Echoes of dreams and flashes of fantasy
Come often to me, amidst the turbulence of the sea
With so many thoughts that I no longer sleep,
I transit from day to day, forever lost in the deep
So many paths I don’t know where I am,
So many feelings I can’t see where I stand
At times my mind lifts seeing sparks from around
At times my heart falls, heavy and weighed down.
If I fight the tide, forces stronger than me act
And I’m pushed into thinking I know all the facts
Does anyone know why they do what they do?
Or do they also feel that all routes are untrue.
Like a cork on water I go with the flow
I cannot escape, because I don’t know where to go.
Vidya Varadarajan
18th June 2002
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Poetry: Kismet
Kismet
January 24, 2002
What puppets we are at the hands of love
The fingers that play, control from above
A tug this way and we feel our hearts soar,
A little slack comes in and the lovers are torn.
Could it be true, that our lives are just a play?
The strings of fate pulling us each our own way.
Rhythmless movement to a tune we cannot hear
And we dance with people we hold dear or we fear.
What slaves we are to the bonds of family
With roots that run deep, we are held to the tree
When hard winds blow, we all feel the gale,
And when good times flow, we all partake the ale
Is it fact that the apple doesn’t wander too far?
Wherever we may be, we are what we are...
Rolling through life for all eternity
With each new fruit carrying the same basic seeds.
What pawns we are in our work everyday
Under kings and queens who navigate the way
Step by step we move up in the game,
With the common end of bearing the queen’s name.
Are we really so ambitious that we never look around?
Never testing the doors that we suspect are unsound?
By keeping our target focussed only on one goal
The carrot is dangled and the blinders play their role.
How is it we do not sense these powers that be
Indifferent to forces, we pretend we are free...
Like a kite on a string we fly high and soar about,
Ignoring the power of the wind and the one who holds the clout.
January 24, 2002
What puppets we are at the hands of love
The fingers that play, control from above
A tug this way and we feel our hearts soar,
A little slack comes in and the lovers are torn.
Could it be true, that our lives are just a play?
The strings of fate pulling us each our own way.
Rhythmless movement to a tune we cannot hear
And we dance with people we hold dear or we fear.
What slaves we are to the bonds of family
With roots that run deep, we are held to the tree
When hard winds blow, we all feel the gale,
And when good times flow, we all partake the ale
Is it fact that the apple doesn’t wander too far?
Wherever we may be, we are what we are...
Rolling through life for all eternity
With each new fruit carrying the same basic seeds.
What pawns we are in our work everyday
Under kings and queens who navigate the way
Step by step we move up in the game,
With the common end of bearing the queen’s name.
Are we really so ambitious that we never look around?
Never testing the doors that we suspect are unsound?
By keeping our target focussed only on one goal
The carrot is dangled and the blinders play their role.
How is it we do not sense these powers that be
Indifferent to forces, we pretend we are free...
Like a kite on a string we fly high and soar about,
Ignoring the power of the wind and the one who holds the clout.
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