Grandeur

The grains of sand that I tightly grasp,
Slips away and can't be controlled,
For each grain retains the spirit and the soul,
Of the mountain that it was years ago.

You shall forever remain caged,
If you see yourself as only the grain,
But you can set yourself free,
If only you could see,
The grandeur that every cell in your body retains.

Dichotomy Of I and Me

Where I stand
Where I want to be
Splits wide open
The dichotomy
Of I and Me

Pop the champagne
With the cork bruising my face
Cheers to the day
You'd want to remember
And I'd want forget

Where I stand
Where I want to be
Splits wide open
The dichotomy of I and Me

A toothless tiger
A chuckle worthy threat
Is what I am now at best
The calm surface marches steadily to kiss its fate
Whilst the violent undertow for its redemption awaits

- Nilay S. Shah

The River Of Ecstasy

Mesmerized by the imagery
Painting the background
Lost in the dimension of time
As the images hover around
Listening to the echoes
Of my thoughts resound

Restless, Resurrected zombies
Are back to haunt me
This State of being alone
Yet not being lonely
Entering uncharted waters
On this wrecked boat
The River Of Ecstasy
Underneath this moonlit sky
Whilst this divine solitude surrounds me
Trying to find a reason to wake up
Just as I fall asleep

But I'm sure
These turbulent waves shall go silent
When they reach the shore
And my eyes will open
To something more

- Nilay Shah

Why Is Poetry Important?

A Fleeting Glimpse Into Poetry.


What is poetry?
                       
                There are as many definitions of poetry as there are poets. Wordsworth defined poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings;" Emily Dickinson said, "If I read a book and it makes my body so cold no fire ever can warm me, I know that is poetry;" Salvatore Quasimodo said "Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal [but] which the reader recognizes as his own."

                 And after long periods of grappling with myself, I realized that whatever definition of poetry I was coming up with was savagely annihilated by a contradictory argument that almost simultaneously followed. And even if I tried to widen the scope of every passing definition, trying to encompass as much as I could I found that a sequence of words failed to encapsulate the true essence of poetry that I felt within. So then I concluded that maybe I'm asking the wrong question. Maybe the definition is irrelevant, it is that splash that poetry creates deep within a reader that is more important to fathom. So what is poetry for or why poetry is so important?
                
                    Poetry I find is astonishingly fearless, awfully forthcoming, agonizingly melancholic,infectiously joyous,intensely passionate, miraculously uplifting, profoundly intriguing.

                In short it has a wide range of emotions for a reader to experience. It has a power to start a fire in a person's life. It can alter and widen perceptions. It dares us to break free from the safe strategies of the cautious mind. It dares us to take that flight into the woods you have never explored before, and something you will seldom get an opportunity to do in the day to day life. It entices multiple senses. Evokes strong emotion.  Sometimes you feel that your sense of understanding has deepened after reading a good poem. A part of you sometimes dies or maybe a new part of you is born. After that you may never be able to think on the same lines again.  
              Poetry writing, at least to an infant poet like me is a way to navigate through daily life in a more organized way, maybe channeling catharsis of the  past or worry about the future in a sequence of elegantly chosen words, just in an attempt to  understand the present more  profoundly. Sometimes poetry is like a word- photograph I would paint to capture a particular moment to be preserved forever just to remind myself where I did I stand at that point of time at that point in space, the perceptions I and How have I evolved from then because sometimes a camera is just not enough. But I feel poetry has been needlessly mystified in our culture, to the point where many people imagine that is written by and for an elite group of lofty literary wizards. Or people think a poem is like a piece of code to be deciphered. And if they fail to "get it, it's because they lack the cleverness required to puzzle out the secret message. Thats untrue. I think Poetry is all about interpretation, Its about what you make of the words, it may not always coincide with the ideas with which poet penned it down, but it is in the multiple interpretations that I feel lies the actual beauty of poetry. so, what is poetry for? 

           I once read somewhere a sentence which I guess sums up the need for poetry. It stated that poetry is for trespassing and being at home at the same time.

Epoch

How can I blindly believe?

When I’m learning to doubt.

Hard to understand,

Harder to define,

Your symbiotic relationship with time.

Walking this paradoxical path of life,

Trying to sift my way through,

The lingering words from the hanging hierarchy.

With my brittle brain,

And oh so little time.

Caught in a Mexican stand off,

With fear and rationality,

But fear brings me down on my knees,

It makes me crawl,

For I’m afraid of an untimely fall,

You can victoriously scream and shout,

When my reason bleeds and cries,

After a well fought bout.

But tell me,

How can I blindly believe?

When I’m learning to doubt.

Time conspires, time inspires,

Time has it all.

It took me a man on a wheel chair

To teach me how to walk

A divine insight succeeding a numbing shock

It’s redundant looking for keys

When you are losing the grasp on the lock

A foot in, a foot out,

As I’m walking through that door,

A timely start to a long due epoch.

- Nilay S. Shah

Masqurade

Another drop of blood gone in vain

This mindless annihilation is driving me insane

When the blood is in your hands

When the blood is in your eyes

Is the taste of revenge

Sweeter than a thousand lives?

No one is going to win at the end of this fight

Just a circus to display ones might

Your pride will be overpowered by your fright

When you'll have to surrender to the eternal light

When the blood is in your hands

When the blood is in your eyes

Is the taste of revenge

Sweeter than a thousand lives?

Another drop of blood gone in vain

This mindless annihilation is driving me insane

The bullets hit the dove in the head

It paints the sky in furying red

Unleashing the mask

Underneath this masquerade

- Nilay S. Shah

Aint it strange?

Observations derange
Perceptions amaze
Ani’t it strange?
Aint it strange?

Aint it strange?
How truth can be conveyed by lies
Aint it strange?
How rules can be obeyed with sighs
How honesty is a breach of trust
How an iron fist can rust

Observations derange
Perceptions amaze
Ani’t it strange?
Aint it strange?

Aint it strange?
How a shepherd gets lynched by a fleet of sheep
How you find it getting more shallow the deeper you dig

Observations derange
Perceptions amaze
Ani’t it strange?
Aint it strange?

Aint it strange?
How fishes can drown
Aint it strange?
How you can fly while falling down
How hitting a high is hitting a low
How you can simultaneously smile and cry
and no one would even know

Observations derange
Perceptions amaze
Ani’t it strange?
Aint it strange?

Aint it strange?
How a king can be a laughing stock
While a jester leaves a lump in your throat
How it is not funny no more
While the laughter still echoes 

- Nilay S. Shah

Apocalypse

The old structures embrace the storm

The chaos yearns to be still

The aging arch of the metropolis dorm

Smiles at the memories of yore

That each collapsing brick spills

The army amassed conforms

To the dreary drill

Some subjects rejoice, Some subjects mourn

Breaking out of this Bastille

The storm passes

And the debris lay deceased

My birds of thought finally escape the latches

Baffled to say the least

For they don not know the song to sing aloud

Chirp with cheer or ramble and whine

Whether it is the time for the sun to set

Or is it finally the time to shine

A realization through thin air grips

The slate has to be cleaned to draw a new design

For a new beginning there has to be an apocalypse

- Nilay S. Shah