the wind really praises,
Or abuses me, behind my faces,
Dost the birds that fly above,
Me, do they really love?

Does my expansion of land,
Let my love and heart expand,
Dost my swords which are red,
Ever think of those who are dead,
No! my mind can't help me,
My deeds are sin after all, I see,
But wait! Is this the same mighty Ashoka?
Or it's weraker- after taking Kalinga?
No, I can't be weak,
My repute, my peace, I will seek,
If I did wrong,
I'll remove all wrong, easy like a song,
I'll show path of humanity,
Follow peace till eternity,
And now this son of Bindusara,
Will be a peace-flu, a follower of Buddha.

-Vaibhav Varun        

Meretricious Slaughter House

Am not a sage, nor I envisage,
But it's all about a crazy rage,
Beauty comes to dead soon,
It's all I learned from humans' facial moon,
Those manly hairs of lions,
And muscular flesh - embedded tiger's canions,
All gone in a haste, in a greed,
We killed the fruit before it was a seed,
Why do we feel animals can't talk,
Sure they can't speak, but they grok,
Just think how dirty it is,
When you kill a sinless fish,
Not even that, you tear it's fin,
Boil in hot pan, you, it's skin,
And you feel panegyric by eating it,
Taking it's life, by killing it,
And all this to fill your stomach,
Hasn't the nature given you much?
You cry when your dears depart,
Does it gives same pleasure when you tear fleshes apart?
Man surely becomes a beast,
Seeing the blood removed, rubber like flesh feast,
Not even that, you remove their habitats,
And expect to be free from nature attacks,
Only if we don't stop killing,
Then according to nature's willing,
All those ghost of dead animals,
Will have revenge feast on your dead cranicals.
                                                     - VAIBHAV VARUN
                       This poem is all about making people aware of what they do by killing animals and eating them, or selling them or their flesh or other body parts. Things often feel best when they happen to you- think of it- if somebody removes your kidney and sells them or eats you eyeball, how would you feel? The same happens with the those dumb creatures, sure they can't speak, but they are not emotionless.
                                If we don't stop all these ruthless activities, then nature is sure to punish us.
And at last, please comment on my facebook wall or over here!

Masterpiece

Let it curve, Let it carve,
Let it swirl, Let it twirl,
Let me hit, Let me love a bit,
Let me crawl, Let me calm at all,
I use a blur piece of rock,
I use some imagination from my stock,
I look at figure after my deed,
I look at fruit before it's seed,
I take a rock; 'price-less',
I make it a statue; 'priceless',
I tease, I crease,
I create a masterpiece,
And give it a monsoon effect,
With almost no possible defect.

Oh God! I make millions,
Statues! I already did trillions,
I make a non-person,
Look more beautiful than excursion,
But what about me?
Then came a voice from nowhere I could see,
Son, the way you take a simple piece,
And turn it into a masterpiece,
The same way,
There'll be one day,
When you'll become statue from an uncarved rock,
Taking some values from my stock,
And then I'll say, I tease, I crease,
I created a masterpiece!
- VAIBHAV VARUN

                          This poem is all about a sculptor-maker and his creations and then a sequel of his conversation with God. The way he carves a beautiful product out of a simple rock is just marvelous to observe and it was even more thrilling for me to write about it... Just think about it... You won't even spend 50 paise for a simple rock, but you would willingly pay millions for the statue carved out of it, it has really got some magic in it. He creates a pre-image of what he has to do, and makes a "price-less" thing a "priceless" one! AMAZING! But then do we ever think about the progress of the artists who give such beautiful creations to the world? The same feeling of loneliness rises in the sculptor-maker in the second stanza. He asks God about what will happen to him next, he has changed the fate of so many stones, but who will change his fate? It's a question I put on all of you.
                      Finally, I hoped you enjoy reading, and as usual will comment on my facebook wall or right here. Best of life to all my readers!
                                                      - Vaibhav Varun

The Poor Face

  
We can only cry and think about 'em,

But it's hard to help 'em,

Of course, we are brighter lights,

But they are fuses under our heights,

Yeah, that dirt appearence and shit like a eye,

It's a bitter truth, we can't defy,

Beneath the bridges, behind the societies,

Those half-naked bodies are themself colonies,

A begger type street cleaner worked all day,

It's something I have to say,

He walked, cleaned every dirt and dust,

Several miles in a heavy lust,

And what he got was a mere ten,

On his way he found a li'l working pen,

He picked it up, scrutinized carefully,

I don't know why he smiled gently,

As if he got a diamond ring or what,

Or must be some bigger thought,

He went home and called his Ben,

Hey boy! I have a gift for you, a pen,

The boy jumped off from joy,

As if he got his favourite toy,

It was the same pen WE threw,

Hesitating at it's look, we said eww,

But it matters to some,

As something is better than none,

But why those poors don't have same choices,

No joys, no rejoices,

So this is a call from me in the eternity,

Feed poor, Stop poverty!

                                                                                      - Vaibhav Varun

Feel it and comment on my fb wall or better right here.!