Sunday, August 19, 2018

That burns even after I perish

 That  Burns even after I perish

From High  dreary  mountain top,
A search for you still on and on ,
With snow peaked cap  atop,
 My pursuit is for you twined on;

So many decades of life in love;
Steering  a sail amidst  storm ,
A dragging on  while I bow,
No matter even it is yard of grove.

Great is the spirit that remembers
after years of struggle and sacrifice,
memory is a  precious gift dismembers
void and ferocity towards edifice.

Yearning  for you was always there,
every star and spirit in its abode ,
Searched   not knowing going where,
Rested a while on healthy promenade.

The torch of divine anguish
Burns ever even after I perish.

Saturday, August 11, 2018

after Lapstrake ( guardian)

After  Lapstrake ( guardian)

Here is sea calm today,
 My boat and life boat sail
Smooth and steady now.
Yes, my boat braids itself
to the brown end of estuary.

Much traffic  across globe
and seafaring – all quite
within our distinct view.
Whale and shingles and net
all fishermen observe.

 by the rim of shore, we too partake
of their poised hands. The boat
or lapstrake is not complaining
now, it concurs with our will,
We get a  new lease of life.

 A Release from all our self made
 Animadversion or  those  stemming      
Outside. The well crafted craft
Treads majestic as a queen on
“diced sea” as smooth and light

As plantain leaf. We must ever
Watch  out still our life’s moorings.

Saturday, August 04, 2018

A view inside park

A view inside park     

This two-legged searching
For a select corner in the park of
three decades of solid front:
with its congregations and
happenings a passing through
your mind, retreat into serenity.
Entering into senior citizen’s mind
A rehearsal of emotional stress
and calculations of life’s entourage
with permutations and combinations of
household ding dong in your memory;              
you view yet another perspective too,
a middle class, salaried, rent and loan
fees and hikes, school uniforms
with content your forte.                            
Kits and kites thronging every corner.
The nebula Of life visibly moving;
Not love for Life in any corner
of park. Park, still, silent receptive,
middle class gossip and concern.

Friday, August 03, 2018

After his footsteps -- after Gudardian

After  his foot steps:

Like father like daughter
running after gold and comfort;
parsimonious beyond belief.

Gold capped pen, gold rimmed
Spectacles, gold lined livery
Strewn all over, gold pendent ;

  Gold  plated bowl
 on dining table,yet  her
 appetite on unappetizing;

her eyes glance on the
photo of her mother
she has not seen, only

heard through him,
she was equally covetous
had  a  Midas’ touch in her

day to day living and
earning, with a   passion
for sophistication and

luxury. Within her
closed doors, glass
room, she is a slave
of her greed, her restive

unrestricting her moods
and movements; her cute
curls hanging, the  coaxing

mirror   in fronts of her,
her scissors  still active
for a  better morrow.

Friday, July 27, 2018

, Poem of the week: Prison Camp Violin, Riga by Robert Sheppard ( afer guardian)

My violin

It was a  German made violin
Which I bought on my own liking
And choice for my   passion for
Learning Violin was ingrained in my
Blood ; more and more from listening
To the sacred  instrument from expert
Players of world renown. Melody  entwined
With engross – we wonder.
Wood and  carving into shapes and
Strings,,tuning to pitches- your fingers
Play by the dictates of the bow up and down,
Jumping  into various lines .Eclectic notations
and  horse hair creating ripples and sensations
in you. How can be the voice inhuman?
when human craves for  Solace  and Divine
for his pained soul. My violin my sole  relief .

Friday, July 20, 2018


A  tree  speaks
Black  or  nutty  brown,round or oblong
Whether farmers’ dutiful hands  sow
Or blown by wind’s thrilled  flow,
Or  low  lying until weatherd by climatic
Shifts to germination, these  seeds
Underground are calm to Sprout
Above ,exposed to the warm sun, like
Proud siblings, spread into multi branches,
 Sturdy twigs and leaves and fruits
 to cure thirst and ailment of many:
many passersby take rest under this
shady nook and corner and sleep till dawn
to do  business  and  play games .
Birds have no discrimination and rule
their  roost all over leafage.
Crows  and  pecking birds, parrots
sing  duets becoming our pets.
But, one day in the pretext of deforestation,
 We are felled and gone.

Thursday, July 19, 2018

Please do not call me a pessimist

Please  do not call me a pessimist
This is a cruel world
Double diabolic cruel world where
less innocent, more cruel only survive:
Even the laws of nature are
tuned around more killings !
The lion  is  not  a  mighty warrior
 But  a   cruel monster, in  its orgy
 highlighted for its ferocity.
Rigid growling running after its fawn.
I shudder to see the ghastly even
In films, dare not go near the zoo.
 The Lion in man more often
Than not inherits the same ;
It is not the life giving source
But life taking force, blood
To sustain  another life.

Merciless is the  trigger of gunshot,
 I die hundred deaths ere I see such
Killings, be it hunters, or vengeful
Monsters or patriotic soldiers;

Under this cool moon, why hot blood?
Under  this suave  planet, why such
Barbaric  inroads into cut throat violence,
It is not  Death bleeding, it is not  Life bleeding,
It is  Human Heart bleeding to  endless fiasco.
Yonder  again, plotting parasites, shots,
I   run to a place of  calm and absolute serenity.