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?