Poetry by Arun Prasad R

Set your Hearts on Fire. Set your hearts on fire, May dreams swim in your ocean brine. Set your hearths ablaze, Golden, orange, and mellowed soft yellows. May dreams run packed Along the alleys of your veins, Bluish green, silvery sardines, Hustling and bustling with a music of blood rush, In the chase for life. Set your hearts ablaze with dreams, Dear youth, let your eyes radiate diamond medallions, May your words be crisp and sharp, and precise With your vision! May the sparkle of the ocean lighten upon Your paths! Dear youth, burn, burn your fire, Those dreams till they take a flight of a sea bird, To sweep this world to stare, At your radiance! _Arun Prasad

When the world goes incredible, When the seizure of the screens hold millions; Here the world shrinks, Here unto your fingertips, Here on to the screens glued. When the wild world goes unnoticed, When the souls grow crazy in their brains, With unlimited scrolls for the elixir joy; Here the world shrinks, And this breeze, and summer wild flowers, Which once held breaths to the inquisitive, Lies forgotten and abandoned! When the world goes incredible, At lengths of lightening Internet fleets; The sun rises and sun sets shrinks, To alarm wakes and weather conditions Gliding past the infinity of a glass sheet; Mere centimeters long and wide, Windows we stare in disconnect, Across this ledge of a mobile phone! _ Arun Prasad

When the world grows still for you, Hold your breath tight, In a bubble afloat across timeless times, And think your heart out For a way out. If you meet with a butterfly which you long lost, Hold on to it’s wings too strong, And remember not to let it weep at your worries. Sometimes, it might remind you of a past, Where green pastures lit with dews, welcomed your mornings! If the world grows still for you, Watch the time take shape of a butterfly, And let you soar! _ Arun Prasad

No more can you hold this lingering casket of thoughts, a blooming quill of prickly violet horns; You had endured, my dear, a soul adrift in midnight silver waves. My dear, I wonder how you held your voice hushed. Neither a lisp nor breath heard, you in your chamber day and night, gently enduring this slick and slime of a journey so morbid. You haven’t smelt roses for long, neither had the jasmines sweetened your senses to regain; may be the sun and the sea salt had covered you in endless cycles of agony, and in your patient self took it to be the life! Arun Prasad