Pretty little bird

Once, I beheld a pretty bird,
A delicate little creature,
With enchanting wings,
Stroked with colorful shades,
Pursued by an endearing plume,
Of a brilliant nondescript hue,
Singing in a honeyed voice,
Not loud, not incessant,
Steadily, holding my admiring gaze,
Astonishing a creature such,
Can evolve without a divine touch?

Regret

Living life in vain
Seeking pleasures inane
Carrying on the charade
Faking laughter we masquerade
Bad choices are easy made
Turning to memories that don't fade
Pretending to fathom love so well
Yet on unforgiveness we dwell
For generations retain
All that anguish, hurt and pain
Yet wanting not to forget
From cradle to grave we regret

What More To Ask?

What glorious light
Than the shining sun
What heavenly assortment
Than the starlit night
What colourful palette
Than the stretching rainbow
What melodious song
Than the rustling leaves
What splendid display
Than the wildflower beds
What joyous soul
Than the dancing breeze
What true a friend
Than my spirit within
What greater gift
Than this breath of life

Dreams

Consider those dreams,
Fading into realities realms,
Woken up to a harsh truth,
Razed by some skeptics deem!

Consider the blue skies,
Painted far and wide,
Or the Lilies growing wild,
By some mountain side!

Consider the stars strung,
Across the velvety night,
Or the glimmering lake,
Shown in the moonlight!

Consider the mountains,
Carpeted by even trees,
Or the boughs swaying,
To some gentle breeze!

Consider those wisps of cloud,
Curled at their end,
Or the beautiful rainbow,
In the firmament, as they bend.

Consider these splendid facts,
Now cast in living view,
Never is a dream given,
If you can’t make it true!

The Revival

It’ was a still dark night, 

Not a leaf trembled, 

Not a soul moved, 

Ghostly silhouettes, 

Of large trees loomed, 

Imaginations at a distance, 

Melted into darkness, 

The moon shrouded, 

By sinister clouds, 

It seemed all hope was lost, 

Until, abruptly! 

The moon light broke through, 

Emerging victorious, 

Spilling its radiant warmth,

A strange exuberance, 

Pervaded nature, 

And bore testimony, 

Of a resilient life!

 - Ajay Dass

Mighty small man

Mighty pride of a mighty man,
Fearless and standing tall,
Was he a king or perhaps a dictator?
Could he have been a well-decorated General?
Or a powerful statesman of his time,
Surely he must be greater than all!

His gaze transfixed on passers-by,
Unmoved, but wonderfully poised,
With his stony presence felt,
He stood at the parks center,
A daring crow, defied his authority,
Sitting stubbornly on him,

Creeping weeds, entwining marble legs,
Almost restraining him from complaining,
About the neglect he silently suffers,
What’s that engraved on that pedestal?
Perhaps a name, a title or a citation,
Now illegible and faint!

- Ajay Dass

The Ochre Rose

The rose bud in my garden,
was of a beautiful Ochre.
It was singular and laden,
a cauldron of joy,
A shimmering light of hope.

My eye, observant and admiring,
kept note of it, as each day,
slowly passed by.
I nurtured it, and the mire that lay,
to see it smile.

One morn, I saw the bud,
had bloomed to its full display,
a youthful vigour and exuberance.

I thought let me pluck and
place it in a vase,
lest it dries and withers away.

As i pinched the stem,
my hand, I withdrew crying in pain,
and remorse, looking at
the thorn that had pierced the flesh,
and the exotic Ochre rose.

- Tony Dass