My glasses

My glasses

When I see through my dust-laden looking glasses
For want of a soft, hand kerchief, handy and embroidered,
Not the libidinous one playing havoc in cherub like Desdemona,
This cloth was dropped in the moving bus, how much of wants
and wishes to be fulfilled, I see, men and matter are
Sandwiched between what not and where;
Nearby a bunk a lanky boy in rags selling a lottery ticket
To recharge the battery of his living, lacking the education
even minimal to blame the society or discreet enough to
convert his birth to his advantage, not vile enough to
blame his parents to have brought him to this soil
of adversity and bonded lab our, cannot but think of his
sister with myriad dreams of her future but scratching her
hair domineered by lice and dandruff, soon a stern call
from her step- mother to fetch a pail of water from the
adjoining well, failing which not a drop of tea to quench her
thirst, I bend down to pick up my spectacles, fallen on the
mound, only to see the scratches, so much more to see through
the distorted lines, somuch to see through humanity
so profound to understand the living space.

What mythological creature are you?

What mythological creature are you?

What mythological creature are you?
Are you born with siblings, meant to
lead an ordinary life of marry and tarry,
or preordained to be a sage to preach and protect
the prurient and purblind and purvey many,
unseen, yet seeing and shelving,
just as the roaring waterfalls you are
Uncontrollable and warring and curing,
Is your birth ordained by the divine?
or disdained by the growing, numberless,
or the summing up of all heaven’s blessings
slated for this earth, you can be roped by the fire,
Unaffected, unscathed, dive deep into the water,
Redeem the one from sinking and submerge,
Sing the songs and shrink and shrivel
Yet move less as a stone, making miracles,
Like the revolving flower of rose petals
On the God head are you the trinity
The creator, protector and destroyer.

(135) In the stillness of the night

In the still of the night  135


In the still of the night, when the stars twinkle,
In the permanent residency of the blue horizon,
when the moonlit rays come through the balcony,
as if to spy if the madam is fast asleep,
to steal her ravishing beauty,
or like a good sentry to prevent any seasoned
Conman with a mega plan,
In the still of the night when the college student
closes his books after being hugged by mother sleep,
The cat with its paw soft and silent comes
To prey upon the rat, rattling in the kitchen,
In the still of the night romance is at peak
In the not nearby cinema theatre when the hero
confesses his avowed affinity for his partner,
in the still of the night, when the concubine
to give vent to her disturbed moods disturbs her man,
to be away from his wife, a sadism and urgency,
in the stillness of the night, when the two figures
in dark, covered robes to cover their sinister plan
of runaway marriage in a far-off cottage,
in the stillness of the same night, don’t get to
Sleep only to remind myself how all seeing God
was good enough to wake me to see the life of
fake and fraud -- soon would have engulfed me!
In the stillness of the same night I close my eyes
Timely opened to thank God for ever and forever.