The Healing Touch

Who’s that one with messianic healing touch
Whom do I reach out to
Let know, oh dreadful loneliness
Whom do I reach out to

Staying hushed suffocates every breath
Like a sting of a serpent
Disgraced, I feel in heaving a sigh
Whom do I reach out to

Phew! these sighs of silence
Deceiving the heart
Ooh this blaring sound of quietude
Whom do I reach out to

A Grievance

Although fostering a grievance
Come over simply to impair my heart
Retrace your footsteps, once again 
To forsake me and depart.

Let the illusion of my pride 
of love remain somewhat intact  
You may well bend over backward on occasion
To mollify me, as a matter of fact
 
Even though our relations are
Nowhere close to days of yore  
Yet, turn up for the sake of tradition and 
Ways of the world to fulfill a chore
 
To whom all am I obliged to
Disclose the reason for the estrangement
Conceding that you are irked with me
Show up for the world at large 
 
For ages, I have felt deprived of
The gratification of expressing grief
My beloved show up to make me cry
So that I could find relief
 
This confounded heart, yet has
Expectations from you to cope 
Do come back to extinguish 
These last candles of hope

Oh, Gory Death

Always on the prowl,
Oh, gory death
Searching for ways foul
To surreptitiously snatch a breath

With a colossal appetite
Insatiable in its usual fill,
Now feeds on mortal’s plight
Breeding corona for cheap thrill

Indiscriminate in choice of the palate
Devouring young and old alike
By infesting scores through secret ballot
Mayhem in households strike

Rejoicing in human upheaval
Has been its horrid hallmark
Unleashing epidemics since time medieval
To plunge the world in times so stark

On a mission intrinsically so inhumane
Wielding a vice-like grip on mankind,
Brazenly disrupting the familial chain
contrarily inhabiting cemeteries un-designed.

Battling unprecedented jolt at length
Although the world has resigned
Yet death, in a show of strength
Through new mutants continues its grind

The Travails of a Loner

A loner in this town
Through the afternoon and well past sundown
Looks around for means of subsistence
And a dwelling with endless persistence

The day is akin to a hollow vessel
And night resembles a pitch-dark pit
These gloomy lonesome eyes
In lieu of tears, smoke omit
The motive to live none at all, however
With thoughts to perish as an excuse, wrestles.

Having never witnessed these longer than life
Roads reach their destination
They keep sprinting across
Not for a moment halting at any station
In this strange metropolis,
Seeks out a recognizable face to criss-cross