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Rush of memories- Three Poems

  •    RUSH OF MEMORIES
    
    Again I am a little boy with ruddy cheeks
    With twinkling eyes and bruised knees
    Running up the stairs two at a time
    Breaking into a song on a lonely climb
    Again I am a trusting soul for my friends so dear
    As I whisper secrets after drawing them near
    I spread my arms and lean over the vales
    And hurtle like an Ibex down the hill trails
    Once again I run after kites and feel the flush of my first crush
    It's excitement and pain and throb of my heart's rush
    The exuberance of youth and span of its dreams 
    And shine of that fair face, it's promise and eyes' gleam, 
    It's like a dream long forgotten which rushes through the crevasses of mind
    And flows through my veins of a life lived divine
    In the blue Mountains up in the sky
    Where clouds and hills meet in a misty  spray, 
    I see again the first flakes of snow dance across the window pane, 
    And settle down softly down in the lonely lane. 
    For all these memories and many more which I hold so dear, 
    I hope and pray to God Almighty to make them real, 
    For generations to come and course through life 
    So one day they lean back and re live them with a smile. 
    
    THESE HILL STRUCTURES
    What are these structures all around? 
    Talons of concrete rising from ground? 
    Rising and glaring at the paths below, 
    Confining and stifling in row after row, 
    Replacing the pines and dwarfing the hills
    Emerging from nullas on concrete stilts
    Spilling over edges of verdant vales 
    Plastering the hill sides in hideous shades
    Without character of a house alone, 
    Frowning at each other from across 
    The dark, narrow, musty lanes, 
    Whose feverish desire  they cater to? 
    Whose burning need they portray, 
    Those teeming hordes from afar, 
    Or dream of middle class gone awry, 
    Or is it a jumble of all of these, 
    This abominable pile up of decay, 
    Crass and ungainly and stupid desire
    For which we will pay some day. 
               
    
                   I AM NEW
    
    My neck is not for your sword, 
    Nor my chest for your dagger, 
    My blood is not for your thirst, 
    Or my bounty for your plunder
    My faith in myself is not to be trifled
    And my tolerance not to be mocked
    My esteem is not at your mercy, 
    Or my sensitivity to be shocked, 
    My flag is not for your jibe, 
    Nor to be torn asunder, 
    My dreams are my own, 
    And my resolve is not for surrender, 
    For I am new resurgent nation, 
    And not a prisoner of my past, 
    A new surge for my countless sons, 
    Beat of my countless daughters' hearts, 
    So beware before you dare, 
    For there are countless who care, 
    They are sentinels of my goal, 
    And guardians of my resolve, 
    Whose dreams are my own, 
    And whose destinies I evolve. 
    
    
    
    
    

  • HEMANT CHOPRA <hemant_1955@yahoo.co.in>
    To:hemant_1955@yahoo.co.in
    Thu, 11 Feb at 3:23 pm
    09 May 2020
    23:33
    
    

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Hemant Chopra

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Navneet Bakshi
Navneet Bakshi
1 year ago

All are lovely poems. I don’t know if you have tried your hand on poetry before but these are very well composed. The first one is beautiful nostalgic-a childhood revisited of a city that once Shimla was. I think this in the most part is the poem that you had posted when that group had been formed new.

The second poem is a sad commentary on present-day Shimla. I can feel your pain, though I haven’t been to Shimla in the last twenty years.

The third poem, the collective angst of the nation against the negative forces which are trying to slow down its march. It is very sad that those who are behind this are to a great extent succeeding and they are getting away with their crime and as becoming bolder by the day. The nation as you say may be feeling angry over their actions but there’s no surge of it. Ofocurse, we won’t like to see the bloodshed on the streets but I would say that the strong spirit of nationalism that should be in the youth is missing too.

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