Lost Paradises

 

I saw her slouching under the pole,

With flickering light, pouring rain,

Threatening thunder, empty bowl;

Wrapped in the rag, her sole property,

She smiled at just a few years back,

Now yells at the same with full-throttled neck;

On a street not so very lit and populated,

But every inch of it criminally polluted;

The light goes in hiding for minutes,

But returns just for a fraction of sec,

To underline the anecdotes writ on her face;

Is it a rocketing abundance of valueless strifes,

Multiplied by factors of countless wrong prides?

Or rocketing insanity of her friend

Who twisted her at every angle?

Or rocketing vanity of her own fiend

That slapped her with constant wrangle?

Yeah! I know that love rockets to sky,

In no time it takes off so high,

But, so do the infatuation and lust,

Balloons of love-lust, love-lust, love-lust then burst,

And the scars from that pathetic wreck

Loom large on the mutilated pride,

Bleeding face, strangled neck;

Here is she with wounded heart,

Cheated soul, elegance sparse;

Lying on the road with all paradises lost,

And love turned into a farce.

Let love control the lust; dignity, the desire,

Of course, with a sense of nothing to acquire;

Let values sky-rocket the genuine pride;

Imperatives define the hell and  paradise,

Re-creation or recreation! Oh, come on!

Both are games of suicide;

Provide, if you can,

A rocket of bliss for your soul to ride,

And cross the barriers of hate, lust, and pride.