Love Poem

Speaking of my love I am sadly short of words at this moment;

As if the very feeling has drawn me into bewilderment, 

An agony stretched far enough, an emotional predicament. 

Yet the joy, yet the passion, yet the ecstasy eclipses the lament. 

Overshadowed but only for a bit, waiting to make a further dent, 

But welcome you yet, for even you must find a place to vent. 

On this very day I choose, not for the sake of Valentine, 

Not for the gloomy snow or the hope of a better sunshine, 

Surroundings shower love more frequently though I miss the sign, 

But matters not enough to apologize for the mistake of mine. 

I speak in spite of, I speak despite, I speak to despise the world taking a disciplined line. 

I speak for myself, I speak to the loveless eyes of thine. 

I speak in frustration, I speak in anguish, I speak in distress-

The day just happens to coincide with a similar medieval mess.   

I shudder inexplicably as the whole world watches with a frowning face, 

But it's the last chance to file, and here I rest my case 

It's this apathy that leeches on the love, burning it in a furnace 

And only I fight this lonely battle for a reason I still can't express. 

Stuck

Incessant thoughts finding a way to escape, 
The sword is the pen, stuck in mean time through a red tape. 
Too direct, too sharp, at times too rusty 
The deep wound it has the repute of, often too nasty. 


Stuck in cottage with shackles of knowledge,
Temporary bliss but still a man on a ledge 
Nowhere to run without a fight 
The 'sword' is last refuge that seems at sight. 

Sharpened long ago, at times of distant dream
The grip not so tight, neither the speed supreme 
But a fight to survive the sole weapon in the armor 
A passion to fight, the war cry I murmur. 

A strategy at hand is the need of the hour, 
In this battle of might which lacks firepower. 
The thoughts in agony but the words not floweth 
Sunk in his own thoughts the battle wary poet.

Miner

The unfinished breakfast with dumplings of snow 
The winter time is still around but it's spring you know.
Associating to morbidity is not my cup of tea
Even if my desire is frozen, unable to overflow.

Emancipation thoroughly cherished but overused a state
Something too common for me to relate
Excavating through the sorrow is not doubt tiresome
But the sight of joy is always an energizing bait.

Narrowing down the distance with every strike of the shovel
But seems a mirage, a mystery I may never unravel
Yet the angst, the curiosity - which kills but not without a fight 
The detective must lose now, life is hardly a novel.

Yet with the times frozen, as I happen to look upon the past
The hole was smooth I just happened to not squeeze fast
Beneath was probably happiness forever untrodden
Or that's how we see it, joy is what we can never get past.