Happy Birthday, Krishna

Happy Birthday, dear Krishna, my friend, philosopher, guide,
My protector, my companion, always by my side;
You've been there for me ever since I remember,
In you I've found a sibling, an elder brother,
Walking along with me when life is a bed of roses,
When the path is strewn with thorns, carrying me on your shoulders,
Playing silly pranks on this little sister of yours,
Holding my hands when I feel scared and lost,
Listening to my complaints, always with a smile,
Even when I've been unreasonable all the while,
Watching over me, even as I peacefully sleep,
Knowing that my little secrets safely you will keep,
Your janamdin dear Gopala, is a special occasion for me,
Please accept this little gift of love on Janmashtami.

The Canvas

A shroud of grey on the canvas above,
Bringing forth showers of blessings and love,
The sleeping earth springing to life,
A million greens coming alive.

Shyly peeping from behind the shroud,
Mustering courage, and stepping out,
A smile spreading, one end to the other,
A royal welcome, a garland of seven colours.

Slowly the canvas, changing again,
Strokes of white, rising up like waves.
Expanses of blue, like the seas below,
Splashing over to a grey sea shore.

Suddenly, a million hues of red,
Yellows and saffrons, carelessly painted,
Peaches and pinks, splashed recklessly across,
Behold! The masterpiece of them all.

Finally, the Artist covers the canvas,
With a black veil decked with gems and studs,
A new day will dawn, and yet more new art,
And new masterstrokes to bewitch the heart.

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View pics of the Canvas @ http://picasaweb.google.com/preeta.chandran/SkyTheCanvas?feat=directlink

Taken from my Bberry during a walk in the park on a beautiful monsoon evening, which also inspired this poem

The Pine

Lone, solitary, tall, and majestic,
The Pine stands there, looking so proud,
The sky above, the hills beyond,
And caressed gently by a cloud.

As I look out of the arched window,
I think she looks beautiful and fine,
Without a care in the world, she stands,
And I realize, I so envy the pine.

Swaying gently, she flirts with the wind,
And romances the golden morning rays,
She lets the dew drops kiss her gently,
And tantalizes the sky with her charming ways.

And suddenly, I realize, I too can be free,
I'm a prisoner, a slave, only to my thoughts,
My soul, can it be chained, if it refuses to be?
I open the door, and then, I step out.

I spread out my arms and look up at the sky,
The sun now smiles warmly at me,
A song fills my heart, a light, my soul,
I dance with the universe, to the eternal melody.

Nature's Music

With the first rays of the sun,

Begins nature's symphony, her song,

Chirping happily, as birds welcome the dawn,

And the larks and the cuckoos sing along.

The melodious notes of the nightingale,

So pleasant, so beautiful, and oh! so fresh,

Stirring within me something humane,

Some feelings, unknowingly put to rest.

The twitter of a sparrow, or the cackle of geese,

The quacking of ducks, or the cock's waking call,

The cawing of crows, the humming of bees,

The gurgling sound of a waterfall.

With the first drops of rain,

Peacocks dance to nature's tunes,

Once dry rivers, now gurgling, their musical strain,

The murmur of trees in a breeze so cool.

The cuckoo announcing the arrival of Spring,

The gifted musician in Queen Earth's court,

The Queen she praises, in a voice so charming,

Or perhaps, she signs of the glory of God.

In a peaceful, cloudless, moonlit night,

The musicians all go to rest;

And all around descends a quiet,

That again they may strive to give their best.

And day after day, year after year,

Eagerly, I switch on to nature's music,

And howsoever much of it I hear,

It seems ever new, ever fresh, and ever unique.

Life, Will Yet, Go On and On

Moist is the grass, on a winter morn,
But moist still, are the eyes that mourn,
Deeper than the deepest of oceans,
Is the sorrow of a being, forlorn.

Echoing neither far, nor deep,
Silently, that Soul weeps,
Those tears could melt the stoniest of hearts,
But peacefully, the rest of mankind sleeps.

And so it is, year after year,
With no one to wipe away those tears,
For happier times of days gone by,
Are but today, just memories dear.

And howsoever wretched life may seem,
There is no choice but to strive alone,
For, though one life today may end,
Life, will yet, go on and on.

Beauty

Beautiful is the dark night,
Black, as black, as ravens,
Bathing by the twinkling light,
Spreading over the heavens.

Beautiful are the morning rays,
And the glistening dew drops,
The end of darkness in which the world lay,
And the dawn of ever new hopes.

Beautiful is the vast blue sea,
With mysteries hidden down below,
Sometimes a picture of tranqulity,
Sometimes in a rough and turbulent throw.

Beautiful is life, a gift of God,
He can appreciate it, who has flair,
To admire a delicate petal of rose,
Or the cascade of a maiden's hair.

One Life

Everyday, the sun sets,
Everyday, it does rise,
But is there a dawn,
After the dusk of life?
All I know, I have, but one life to live,
Just one life to love, just one life to give,
A few smiles, a kind word, or perhaps a work of art,
A warm hug to comfort a saddened heart,
Just one life, so why not spread a smile today,
Just one life, so why not live every day.