LAMP POSTS

Standing like a prima donna,

On the stage of reclusion-

The beam of man-made brilliance
Howls in almost isolation.

Thickets providing shelter,
To stray society-hounds-
Turn golden in the gleam,
And charming paucities of sound.

At day, there is no stage to see,
The beam stands in tiny dignity;
A station for feathered daredevils,
A thrill to share in solidarity.

None sees the moon's disloyalty,
When stars twinkle alone at night.
Nor do they see the constancy,
Of lonesome lamp posts, each twilight.

-Karan Ghosh

THE PREACHER AND THE OUTLAW

Fate organises an assembly,

Of men hailing from opposite runs.

At a half-mooned twilight;

One held a cross, the other, a gun.

With no twisted intentions involved,

Both men stand with different calls.

One stands for a bounty,

The other, to cleanse evil that befalls

"The greed of shimmer is a curse,

Dyes the soul in stubborn shades of grey."

Probes the gallant preacher,

To the outlaw; this society's prey.

"Mother refused me her milk,

And my father refused me his name.

I'm the breeding of uncivil wastelands;

For which I cannot be blamed."

As words escaped his mouth,

More compassion in the preacher conjured.

His eyes peered through the man before,

A flurry in his head, a desire to cure.

"Oh seeker of unreal illusions,

Pray contemplate upon what I foresee-

Your heir gets in heritage your sham,

And leads a life that you lead.

I wander on a path of truth,

And someday I'll lie in soil, free of lies. 

You march in manners which you may please,

But share not your past with the child."

Arms on the cross unarm the armed,

An outlaw fades, a noble within survives.

A father saves a father to be,

The shepherd draws another herd to life.

-Karan Ghosh