From The Quill of Suranya

The bells are ringing  Of ambulances and aid,  Waves surge over,  But of sickness in thousands. There is an unusual fire,  In anxious hearts and stressed minds. Not an individual in sight,  Just numbers on a graph;  As though scavengers are out hunting,  Not a fearless soul is in sight. Wails reach the sky  From the crematoriums and graves,  This is Apocalypse  But in a different way. The one they didn't tell you about,  The one that came out of the blue;  Unprepared, scared, humanity struggles,  What are we but fools and hopefuls  Thinking we have control over the Universe,  Until Nature turns us into chaos. Here we are fighting against each other,  Over caste, creed, religion and country  Created from the infringement of our minds; While Nature, to heal herself  Decides to lash out her wrath on us. You are still looking for your God, are you?  Crying to prove if the idol is better than a shr...

 The Storm gathered speed;  It roared in a ear deafening spirit.  It picked up droplets from the Sea,  Ready to destroy the Land  As his messenger of wrath. The Sea was fierce  Like a warrior focussed  To destroy everything around him. The Land stood like a silent saint. Guards let down,  Accepting the storm's message; Not scared of the noise,  Of what harm might come upon her. Destruction was her only way,  To soak in the love of the Sea.  Naive as she was to understand,  What she mistook as love  Was always the Sea's attempt  To display his strength. © Suranya

War and bruises, battles and scars,  The hope of returning home fades further.  But Home is where the palaces are,  The stone-cold walls and luxury calls?  Every soldier here, big or small,  Has someone to return to, Someone to hold on. Me? Their leader, a prince at war,  My home is further away than she appears.  There she sits, on the marble stairs,  Singing to her Beloved,  Soothing people who come to hear.  The only heart she can't calm is this,  For with every lyric, a flood of pain engulfs it. Yet I find myself lost in her thoughts  Feeling emotions raw and undeciphered.  Her touch is healing, pure and holy  Her words pierce through my soul  Touches me in places only she can mould.  I find myself at her door every night  But destiny is cruel, my life its prey,  I have given up this fight. For in my soul is a temple shrine  She is the God, my beloved divine.  In her soul, someone els...

 Oh! As the Raag Bhairava plays,  The emotions pour on the Syahi,  The string of hearts on the Sitar,  And the voice of longing wakes the sleeping soul;  The wind sways and the branches dance,  To the magic of music all at once. Hear! As the music picks up pace  Does your heart not cry to lyrics unsaid?  Does the Alaap not make you yearn  For someone lost, somebody beyond?  The birds sing along in the morning sun,  And somewhere the Beloved is summoned. Feel! The way your body lightens  Gives up on its worldly burdens.  Your soul twirls in a Sufi Whirl  And reaches out to Him. There you find yourself in Heaven,  As the music reaches its zenith. ~ Suranya

 There she danced, twirling away  Singing his name, evening and day.  There she sat, under his lotus feet.  The princess, the saint, the humblest to meet. Love, they said, was the strangest of things.  Sensual, spiritual or unconditional in being:  But the love she preached, unique it was.  For God became lover, and love a cause. But what about the world? She cared not.  What about the society? Scared it was.  For a woman stood, a woman chose Who she was against the odds. The woman lived, the woman sang.  The woman left them burning to the ground.  And she became an immortal being.  Girdhar's Meera, still searching for him. ~ Suranya

Art is like the soul to our bodies. It gives us imagination, wings to fly, and a happy escape if needed in the rat race of reality. Witnessing a pandemic, we are pursuing our escapes from reality through poetry, Photography, painting, singing, dancing, etc., to cope with the sense of fear and uncertainty. It is time to acknowledge art that heals the earth, and is present right at its core, musing on the nooks and corners of nature. 

In the midst of my melancholy night,  When the crickets sing and the owls hoot in the distance,  Standing on the pavilion in anticipation,  I search for your face on the crescent moon. The gentle breeze whispers  Erupting my skin in goosebumps  As though you touched my soul again.  I shiver and wrap my quilt around my heart. I feel you in the excited beat against my bosom,  A tiny sparkle of a precious pearl drop on my cheek, My eyes drawn in Kohl smudged,  Yet a smile lingers on my lip  As I sing for you the holiest lyrics  Adjusting the strings of the Sitar  To that of my heart, calling you home to me. Did you remember me today  When at dawn the cuckoo sang? Or the waters of the Narmada  Splashed across your tired face? Did you whisper a prayer for me In your Namaaz today? Like I did for you before the Lord,  Who plays the flute in the music of love,  Just like we do? Do you also wait for me?  Counting eve...