Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

A Land of Dreams

November 4, 2012 Leave a comment

We live in a land of pipe dreams…dreams that are woven every election year which just fizzles out with time. But we  live in the hope that for once we may dream a real dream and continue to sleep for that beautiful dream.
This is one of many dreams woven by our leaders to keep us all in a state of sombre nothingness….


A land of dreams…..

Day DreammingIn a land where I live,
to my people I shall give,
a life of bliss,
that none shall miss,
but my hands are tied,
The media has lied,
the judge was bribed,
the Maoist have tried
rains have failed
Trains derailed
Forget not your horrid past
remember my dream, that shall long last

O my fellow countryman, dream a dream
wake-up not from its sombre scheme
………………………………….sunil varma

Song of a Mute Piper

June 7, 2012 2 comments

The young couple love each other and have been in love for five years. They have their plan and dreams for a near future and the distant future.  In sudden change of fate one of them is about to die and their dreams about to shatter, only one of them, the one about to die, knows about the impending gloom. This is the song of the Mute Piper

Song of a Mute Piper

How do I sing a song unheard?
I have no art in the spoken word.
She is a painting stuck close to my heart
and I but a lame painter, with no art.

The innocence of dawn that you are,
gracing the austere sky, lone star.
Soft glow of radiance on thy chaste face,
aureate than the glow of a regal mace.

Was thy sculptor, Skilled at chisel?
Blameless art in morning drizzle
or is it just depth of your clarion eyes?
Moored there my heart dwells, mute, until it dies.

Thy love for me, an endless sky
oft wonder…in vain, reason why
the endless passion of a maid in love
my heart numb, silent coo of an emerald dove

The gentle caress, the soft hand
enchantment of a magic wand.
Endless hours of silence, nay the rumbling streams
nonchalant banter, locked hands, weaving dreams.

Beats my heart for that sanguine smile
thought of walk along the aisle
in thy happiness does my soul rest
my life… chirpy bird in a cozy nest
Was i lord of amaranth’s time,
grace thy world, with a single chime
want no more but thou my angelic bride
need no more, but tranquil warmth of your side.


Dreams are streams that end in the number sea,
and life, a bound scroll, no redwood tree,
I look in mirror to a somber haze…
just a little more in this world, to graze.
A little more may be to a druids grace
but it is an end of a reckless race
how do i let you know, Oh…my patent soul
that i reached the far end of my scroll

Can rant of my heart, stop thy fear
Can i watch those eyes so dear
Can I abjure a promise i once made
plea of a torment soul, about to fade
that i shall live by you and make you smile
last vow made, walking the rangy aisle
How do i sing a song unheard,
I have not art in the spoken word

Gloomy skies, fading dusk, my life
would it sing from a long mute fife,
with pitiless time sparse and much to do
regret not i, a breath, i once had you.

Here I stand amid the silent roar,
alone on a tormented shore;
the simple broken beads of my aureate band.
I watch them flow, away, from my hand…

Categories: Poetry, Short Stories Tags: ,

Life as is…

April 4, 2012 4 comments

Life As is……..

Life so curt, it would seem to pass,
the flowing sand in an hour-glass.
Like the promise of a day-dream,
a bubble in a nimble stream,
I try to hold, but I never can,
my little tyke, oft you ran.

Rope your fiery pace I did try,
you wouldn’t stop, I sorrowed why?
Blooming years but of so short length,

all those years and my fading strength,
As friends and kin leave my sunset bay,
I have but nothing more to say.

With my heart weak wet and ceding
wish me leave, as I lived speeding.

Sunil Varma

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Perils of Harmattan

October 15, 2011 5 comments

The silent night, it ’s dark quiet naught,
Prolongs my pain, my wary thought
From the painful travails of yesterday,
To what maketh your heart, so bitter today.

Four seasons of lore ‘n suffering,
Icy mountains to melted springs,
Thou in arms I did begin to cherish
What did I do…? You let the dream perish

Forget not whence it first began,
From the perils of harmattan,
Cimmerian love for Narisah, my love
Tear’s baneful tryst, with shiny lambent glove

Did i not buy those lips a smile?
Hath my fears made it oh so vile?
Is it aureate stone that you seek, my love?
Shame! …. I have none sunk, on a long lost cove.

Did I not sing with a mute fife?
Pledged thee my risible life,
Pardon my grief of your oh so grieved soul,
My heart bleeds watching the fag end of scroll.

Did I not bleed enough for thee?
Does it not have enough glee?
If i am unable to give you more,
Sad…! These arid veins have a drop no more.

Did i not care you with warm sway?
Was it a debt I failed to pay?
Call me a naive oaf, so little i know.
Guide me through these last drops of melting snow

Darkness glooms the sorrowful skies,
Bitter I stand with barren eyes,
Ravaged by hoards of my savvy mares nest
So Moored to ground entwined by a broken swær breast.

Obdurate stone, soaked, wet, going soft
Warm it feels, maimed heart gushing oft
Mute sway of Osiris, my pard behold,
Feel no sand under my feet, stars unfold

Choose not I, this vain primrose path,
Curse of Hades, draped as polymath
Judge nay by soul of a captious eye
Thy wit be juree, love vouch, I don’t lie

I implore my love; spat the secret of this Augean sorcery,
Thine dagger to lancinate me, from the blinds of an elder tree,
Fight was I not for you and me…though it was your cherished kin,
Why hath you speak not of hale kinship, beneath your soft mellow skin?

Oh wish thou Hath spoken, my love, a rejoiced heart would smile in his hands,
But bleed on thy blade; I die a thousand times, …in this foreign land.
Grieve not my love… my last wish, in the sandy mists of Harmattan
I die in peace and still in love, at a place where it all began

I wanted to experiment writing poetry in the more classical fashion, this is my first attempt at it. I started laying down a few pre-conditions to the poem.

1. It should have 12 quatrains, and each verse of the quatrain should be a grammatically complete ( No fragments.)
2. Should follow a specific Rhyme an AAXX or the more classical AXAX, I decided on an AAXX
3. A specific syllable rhythm. And for no apparent reason I decided a 8,8,10,10 structure. The first two lines should not have more than 8 syllables and the last two should have 10
4. Just to add complexity I decided the last two quatrains should have 16 syllables each.
5. Most Importantly I wanted to tell a story that I had in mind and the story should be complete in the 12 quatrains. (It is difficult to make people read a story longer than that on a blog)
6. Finally there should be a identifiable artistic symmetry in the text.

(I cheated on the 7th..i wanted to write in iambic pentameter but i was not able to move more than the first quatrain so I removed that precondition. I guess some concessions for a good story to move on)

This is what I have after two weeks of working on it “The Perils of Harmattan”. Hope you will like, and pls do comment it will make the effort all the more worthwhile.

Categories: Poetry, Short Stories Tags:


September 26, 2010 5 comments

O stranger, afraid in a world I never made,
Prisoned heart, guilty of fear,
As flocks feareth  the wolf,
the crops the storm, and the trees the wind
I crouch in agony, fearing fear, devoid of life

O, how vain and vile a passion,
Kaiser of hell, master of a wraith
What maketh me you do?
The concessions of the week the ordain of fear,
Chiseling strangers of blood, from the yarning of kin

Thy can’t hurt me more than a dream
Shall take your council no more
Thou can’t kill me from the fear of thee
In a vacuous life, lies there no hope
Vanquish fear, for there is not anything to hope

Flowers bloom at the edge of darkness
With the smell of love, free from you
Lieth in the womb of my imagination
You shall lead my life no more
O, the fire of  icarian wings, Burn me not, and let me free

Odious Warren

August 23, 2008 2 comments

Odious Warren 

Beautiful vista, small though…

Benevolent sky, a falling kite,

Swaying in blue a triangle white

Free as child an insouciant sway

Played the skies, its playful way

Bid the wind on each swing

Now it falls like a king

There is beauty in the fall


Beautiful vista, small though

Spirited garden, a growing tot

Teetering in green a yellow dot

Spirit of eagle the ardous search

First ten steps, the adulation of church

Treads the ground the operose path

Now it falls, aah!!  the mud bath

There is beauty in the fall


Beautiful vista, small though

Oaky door, a budding tear

Budding in the yellow a silver sphere

Love of the lover, the clinging hand

The golden glow of a eternal stand

Heart is full, for it is a wedding ring

Now it falls in one string

There is beauty in the fall


The setting sun,

The autumn setting,

The falling river,

The snow falling….

There is beauty in the fall


So why should I live a life like this

Stringed to machines,  life amiss

With a beautiful vista but a small door

Can not feel the warmth of the wooden floor

I lived like a soaring kite

Twenty years a great sight

When there is beauty in the fall

Why confine me to this wall



*Dedicated to all the brave souls who are terminally ill but cant be free because of legal issues related to euthanasia

The Child

July 22, 2006 14 comments

Gloomy dawn and heavy skies

A dying mother and a weeping child…..

How important few more pounds can be? Ask the weeping child not me!

For a few more pounds can save his mom,

Take the grief of the weeping child and the pain of a dieing maid.

He runs house to house for few more pounds,

Pitiless rain makes it hard,

As the soft feet cut on the obdurate stone

How chilly can the December wind be? Ask the shivering child not me

But few more pounds can save his mom,

Make his life shine with joy and bring a smile on the dieing maid.

On the street is an apparatchik lord,

“10 pounds a day, to yell and tell how great the mayor is…..

Stick the flag on the shirt and run the city for a fee”

How do you stick a flag on a shirt? Ask the shirtless child no me

But a few more pounds can save his mom,

Let him be a child he is, on the warm hands of the dieing maid

“Don’t have a shirt my lord, but for half the fee I can yell and run
The good sir read, all his rules and gave a look at the little boy….

“My poor boy! Flag has to be”

How do you stick a flag on your chest? Ask the bleeding child not me…

But a few more pounds can save his mom

Take the pain off his chest and the tears of a dieing maid

All day long the child has run,

with a flag on his chest and smile on his lips

Yelling how great the Mayor is…..

How does one yell with a bleeding chest? Ask the smiling child not me

But few more pounds can save his mom

Bring some light into those rident eyes and a life in to the dieing maid


As sun simmers down in the west the west

And rain is tiered raining, the child runs to the lord and says….

“Six pounds is going to save my mom and four let there be”

The mayor calls the child and shows, a banner on the tree

Stick the flag on the shirt and run the city for a fee

“How can one pay without a shirt?” Thou shall not ask me


As the sun sets and birds return to the nest…..

The child lies with a wounded chest

As his mother lies in a wooden chest

I ask “How important few more pounds can be”
sunil varma

This is a story that i have read when I was a kid, dont know the author. It was something that was resident in me all these years and i wanted to write it in my own way.
Due credits to it original autor.

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