Vigneshwar Shankar

I tease you because you’re that little child,
the one whose mischief isn’t mild.

I tease you because of your little face,
and that smile which is pretty ace.

I tease you because you’re a little crazy,
not because they said you’re daisy.

I tease you because you get so angry,
which is why I tease you, frankly.

In this ocean of fools we sail,
we sail with our only boat;
Many of us will simply fail,
failing even to stay afloat.

The waters appear disloyally mild,
with a quiet dastardly patience;
For even the most virtuous child,
will soon be consumed in disquietence.

Surrounding that soul who lost his way,
the slippery waters come to assail;
but virtue of thoughts or lack thereof,
can ensure that he does prevail.

The wise will know that breaking the currents
is a fool’s errand set sail.

The conscious mind,
ran across the glorious fields of thought,
it knew no tire.

But its only find,
in this so ungodly hour,
was a simple fire.

This fire was hot,
it burned to know of what was higher,
fate or desire.

It yearned to grow,
to feed upon the unknown choir,
in the dark of the midnight noir.

It heard from voices,
those that sang in unison,
questions from the sire.

That he whose mind be sprinting,
with the flames fast approaching,
its heels like wildfire.

A facade of jokes the man he is,
Just himself to coax out of sorrow.
Beloved humour he embraces today,
And also every morrow.

Pain is our earthly wonder,
there’s always some for every bloke.
Pain is not a godly blunder,
it is his own master stroke.

Pain is such a mighty plunder,
not just on the ugly folk.
Pain is but some firey thunder,
hidden in your very cloak.

Pain the cause of mortal sunder,
if ever of it you spoke.
Pain the quiet taker-under,
outrunning it is a joke.

Magnificence, glorious pride,
the open skies and sun beside,
was indeed a heavenly glide.
But the Phoenix does a path follow,
and onward to its own gallow,
its spirit growing a little shallow.

With knowledge of impending doom,
o’er the horizon which does loom,
shall it somehow evade the gloom.
Drawing upon a virtuous fire,
of self reform to make its pyre,
achieving its own true desire.

The Phoenix in an instant flash,
turned into a silvery ash,
to the earth it came acrash.
But only to rise up again,
from the depths of fear and pain,
this mighty Phoenix won’t refrain.

Oh tormented soul,
thou dost not creep
from some unworthy hole.

See it as whole,
not just some tiny
little fragmented dole.

Learn this new goal,
but for some quiet,
not pantomime, role.

Be like the coal,
Igniteth not but it
lives bright and bole.

When nothing is good,
you wonder it should,
oh but you don’t know why.

So quietly you stood,
with a discerning hood,
not that you were really shy.

Do nothing you could,
was well understood,
but isn’t that just too wry?

And be as it would,
remember you should,
that you very well did try.

A flame lit inside his being,
the fire, glowing, spreading, beaming.
Consuming him with desire seeping,
his gutsy, greedy, gloom heaping.

The cold infernal blaze was creeping,
his warm heart was woe and weeping.
The evil fire went rumbling and hissing,
his mortal hold just fumbling and missing.

The scourge of heat was rampant and riding,
his humble resolve was fast subsiding.
His fear of cold made flames enticing,
but their two faced temper was oh surprising!