Elusive Nymph by Shamsud Ahmed - HTML preview

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Now for the Vagabond

So call troth (faith) of the vagrant

Turned around in the cycling moves;

Somewhere from the aloofness of this lullaby,

And the lumbago still is domineering.

The colours one by one,

Timed out from the sky;

Darkness in the ageing blues,

But the Ponderings still high.

Do sometimes those eyes lie?

A vagabond rusted the folios of destiny;

Dilemma out of fortunes survive,

And he denies.


Some justice though out of books,

Real out coming overlooked;

And the elusive vagabond speaks,

Sometimes he sneaks.

Heat triggered hard on the ice;

And blown to ashes;

The Nights and the moon slaughtered,

Daylight trapped and captured.

Love frustrated and agonised;

That dirty ragamuffin thundered,

And some one ventured;

Blow by blow he slows.


 An ultimate reason ends with a question,

Never answered, though now

Some beatitude is expectorant

And my deportment supposedly filtered;

I know the gloaming,

And the falsehood within the pulse;

The faience somehow cracked, Earthenware decorated with colorful opaque glazes

The last oppressed is now my impulse;

We for the Milky Way and more,

Caring though for the life it bore;

Your jingoism – but one soul,

Long journey for me and more.


Sometimes circumstances pretend,

And the satire all versed;

But what is for the premises left?

Workaholics- after the dying slaves,

Almost all percept a calculation;

And the ovary filled,

Though for the fluid of life;

A result of endless perennial nights,

Lady – the motivation is now over ruled,

And the vagabond again lost;

The only thing now to boast,

Nymph – The fractured soul after some love.