Classy chose few embellished dreams
They signify the status and reach
impractical and hard to decipher
The nomenclature of the modern day objective.
What fuss the jargon’s create thus
piling with verbiage
leaving aside rectitude and veracity
with dancing doldrums of the coloured goals
announces the widely acclaimed aspiration.
Preferred if, another idyllic venture
Lies which beyond the commoner’s comprehension
assumes the widespread then
there doesn’t exist any such profession.
In servitude of mankind thus
to render free expression in form of few precious words
which reveal the candor of self
to uplift the withering sense of the perishing humanity…
is my chosen noble profession.
– Soumya Vilekar
Oh! Who has the patience to hear the lilting tunes of a lone nightingale
Or whether of the solitary brook moving past the stationary rocks
Who has the dearth to glimpse the fresco etched in love on walls
Of that echoing alley from history
Or relish the beauty of words dancing up and down from the stars to the depth of Ocean
Those which exuberate senses and bring nostalgic reminiscences
Or which tirelessly disseminate fragrance into our breath as our lips fumble and utter
The beautiful juxtaposition…
So who has the patience to absorb the drops
the nectar showered every moonlit night Onto the surface of earth and our dead structure
Or to watch a new sprightly leaf flutter with gust of air
How often the walls of a temple and cross of synagogue
Grieved with the kabbalistic stone and the water from zam zam voiced millions
through their lives the value of acceptance and surrender…
yet deafened they live pulling shrouds of limited perception
where dangles the rusted lock in apprehension
lost is the key and lost is the urge to search for freeing self from confined kingdoms …
Who will have the patience to see the radiance of the new morn
Impregnated with richness of life and nature?