Weapons of My Heart

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Mangalaprataban Muraleedharan

53 mins · 

Weapons of My Heart

I am what I feel sometimes to be,
a few call me Jackie John,
but others a nerd.

A few called me a saint;
but I don't know what to do with those
who call my names for no reason.

Inking the pact of peace...
I know my rise and fall
in everything I do.

How come a fish remains to be a fish all the time in water!
Humility links a million questions on the silence of sorrows.
I kill my vacuum in print.

My pen knows my language of heart and mind.
I want to fly around the world of roses without thorns.

All I know is nothing
but silent sobbing of the wayside beggars,
without food and water...
Waiting for the bliss of autumn of life.

(Copy right: Mangalaprataban Muraleedharan June22,2015)

Blossoms of Philocrisy

Frangrace melts in air with blushing red roses.
I never wink at them.
They link my heart with thy elegance.
I am melting at heart all along my path.

Greenwich cries to limit the time.
I am never lost in time.
I am born to win.
See the tunnels of time bolster our destiny.

Symphonies are born in air without any meaning.
I am known to speak in a world of legacy.
I sign my letters of spirit with the anguish of love,
woven in the fabric of mystery in a mindless quagmire of passion.

Love is always born to beneign gratitude
and the unknown sands of mystic communion,
call upon us to reach the Eternal.
God lives in the hearts of all those wedded with boundless compassion.
(A poem of mangal)
(Copy right:Mangalaprathaban.M June15,2014)

Sinking threats of yellow men

I am not good at bloody path.
We wink and blink at all those
who spare the rod and spoil the child.
Never imitate the past and present.
Keep smiling at everyone and fly with future.
Cry for a while and laugh at the King Midas
who wants to sell iron scraps with golden words.
Never spill the nonsense with urgency.
Create shadow wars of  yesterday and
disown the Messiah of the Past.

Walking at the Dawn

 I walk at the dawn of the day,
 facing the blushing Sun and passing meadows.
Every bird greets me aloud but I walk all alone
and sometimes jog for a while.

Creating lengthy tales of tourism,
I am just walking against the time and wind.
Simple thoughts  freeze my dream 
and siphon my wealth of passion.

There are a few strangers looking at my bluish sky 
and shining Moon in the company of stars.
I am still walking all the way home,
smiling at all who greet me so early.

Lovely day blossoms in the garden of the Mother Earth.
The blessed are those who walk at the dawn.
I remind my beloved mind to plan the day ahead.
My students are the warblers of this melting dawn.

A Poem on Shri Yayati Madan Gopal Gandhi

Philocrisy of His Poems

invoke all our sacred intuitions of ecstasy
beyond the vicissitudes of the Known.

Many of us melt in the showers of his inspiring deeds of spirit,
sculpt at the moment of his discourse,
reverbrating the echoes of Immaculate Oneness.

We sing in the name of Universal Harmony,
as Warblers of Peace rejoicing in the boundless horizon of
Creative Freedom inbuilt in our Artistic Mission.

My Lovely Neem Tree

Crawling beneath thy graceful shadows,

I loved sleeping below thy branches.

I knew to climb up thy branches with all my friends

and plucked your leaves without your permission.

I love to live with thy breath of Nature.

Nature nurtures you and me.

I live with all those nostalgic traces of my childhood.

Neither do I see anyone climbing up to play or pluck thy leaves.

They seem to be cruel and selfish.

Brutish Thoughts finish their existence.

I see those Cains felling trees for no reason.

Alas! The City was built by Cain, as we all know.

Our World is full of Godses and Hitlers;

Cains and Judases fill all sorts of absence of innocence.

I remain with myself but not willing to change for the sake of anything.

I am cautioned by the History of Our Patriots.

I speak in silence with my pen

The snowy flakes fall upon my tulips and kiss them for a blissful morning.

Thy fusion of rays and dews massage the feathery fondness of her petals.

Rose, Rose but fainted in fragrance of her smile.

Limited my nothingness in words, she called me a poet.

The sun dries thy frost and flicks thy fibre.

My bosom is benign with motherly kindness.

Her smile sinks in my heart as bliss,

but tossed out many at times with my innocence

I am yet to discover my seclusion in meditative silence.

Showers of Grace call my heart to ooze out this blood of passion

Sculpt in my verbal images of love echoing for ever.

Pleasant carpets of magic welcome my vista...

Implying think-tanks creech below cronies and ghosts of their ego.

Trained to think on the footsteps of tradition and lost sometimes,

in a sudden season of bubbles of wayside wisdom.

I speak in silence with my pen.