Aryan Singh's World

Data Science, Statistics, ML, Deep Learning

Rendezvous With The Past

This poem talks about the poet’s desire to do time travel to his past to advice his younger self towards a path of happiness.

There reeks a sense of deep longing,
A longing to meet the alter ego of my lost past.
To travel through the folds of the time dust,
To meet the boy squealing under the life’s thrust.

To stroke his head with a kind touch,
To soothe his predicaments with a sensible advice.
To ask him not to be scared of the life’s vice,
To ask him not to worry about that bully’s size.

To ask him to tread the Invictus paths,
To tell him that he is good enough for every task.
To tell him that he is a lovable soul,
To convince him to take that girl out for a stroll.

To tell him to turn those tears into fire,
To press him not to kill his own for other’s desires.
To ask him to take it easy on himself,
To tell him its okay to fail in some tests.

I want to kill all those negative thoughts,
I want to soothe his deep insecurities with wisdom of life’s sorts.
I want to tell him its fine chase his dreams,
I want to give the wings back to his stunted teens.

To propel Singh to set the stage on fire,
To inspire him to punch back when the straits are dire.
O lord give me a chance to make that journey at last,
To save the childhood of your troubled son, in this rendezvous with the debilitated past.

Hoarder Of Memories

I walk the paths of the dusty terrain,
I dance to the sounds of the falling rain.

I enjoy the first rays of the morning sun,
I adore the innocence of the children’s fun.

I love to laugh on a bad joke,
I enjoy the humour of a sarcastic poke.

I enjoy the journey to the places unknown,
I cherish the perspective of a stranger forlorn.

I love to see the dog wiggle its tail to care,
I love to help the friends going through times despair.

I love to get beguiled by the beauty of a women’s eyes,
I love to hug the people full of despise.

Because I know when the end is near,
I will reflect upon these good times with smiles and flair.

The money is a myth so is the fame,
I am the hoarder of memories that flash in the light of my extinguishing flame.

Mai yaadon ka sudagar hoon nikla hu yaadon se bharne apna pitara,

Kuch khushnuma si hain, kuchh ranjo ghum ki hain toh kya malal,

Aji agar ye zakhm lete hain kisi ka naam toh kuch naam marham vaale bhi toh hain.

Choir Of Dreams

There is a land of motley musings,
Beyond the horizon where clouds float.

It houses the adobe of fluttering dreams,
Where the mind goes for its nightly stroll.

While on its excursion through the dim and lit halls,
It discovers a canvas in the stream of thoughts.

Some faces flash on and off, most known yet some unknown,
Some look at me with a kind gaze, while others with a vicious smirk.

Sometimes there is a resolute knight, fighting the dismaying desolation of war,
Sometimes appears a crumbling prisoner consuming itself in the guilt’s core.

Sometimes I meet a scared child looking for the familiar touch of care,
And some nights it is an apparition, threatening to tear my soul with a spare.

Somedays the visual of a cheering crowd coddling over every move of mine,
Sometimes its a story of severe strife that behooves me to struggle against that plight.

Every night when I close my eyes in this world of mortal scenes,
The mind opens a cornucopia to the choir of my dreams.

Dream Of Heavens

Sometimes I close my eyes to explore the darkest realms of sleep

When the dreams go darker and the night becomes mellow, I see an angel knocking on the door

The angel so beautiful that her beauty transcends the universe, her smile a blessing of gods

A beauty so rare that her touch makes me valuable, her gaze makes me surrender

Her lips, her eyes, her little perfect ears, her body, her hair is what makes this life worth living

Because it can’t be real that someone so perfect touches my life everyday, sometimes i think its all but a dream of heavens.

Roar of the warrior within

Come fight a little in the cradle of this burning log,
Come fight a little to right what’s wrong.

Don’t supress the voice that vanquishes the swines,
Oh come hither with your wrath, run fear down their spines.

Tear down the protection of that seed coat,
Within the storms let the fleet float.

For you are the master of the universe beats,
You are the fire that the dragon breathes.

Let them see the flare of that supressed flame,
Let them know who is running the end game.

Fight to last breath come what may,
Let them know to whom the legends pray.

An ode to the traveller

Again he saunters into the boulevard of life,

Tired, Disheveled, the wear of sojourn arching his back.

But his thirst is ravenous, the hunger insatiable,

The hunger to win, the hunger to strive, it fuels the senses, fires the drive

As he flings away the baggage of foes, packs the sac with words of wise

His fervour becons with excitement of uncharted lands, In his eyes the crimson of pluck gallores

For at heart he is but a traveller, his life a procession of uncharted dreams

And again he augurs on another path, a path more perilous, a path more beguile,

Oh! he is all but an undaunted soul, For He would die on the road than at home lie.

Tufts Of Separation

Why does life hum the tunes of melancholy
Why does the heart struggles to beat,
Is it the season of torrential stroms that seems to be on its vermin retreat.

For the tufts of separation are like a wilderbeast
Drawing soul out of life one breadth a time,
Such a crushing penance for such a small crime.

Come back to thy love oh wandering soul, for without your touch i cannot survive,
I will be waiting with my arms open, for your embrace to make me feel alive.

A Midspring Dream

Within the void were the seeds of ectasy, shrivelled yet hopeful for your angelic touch,

The autumn was long, for fear it laid to the spirits of love.. ahh a separation far too long

Then came the winds of the mid-spring blossom with a girl whose smile just made the hearts melt

The long night started to make way, for the light had just cast its magic

The seeds sprouted with a fresh fervour, her nurturing love making the buds grow.

The beauty of that second was worth a million years for the joy in her eyes was the ultimate bliss.

Is this love temporary like all things in life, for the dark winter one day is inevitable.

But what’s life without a sprinkle of magic, for one day the winds will again rise, hustling away the clouds of despair.

One day we will love again, like a phoenix from our ashes we will again rise…