The power that drives a state or a country is resting latent in the hands of those who choose to hold everything at their finger tips. Our lives are oblivious to that power and tends towards values that convenience our everyday living. Many a times these eyes stay closed to situations that can be ever so controlled by a simple voice that speaks one truth. A God who competes with the goodness of human lives remains invisible. All good people silence their already muted lives with a concern that can empathise and perhaps accept defeats as they come. A rigid mind that conforms to the parallel lines drawn by social strata is perceived to be respectful. Every period must have a hero. There are animals which are extinct by the day. So are heroes. They come when least expected, storm into a whirlpool of circumstances, brazenly speak their mind, fight those who can’t fight themselves, dare their lives to be victorious and yet…they die. We fight our ghosts, present and future with an incredible passion and zeal to carry on. However our ways are far too many and our triumphs too few. The moments we count are transparent. They pass us as we try to pin numbers against them. Our journey is hard but the destination clear. What visionary fails to achieve such a goal? Only the one who overestimates our troubles and underestimates our abilities. Nothing that matters to us is impossible and that which becomes a road block is merely a step aside and a walk over. Where our minds are miles ahead of the war in reckoning a single key will bear the brunt of a million deaths. Yet a lone person fears a tragedy that would destroy one’s life not knowing the same has the power at finger tips that can turn the key other way.
Watching milk white fog Painted across the hills Tried to find a bridge Crossing a needy heart Squinted eyes hurt In search of water Gushing down far away Like tears of forlorn soldier The kind Sun stepped Bore the misty clouds Quenching his thirst He smiled upon the old man Diamonds drifted Like near heavens Of a love spectrum Bowing to ‘Pa His three telescopes Were no companions Two were dead sons But this one fed him
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