An Illusory Journey

 This world is a maya,
 An illusion,
 A creation, magical,
 To lure and entice
 With pleasures, 
 suited for the mankind.
 Stimuli that caresses in various ways
 Provocations entice and endeavour to deviate.
 Mind weaves dreams of comfort and ease.
 Safety of a haven 
 We forever strive to achieve.
  
 With our limited foresight,
 Not knowing what lies ahead
 We move along blindly;
 Balancing ourselves,
 Lured by the promises
 The illusions, magnificent.
  
 Then one day we reach the end
 Unanticipated distress
 When the obstacle is insurmountable
 The pleasures of life
 Have gnawed and chiseled away
 The resolve to brave the odds.
  
 Walking on a narrow strip, 
 one realises
 There is no going back. 

Bubbly Tale

 A bubble am I.
 Born from confluence 
 Of water and air;
 Instantaneous in birth.
 Wearing a sheen of light
 I let go of my roots
 And float about.
 Perhaps of no use to anyone,
 Except that little girl
 Whose face lights up in smile,
 On seeing me dance
 In the barmy breeze.
  
 A bubble am I.
 Carried by my brethren,
 Savouring my moments;
 Of my brief existence.
 Nothing to lose nor gain
 From the vagabond existence.
 When its time,
 I leave not a trace,
 Before merging with my brethren. 

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/11/05/tale-weaver-300-bubbles-november-5th/

Savour

 A dilapidated castle.
 Exactly the place,
 Descriptions match
 With what he had read.
 
 When moon and the stars
 Were obscured by clouds
 And not a speck of light
 Dared make holes
 in night's shroud,
 On such a night
 In this castle
 two lovelorn hearts
 had sheltered and rested.
 
 The heavens had opened up that night.
 Threatening to thwart their plans.
 Elope they however did and
 In this castle came and hid.
 
 A little distance outside the city
 This old castle had existed
 A secret chamber built in its walls
 Had sheltered the lovers
 From that night's storm's wrath.
 
 Years later, reading the diary of his mother
 He found mention of this incident.
 Back he, therefore, had chosen to come;
 to quench his curiosity
 And savour the aura
 Of the place’s romanticism
 That his parents may have felt that night.
 
 

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

A Tale-of Desolation

Standing in the wilderness,
I am a tale
Of a struggle,
A resistance,
Dogged perseverance
To hold on to existence.
 
This was meant to be a check post
On the border,
manned by a few sentries.
I was their workplace at day
And at night, their nesting shade.
Life then was peaceful, full of joy.
My dear friend, nearby flowed the river
In its cool waters, my reflection
Danced and wavered.
 
Not much activity happened here.
The nights used to come
Dressed to please and charm.
The sentries who stood guard
On the river embankment
Talked in hushed whispers
To drive away their sleep and boredom
And I revelled in many of their secrets.
 
Then the war broke
Men and machines fought
Against each other,
For pride and to possess,
To succeed in beating back death.
Nowhere was any human dignity left.
 
The day the war reached here,
It was a night just like any other.
The enemy came
from the opposite bank of the river,
Against a large platoon of men,
The guards, my inmates, were ill-prepared
And certainly, no match.
They tried to fight back bravely
But fell defending my territory;
Their blood was soon left splattered
On my walls and the river bank.
It was all over in few hours.
 
The enemy moved on and I
Was left standing for many days;
With splattered blood
And stench of rotting flesh
Filling the night air.
 
I still stand today, forgotten, desolate.
The boundaries have been re-drafted
and I am long forgotten.
Even the river has changed course, deserted me.
I stand alone
Carrying the tales of the past
Etched in my crumbling bricks and mortar.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2020/10/08/three-things-challenge-382/

Reincarnation

There's warmth in the air.
A familiarity in the smells
That waft up to his senses.
Recollections come,
Wrapped in a blanket of haze.
And his smile begins to break.

Is that a school
visible in the distance?
Wonder why it looks so familiar
When did I come here last?
And then, his smile begins to break.

How many years has it been now?
His mind tries to calculate
The years that he had been away
Where is the pond
with its brilliant white lilies?
Was there someone
who used to beckon me to its banks?
Then, his smile begins to break.

Why have I come here?
He bids his mind to recollect
A sense of connect I feel;
Established many years back, from present?
Did someone, long ago
Made me promise
To come back here one day?
Why do I perceive
the soul of the ancient
Under the garb of modern?
He stands and ponders.
The smile then,
Sometimes of recollection,
Sometimes of bewilderment,
Plays on his face.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

Foretelling

Anger writ on face.
His hand furiously stirred-
Storm in the tea cup.

Storm in the tea cup.
The crystal ball, is reason.
A false prediction.

A false prediction!
Sense of having been cheated.
Indigestible.

Indigestible!
Anger swirls inside tea cup.
Cafe's calm ambiance.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta