His house goes dry

His house goes dry.
His house goes dry.
It is raining dogs and cats.
After gathering clouds,
it is pouring, downpour
in the city and villages,
a boon falls
in the umbrage of drought.
Brimming pots tilt to the
cemented floors, raindrops
drip through the gaps
of the tiled roofs.
canals a re channelized,
crops fail for deluge swallow
the fields green,
in the throbbing centre,
his house in the city
goes dry, for his heart
overflows with cult
of sadism .

Eglantine pillar

Eglantine pillar

I veer round eglantine pillar,
from cemented floor to
the criss-cross roof,
My hand s weave silken
Shawl of miracle, advent of
Avatar, my mentor in my life.
The structured pillar bespeaks
a harrowing tale of the past,
how often , my grandmother
would sit by ,ruminate her
life, struggle, sacrifice,
open pages read, also misread,
in my blossoming age,
it would have been a hug,
one may call so;
but now, no hug, no paramour,
no love, no seductive looks,
for life has to sail amidst
rough weather,
if you read in-between lines
it is because you have
jaundiced eyes.
I stand by as the pillar stands.

A moment on my pasture

I rightfully trod upon the green ,
Green smelling upfront grass ,
I recline , with my Muse
ready to enthrone my book of poems,

The bunch of sprawling green grass
bends ,it sparkles humility to me,
we, the humans don’t bend easily,

I look up , my muse craves for
immediate inspiration, interaction,
singing lark and veering aircrafts
embark upon a voyage of their own;

every dewdrop a pearl on the
slanting grass , a decor ,
the hopping butterfly dancing
around,feasting by itself

a feast for all. I smell the green.
Smell the grass, smear the mood.

Life is gambling for many

Life is a gambling for many.
She is a Penelope , ardently
stitching and undoing the knots ;
the slender threads testing her
Patience, eyes compete with
her toiling hands, a handful of
cuts and threads and distorted
knots beside her sewing machine:
for her it is survival, for many
it is a gambling , her life gambling,
she saw not their hearts, they sought
cash or kind would replace kindness,
a post modern irksome paradox,
this gambling goes on ;
there, the predator growls , snarls,
here, she drinks a cup of porridge
to suffice her flat tummy,
her next session in the sewing
machine beckons her. Her spirit
gathers and removes the cuts
and knots for a better morrow.

That day in Central London------

That day in Central London......
That day, that moment relives
in memory, after all memory
lasting longer than life,
life after life!
lobby is luxury,
for living is expensive,
it is a single room
accommodation, central heating
reduces my shiver, biting cold,

I peep through the window
The vortex of planes
gyrating like creation and
procreation in God’s cosmography.
What a moment, mind enthralled,
Tabula rasa I enjoyed.
I fly back my my flights,
Those light mechanisms
carry your heavy sentiments too,
Aritha van Herk cosy on your
lap top, privileged , Ellesmere smiles.

English language glows, glitters,
England’s pride, Shakespeare’s tool,
The window of the world, brightens,
the pages of Ellesmere fritter
aimlessly for the sudden gush
Of wind blowing,
yet, the book inside is
blooming, blooming like
Anna in the chiselled hands
of Aritha. The Avatar inside
me is propelling like the
planes, ‘work is worship’ ,
what does it matter for the
crow by the window,
if it is tabula rasa or
your laden heart,
your life is yours,
the crow pecks on.

You think amidst thoughtless a few

You think amidst thoughtless a few

When your spirits are too low,
as low as the choked voice,
compunction and distraught
in the boggling mind,
you walk on the shores ,
rhythm and rigmarole
gyrate with the waves,
You count the majestic ships ;
Blue, Deep, how sail amidst
turbulence, flagged off,
sequestered, you sit in a corner
slipping the sands,
you cant afford to slip
the precious Time:
You look up at the sky,
Starry night your
lone companion ,
for the exodus is visible.
also inevitable ever.
unaccountable stars twinkling
Perhaps the dead also merge there,
where are those dead?
The departed souls
are not far off.
Those are encircling
in and around your vicinity.

My dark horse runs --

My dark horse runs-----
I drew a picture of a dark horse
in a white paper of oblong size,
as white and pure as a newborn ,
The peeling skin peels further,
imagination ran out of my mind
like a warrior in the battle field
who bade his lost kiss and adieu
to his ever faithful mistress,
the braving on the dark horse,
left his warm hearth
not to return again ,yet
to leave an imprint on
the soil benign, blood oozing ,
sacrificial fire still rages
in his breath and vow ,
the dark horse runs, runs.
The paper fritters on the breeze.

A view when I close my eyes

Yesterday it was a huge elephant
lifting its Proboscis as if to bless me
when I was depressed,
the trunk was bedecked with jewels
rich silken robes , majestic in look.
Memory assumes to redeem
A bygone day.
Today it is a caged parrot
not longing for flight :
It pours the panjandrums
of the officious, official,
ordinary too is not spared.
Those free and freed, what
have they got and fraught
nothing but danger,
my changing envisioned object
before me stratifies many things.
I think, rethink, delve,
What it appears to be
Is not a dysfunctional,
Nor a crab,
It is a feeling from
a clogged one.

In the middle rung of the ladder

In the middle rung of the ladder.

I am in the middle rung of the ladder,
skyward ruminations amidst fear,
for the ladder is shaken by the battening
wind. Below, I see mounds and murk ,
Gossamer like cobweb runs from
Somewhere inside the window of
a house ageless .The bricks and lime
are falling. The unconscious nonagenarian
on the cot , equally counting its days,
“ give me a hand “ I beseech the
Sturdy branch of a banyan tree,
Banyan rehearses a past history .
I climb down only to view
the anthills on the platform.

A long wait

A long wait

It is a long wait
at the metropolitan
crowded bus stand,
you wait, but the long line
of eroded thoughts
still crop up to regain
to pest you internally,
your umbrella tilts,

the flared up dust and wind
move past to settle on the
poster on the wall,
you shudder at
the sight of the
tilting bus almost
touching the ground,
the commuters are like
push and pull buttons.

it is a long wait
for so many
for the ration card,
more for the ration rice
to be pilfered and sold
for the double rate,
to treble their income,

it is a long wait
for the honest and choked,
amidst bohemian ,blatant,
seems to be eternal wait
so many in the queue,
it is a long wait,
it is a long, long wait.

I see a God------

I see a God----

I see a God not in the labour
and the baby delivered
in the toilet
of the moving train,
not in the syringe timely,
dexterous, for the brain fever
of the ten year old ,
a God not in the gospel of the church,
the chained cross of the nun ;
no, not in the cocaine and poppy seeds,
a God in the struggling innocent,
not in the collar of the vile at the gallows,
But I see a GOD
Yonder in the dead,
a body in the coffin ,
for he breathes his last
in the sleep , a boon .

what is the walking for----

What is the walking for-----

Walking, walking, walking,
walking and thinking, by the
Sane shadow, you call it awakening,
Karma or protection, byzantine
path you walk ,in search of realization,
you seldom value the past, those by gone;
these hard gravels and broken stones
by the melting tar , you abhor for
they are impediments for a smooth
go by; do you feel for those who break
the stones, who in the process break
their hands, the overflowing sweat
and blood which merge ? the massive,
gigantic felled tree , impasse for the
Commuters, yet walking goes on,
Paper boats in the far off pond,
fish in the sieve of the maidens,
play and lagoon , life goes on.

God alone knows!

God alone knows!
The ghostly eeriness in the ICU ward
Competes with the palpitation of
the patient, longing for life,
‘No visitors allowed’ on the board
mocks and tilts on the painted walls,
God alone knows what she wants to confide
in the forbidden state, whom she wants to confide in,
'No visitors allowed ' board still mocks,
The nurse attaches ventilator
an accelerated process of detachment,
God alone knows what is her last sign
Or gesture or poly vocal utterance,
He only knows why no visitors
allowed In the ICU.

change

Change
Like the sounding pages which turn ,
the twitter of the birds on the magnolia,
just as the fast track on the moving slide,
you move for the change, or changes
bounce in heaps ; mound of leaves move
for the better, though fallen;
I hear the gurgling by the brook
Which brooks no delay ,
Sodden, holy , the saint meditates,
cormorants spy and spare not the salient,
the poet scribbles, what is life,
Love, lust and perfumed skin, petrified?
open pages change into closed episodes,
still changes crop up like ghost stories,
many Changes are drops from above.

A song from within

A song from within

In the wilderness of my aching heart,
amidst bushy thorns and pricks,
There is a rhythmic cry of parrot,
Secretly ,serenely creoles but not to the Surfaces,
those in the surface, feel and face the threat,
of the world’s animal instinct grit.
I know you are the Palladium from within
Gyrating of a motive serene,
In the wilderness of my heart,
You are stolid and flaunt .

In the margin of

In the margin of ---

In the margin of a foolscap white paper,
my pen sketches on a figure,
A marginalised woman , with larger
ambitions, misapplied ambience,
her struggle is her only reward,
a blossoming flower, now exposed
to Wuthering sounds, a mute victim,
the sketch goes beyond the boundaries,
where and why nobody knows;

In the wilderness

In the heart of wilderness-----

In the heart of wilderness,
there is a feeble voice,
Voice of thimbles and thistles
by the scented jasmine
and rose buds sprouting
here and there, sprawling
dandelions, gauzy covers
protecting them until blown
by the mighty winds ,
when they sweep, when they
subside they themselves know not,
memory grappling the fresh pages
in my mind’s eye,
fresh pages of what?
Pages of anything that is good,
the bouquet in plastic cover
slowly loosing its fresh charm,
yet the giver and the occasion
live and relive in memory
adding verdure to wilderness,
my search goes on.

Existence

Existence

At times we are like wild flowers
Craving for existence and sustenance
In the midst of aridity,
Smiling at gravel for be friending,
We walk on a threadbare rope walking,
Our existence precarious ,yet growing for
Stability, wild flowers are essential
to imbibe the aroma of lavender and jasmine,
this filmy existence craves an exist
into a gargantuan powerhouse .
wild flowers need be seen every
now and then,
in the bunch of rose and jasmine.

Post man for them---
It is in the post man’s brown
Shoulder bag , their destiny lies,
their life , the innocent children’s
hard lives, amidst canning , sparse
caring, rigorous training at times,
partial and cruel,
the school children’s lives,
their ambition, their results in
post card, one full year’s dictum
in single word-promoted or
detained, their tears and jubilation
all in the post man’s brown bag.

Worlds away

Worlds away
It is the worlds away
that memory keep s
Us going, living reads
Many meanings in the
Past and present,
Several things bind us
together, what separated
You and me like the
Maize from the bunch ,
to be frozen and fried,
is still a conundrum,
worlds away, may be
you are still in search
of a local habitation,
or entered into an abode
of sanguine body ,
worlds away, we are,
things make us philosophical
pine and pine for
the no more to be
attained, living is dying
into a different world
of the unknown, unknowing.

That she is the ultimate...

That she is the ultimate...
She is the iron strong gate of the moat,
She is the bright, sun- craving lotus
In the pond, a sacred lily in the altar,
She is the bright star in the
Pram , prayer book in the
Sanctum sanctorum,
She is at the peak of the ladder
Viewing the motley crowd,
That she is undaunted, unyielding
That she is the ultimate of her times.

It is enigmatic that---

It is enigmatic that---
I try to read the mystery
or of enigma , of his ,
moorings and ambivalence,
when sun and moon
follow a path of routine,
UnStultifying and undeviating;
he questions , quirks,
he distorts and abuses
to his convenience,
to his delectable advantage
the repetitive ,the time-honoured
Scriptural norms of tested
attested experiences,
This feline ,sly attributes ,
sticky, clammy attitudes
are bugging the
enviroronment,
Aquarium tub is emptied,
Canal is dry;
thrombotic block of
his thinking goes on.

Melange of thoughts

Melange of thoughts
I sit on the vast green lawn, browsing Ginsberg,
The aroma of of greenery, the smell of wet moisture
the murk of wet soil inviting your poetic sense of
perception, what a fine breath the air permeates with!
Nearby the terracotta with its uprooted grass ,its stickiness
lying exposed upwards, unwilling to die, to dry up,
Whiff of sudden wind blows the fluffy dandelion,
Only the gauzy is driven off , the flower stands on,
a melange of thoughts come up,
why this life? why this breadth? Where are those
familiar faces? where are those souls wandering?
Where are those afflicted whose life full of
torture, because of diabolic devils , intruders?
I am a karma yogi ,those unanswered questions
linger on ; like the blood oozing from wound cuts,
in the process of healing up, from wireless nearby,
I listen to warnings of landslide, storm, torpedo,
ants line on innocently, sparrows close by peck
grains, both unaware could be danger
and destruction, extinction from human heart too.

Nothing is new

Nothing is new
Like the gyrating wheel
loosened slowly, cog less,
rotating towards a point
of slope, inner rhythm sings,
weaves a melody of malady
of times, dark times;
tuned into a cacophony
of dark ages, sin and salacious
Predicament in hooded veil,
facades in multiples thronging
around me, the stentorian
church bell ringing around me
the violated ethos of Yuga
Dharma, how can you expect
Otherwise? My mind re reads
Lady Macbeth, Sampson and Delilah,
close by somebody preaches
Environmental hazards.

He wa s like a sea horse

He was like a sea -horse
He was like a sea horse
rearing in his pouch of care,
mothering , fathering weathering many,
now paces his steps with a walking stick,
the jubilant kids clap, clap clap
in tune with his stick, the third leg ,of his,
the old aunt just gets up
from the noon siesta ,yawning
to gossip and filter the frequented
surroundings in her efficient
proficient rating list,
the hot tea smoke embers
from the china cup , mix
and merge in the air from
the spicy culinary kitchen,
I taste the cardamom
In my first sip and drink,
I transcribe my heavy heart
Into the blank pages, the
Past relives in the present,
All that closeness
Is not close and good,
Only a pretended smug,
The old sea horse
Passes by,repeats the
rhythm, believe in the God
who believes in you.

Usefulness decries

USEFULNESS DECRIES
It is the gossamer like
Spreading around me
now gaining rocklike
solidarity questioning all
what is the useful ness,
the donkey carrying your
burden of used stuff in
uncouth bundles doesn’t
boomerang the
fetish question,
the mighty sun and moon
and the stars don’t
insist on your usefulness,
yet, your scientific brain
craves for solar energy
lunar coolness and oceanic
energy, you need to
go for a synergy.

The note book of a three year old--

The note book of a three year old

The one fourth blankness is like
Islands in a map , three fourths
multicolour, drawn by sketches,
scribbling, lines criss cross,
ebullient sketches from
the tender, fast egalitarian hands,
a casual, glitters,
all my efforts, concentration
to draw a tortoise from the wall
lurks into nothing, a sheer waste
of my time and effort,
I crush my page to trash .

Thoughts

What thinking can be in
the minds of those lying
bewildered, under the
lulling spell of tranquilisers,
their thoughts already tranquilised?
Can those drunken driving,
wounded in the hospital
have new thoughts of
redress and redemption?
The cute child she herself
being a doll ,beautiful,
A doll ,fluffy in her white
frock lolling in the chair,
with her made in china dolls,
what more thoughts she
will have other than combing
the hair of the toy,
wanting to have more
and more toys in her
toy kingdom,
while the grownups
nourish thoughts unrestricted
in the tiny cerebrum,
a tiny restricted area.

Cycle of faith

Cycle of faith
Sit in the cart of unstinted devotion,
Wheeled by the rotating axis of
Interminable faith,
touching the ground of
stones and pebbles of sadness
and despondency occasionally
scarring you, or perennial itch
of anger and envy corroding you,
let the faith drive you on,
in the cycle of faith,
let not the summer of
sweat and toil of faith
sulk you to an impoverished
corner of tedium,
allow the Spring of Faith
to blossom into new flowers,
but you autumnal sheds
and cold wintry deaths
of doubts and agnostic ,
only impasse for you!

it is a child's play

Her cute, dexterous, nail polished
fingers fold, unfold ,the flimsy
white papers into corners,
open again draw the edges,
open again to paint some figure,
her scissors ply even,
in her cutting there is
evenness and subtlety
poor girl, does not realize
she is cutting her grandma.

Apple--modern cinquain

Apple
red, rotten,
stinking, decolouring, shrinking,
unwholesome dish on the plate, inedible, a toy of show of an
Apple.

Behind everything

Behind the heavy laden donkey,
donkey to bear the brunt of
man’s wear, wear and tear,
behind the uploaded load,
there is karma;

Behind the cat’s surreptious, silent
preying upon the mouse, behind
the cunning paw, the cat being chased
to being drowned in the well,
there is karma ;

Behind those innocent eyes
with devouring ambition,
ambition negatively enthralling you,
cutting passion for possession
there is karma;

Behind the wheels of those
broken chair, bearing the
broken people, the mechanical
wheels still wheeling around
there is still karma.

Her bent feet, paralysed,
Steadied in the sands of
the long beaches ,may be
the sands of Time’s healing,
this is Kama’s will;

Karma is still, not vociferous,
Still, karma is here.

Twilight

In that evening when twilight of
the mood of my life has set in,
I craved for sun’s rays resplendent,
longing for and more and more,
longing for what? Absolute peace
and serenity, inclined philosophical,
queried of the past,
unhappy ,unethical surroundings,
why this damp, dampening
my spirits, jejune and colourless,
in the wake of dusk,
craving for another dawn,
twilight is a must in all .

His voices of Whispers

I hear His voices of whispers
in the rustling of leaves,
in watchwords or catchwords,
gyrating from within,
are they voices I hear?
They are His whispers
auditory to your
benumbed senses,
in the rustling of weaves,
singing a lullaby to your
broken heart,
in the melody of the
chorus of humming birds,
His whispers of comfort,
in the crumbs of bread
Pieces, in the teething
humanity of airports,
His whispers of protection,
in the wailing of the
Newborn , uncared for,
in the garbage mound,
I see His care,
whispers of protection,
when the world whimpers,
He whispers from
morn till noon,
whispers, whispers
to wipe our tears.

Faith in GOD

Faith in GOD is
A gift either ingrained
from birth, breaths
through embryo,
or chiselled by
experience, pricked
by thistles and thimbles,
cutting across your
smooth sail,
faith alone sustains you,
faith to be nurtured
in constant meditation,
if forayed into agitation
lands you in perdition,
Faith and fear in GOD
Only doors of SALVATION.

Hope

Hope.
Hope , like sprinklers
in my garden, rose and jasmine
withering and upfront ,
hope sits on my flattened body,
beckons my half dead will,
resuscitates to catapult
to the stars.
Hope by itself, a new leaf,
A new breath, a new life,
A new arena, spiralling,
A warming up, there were days
when I sat in a corner dismayed,
Hope like those sprinklers
revived my debunk spirits,
hope counsels , ‘’all you need to do
get up and , go to the garden,
today dry soil, barren stem,
tomorrow flowers blooming.
Hope, hope and hope .''

She is a lost soul

Words glare and stare,
In black and white
In bold and boisterous,
rise and roll from the agile
Key-board: ideas obstreperous
and mellifluous shoot out
for a proper formatting,
like a swathing starfish;
a skeleton of panic ,
atrocious sinful
looming large ,
She is bewildered,
She is a lost soul.

You had to go

Every day I commute the
Same laborious path,
Up and down,
Why should I feel the tedium?
for it is mechanical for my feet
to walk , mind laden with
thoughts of yesteryears ;
the togetherness of seven years
I could not forget,
It was a much lively,
Smooth path of love
and understanding,
now it is all of thimbles,
you had to go ,
for the call came from
your father , old-timer,
to appease your
father’s choice,
you had to go.

Beauty

Your thirty year old
draws a sketch , his
Brush is dexterous,
Paints with ebullient
Colures, frames it,
hangs on the wall,
a thing of beauty
to watch on the
wall , a wall decor,
three year old
grandson vies his
father, quickly
takes all the brushes,
patches wild on the
paint board criss cross,
scribbles on the
whit e paper fast,
sings to himself,
a thing of beauty more
to watch and share,
At the dawn, a stroll
in your beautiful garden
Of scented flowers,
humming birds by
the feeder, your
hands refuse to pluck
those flowers of beauty,
you are afraid that
you are spoiling the
beauty of something!
Daisies and violets
intertwine to serenade,
a thing of beauty ,
things of beauty
all around us.







,

If there were to be no garden of Eden---

If there were to be no garden of Eden,
No luscious fruits of ruddy apples forbidden,
No fall, no life of strife,
No perpetuation of progeny,
No sinning amidst syrups and juices,
Yet, man invents oranges
to make a melange
of a new group of entity,
to fertilize another vicious
mound, on this earth,
a garbage full of stinking piles,
his private garden.

Requiem to a woman

Praise be to the woman,
Peace be to the woman,
May Heavens shower their
Choicest Blessings on the woman
who was enslaved, tortured,
done to horrendous death,
held in captivity, not knowing
what for she was suffering,
cause hidden, commerce continued,
stigmatised, cornered,
cunning and crafty those parasites,
Those obnoxious intruders
who plundered and amassed,
leeches, another lineage to
Faustus selling their conscience
to the sinister devil,
blood sucking continues,
amidst devils’ chuckling.

I am timeless

I am timeless
Privileged to be at His Altar,
I came with Him,
The Devout chime me
at the church,
I sink in the hospital
warden’s meticulous care,
Timer in the visitor’s lounge,
I am in the time bomb,
Your wrist decorates me
In a golden case,
London’s BIG BEN, rings me
In rhythmic chanting,
I go by His Universal Command,
He ordains me to draw a line
when to make it a deadline,
I am timeless and dateless.

From illuion to Reality

I sit on the winged Maya,
also called illusion spiralling,
in and around, gauzy something,
to quench my thirst in the nearby
river, it is again only a mirage
I realize Maya has taken
me for a ride, me looking backwards,
but it marches along ,forging
Ahead, I get dropped
in search of reality,
waving my hand , bid farewell.

Midnight Moorings

This still adamant wintry cold
abuses SPRING, as its usurper,
the blinds are drawn by the
mechanical hands, unwilling
colours of night slowly merge
into sprawling Silence,
my eyelids close after
avowed application into
books of poetry, Divine music,
while the ever tuning music
of heart sings the
melody of metempsychosis,
where does the SOUL
transmigrate, how, on what?
your body with flesh ,perfumed,
is the tree with green foliage once,
now is it only dried, brown,
a barren stem? Or dried twig?
Those fallen leaves are
brittle, supple, driven
by those fierce winds,
Just as this flesh
thrown as carcase, fetish
no longer, yet unwillingly,
you have to leave
the bonded kinsmen
to a different habituation,
your eyes close to
an awakening of
newer revelation.

English Language wails

I am sorry, for you are sorry,
I am so sorry for you say
sorry without feeling sorry,
you breath less, more you
say sorry, sorry, sorry,
even the tongue becomes
benumbed one day,
for your abuse of the
word sorry, sorry sits
spits and sobs,
for it is exploited,
I would rather undergo
Exfoliation than embezzlement.

It is all happenig there as usual

It is all happening as usual,
It is all just as the
Cosmo graphically set path,
Undeviating Sun and stars,
Seasonal shifts and each
Daying into night,
You walk out into the streets,
Your pet following you,
wagging its tail,
big cats crossing across,
whether Europe or America
the sentiments are always
there, groomed within you,
at times you negate them,
not those pets, their shiny
eyes as if lolling on you,
The sprouts of flowers
of SPRING destroying
the sprawling vacuum ,
blossoming into a new Life,
Hope moralising on the Creator.

A prominent question

Aging grandparents in every household
of ageless pillars and scented gardens,
innocent playful kids and puppy dogs,
are always by your side,
Purring cats, cows tethered to the
iron pikes and milkman with the utensil,
speeding cars in the burning hot
Freeways, affectionate, exploited uncles,
are ever in your vicinity,
Intruders and blood suckers,
Innocence in children ,thundering
applause, clapping audience,
are always there in around you,
failing monsoon, faithless spouses,
robbers and swindlers who pledge
their conscience and connive ,
always elusively deceptive,
bugging us everywhere,
But think and thank
Whether God , the universal
Is always by your side.

Greatest Evil of Devil

To be born in the greatest
days of evils , devils of
salacious materialism,
misleading you all the times,

To be hoodwinked, forayed
Into something beyond your
belief, your conviction,
delved into a regular volley of

deception, yet believing those
people ,imposing their way of life,
they belie the proven, established
truths, making inroads , encroaching
into your deep rooted Faith,

Living goes on, living
with a thread hanging
around your neck, living
with a deceiving bickering,

the brazen, brash is seemingly
taking the upper hand,
Sulks under a bask of
Defeatism and despair

The other side of Mother Earth

After a prolonged patience
like a sage in penance,
endurance gets distorted,
mother earth reacts luridly,
the bituminous lava erupts,
so much is devoured in
the volcanic orgy of red
fire , boiling and burning,
bursting and bursting,
smoky embers reach
green , grass and granite
like rocks, those innocuous
birds , careless with winged
freedom , still fly far above,
yet, man shudders and
watches from afar,
may be through a
media or television channel.

Spring breaks

IT is not the usual embittering,
Shivering cold winter, when
You place an order to your
mom for a hot cup of tea,
for you to invigorate for
the ensuing exams,
nor a reprieve for the
studious and lethargic
from the rigor of
classroom assignments
and corporal punishments,
as the sun’s rays gleam through,
the hope of spring break brings
joyous sprinklers to the parched
and dry, spring break detracts
you from the sombre past,
spring is a solace both for
body and soul, spring break
is awaited by all, as healing
is awaited by the most sickly
healing by meditation
and natural medication.

Redocorating

For the New year , the inmates
planned to give a new facelift
to the century old house,
polishing, painting, enamel ,
elaborate pictures in Acrylic,
new mosaic floors , glaze tiles,
much jabbering, chattering ,
on redecorating the house,
new Persian carpets, new
floral decors for the sofa sets,
a totally new set of upholstery ,
some with a bit of poetry in
their blood, imagined carved
engravings with poetic sentiments,
but alas! The corporation came
with a plan of demolition of
old buildings, their dreams were
all jettisoned and scattered.

Puddles

In rainy seasons, I have to cross those
puddles by my ground floor flat,
often, It is construed as an impediment
by many like me, the passers by,
those splash, murkiness, swarms of
readily waiting mosquitoes and flies
are nuisance, irksome ,
pure, falling water from above ,
how transformed into splash
mud , sediments on the ground,
As a child, how often I threw stones,
watched the ripples, observed
those crows and sparrows
their wet wings ,pecking at
the bits on the rim , flew past
into the water, swoop above,
at the sight of threatening human,
Even today, children cut their
School , to play paper boats,
in the puddles, a delectable
game for the innocents,
As I write, I peep, through my
grilled window, a crow
fluttering in the puddles.

Out west

There is an exodus of farmers
with sweat and despair, drooping eyes,
for the parched land , has betrayed them,
they decide to out wet for fresh livelihood,

the brooding swan, the swimming ducks
decry the dried pond, the eastern shore
stinks with dead fish, they still brood,
can they migrate to the soothing west,

I find the east is depressing,
Corruption, envy and suppression,
make you sink down further,
west is warming , upfront greenery

all round you, my prospects of west
are booming, Already I am one foot
in west, today I saw bright ,amber
setting sun in west, beckon me further,

out west is resplendent, regal,
out west is royal and reassuring.

it was in the dark room

It was in the single dark room ,
A luxury , from my birth,
Self contained, every movement
goes by the sound of a tap,
I know, my table, my lamp,
my kettle and tiny stove,
used to this room ever like
a cuisine , no wanting by anybody,
access to a minimal wardrobe,
to this born blind
dark is bright enough.

My painful past

When I stand before the
Gate way of India,
when I sit in the intercity express,
travel through , to see the stops,
to see the sign boards,

My painful past opens up
its hidden pages and hoary
vistas, the sad markings,
it is easy to preach, forget
The past, when you were

A butt of ridicule,
because others were crude,
the sad past with the
sorrowful woes, embittered days,
Time alone can heal these wounds,

Ringtones of melody of present
weave into poignant malady of past,
those discs are winding and winding,
echoing classical tunes of unmatchable rhythm,
always the cyclic rhythm of of heart in tune.

The whole humanity joins
in your unbounded mirth,
but in your suffering , you alone
stand with gathered strength,
struggle and survive but not give in.

Lords and ladies

Lords and ladies
What are those regal kingdoms
without royal sceptre?
what are those lively courts
without jubilation of lords and ladies?

Lords in trim suit,
ladies in glitter and smile,
if ladies ruled lords,
lords ruled courts,

ladies in silken , frocks,
with lords weave quick steps
of ballets in leaps and spins,
in nimble toes and turns,

Once I met a lord of gusto,
with what limitless concern,
he ran to aid her sorrowing
lady who broke her leg in bathroom,

ladies and lords , rule their roost
of inimitable love and unique bond.

Locked out your heart

As I walk past my well pruned garden,
the fluffy gauzy, filmy layer is blown
by the wind, the dandelion is clear ;
My heart is locked up, there is no
Place for you, in my heart,
My mind is clean, My way is out,
I live for myself,
for twenty long years ,I
lived with you, swayed by
your volatile moods,
you bore me two children,
sacrificed my entire self,
pampered you with jewels
and costumes rich,
you knew only a life of
luxury, floating in the air,
you never wanted to know
the meaning of my struggle
and the hardened survival of the
surroundings, you cared none,
that morning, you picked a silly
quarrel and went away,
my neighbours admitted me
in hospital when I had
heart attack, now I know
your baser instincts,
you have scant place
in my locked heart.

Hitchhiking

I was a young lad of ten,
knew nothing of life’s implications,
during weekend kiting I would do,
much to the chagrin of my mother
who wished , inspired me
to excel in academics,

I wanted my kites go higher and higher,
I would run along , compete those stars,
with a sensation I too would one
day fly up the bright sky,
My thoughts already hitch hiked
to those starry realm of distinct blue.

hailing from a family of cobbler
what could I know of Keplar,
crossing miles and miles to
reach my school , with a cartload
of books and curd rice with lemon
pickle to savour my lunch,

One wintry day, stranded in heavy rains,
A horse wagon came to a halt,
to give me a lift, coachman,
throughout cheered me with
Counsel of abiding message,
“ run tirelessly, as fast as this horse,
until you hitchhike your ambition
to the stars and skies,
live with a purpose,
convert the adverse to
your advantage.

I took a vow that day,
Today I am a pilot steering my way.

Handle with care

From the brisk morn till the sunset,
even during midnight, when there
is a lull around her,
She would hold her baby
Or rock the cloth cradle,
whisper with kisses
in fondling terms,
her fragile baby is motionless,
forever asleep,
“handle with care, for
my baby is tender and soft,
she would suddenly awake “,
she would meticulously instruct
her surrounding kith and kin,
they know it is only a toy,
ever since delirium stuck her
after her still born child,
they all handle her with care.

Expressions of love

In my sanctum sanctorum room
of worshipped Gods and Goddesses,
Photos and carvings amidst fragranced
incense my Avatar is seated,
I garland him with Rose and Jasmine
flowers fresh and closely knit,
it is Not the warmth of hug or kiss,
but the best expressions of DIVINE love
and loyalty by the garland and decor.

Mother’s first expression of love is
in her first feed of milk,
Milk of warmth and kindness,
just as the cow licks her new born
Calf , inimitable expression of love,
gardener’s expression of love
through his water pail,
both in the morn and evening,

What more love children want
than the gifts of toys and chocolates
and words of appreciation,
‘excellent’ ‘ good’ ‘wonderful’
from their teachers in the class,


It is His expression of His Love
for His creation, that makes
Him give a long rope.

wail of an egg

I am shell bound,
The hard, white, globular shell
that covers me, protects me,
subjected to perilous attacks,
by the hardened , hammer like
abortive hands of mankind,
Just as the embryo of a babe,
I am protected within the pith,
had it not been for the selfish
Human, I would have flown away,
But now, unawares am I,
baked, caked, melted and grated,
I bemoan my predicament.

Dont pity me

Don’t pity me
As I was running fast ,
for a fashion parade,
I chanced upon a snail,
As if it chides me, it looks ,
Don’t pity me, I m safe,
that is the way I am created,
but you be balanced, lest
you should go and hit against
a lamp pole,

my daughter failed in
Hindi exam three times,
when jeered at by friends,
she returns a curt reply,
don’t pity me for my defeat,
for each attempt, is a forte,
a new learning of words,
next time she achieved
a marvellous distinction,
she pitied others’ haste.

the match makers feel
that I should wear
matching blouse , matching
bangles, else, I become a mismatch,
the man in rags on the streets,
pities me and says,
don’t pity me, when my
belly pinches , I don’t care
for my patches,

The old man’s stick
tells me, don’t pity me,
in due course, I shall be yours.

kinds of pities pity
each other, " don’t pity me’’.

Difficult people

Difficult people, difficult situations, difficult life,
if archangel had not fallen, he would not
have become a difficult man, he would not
have made life difficult for Adam and Eve,
It is the difficult people who do not
weigh things in equal scale, sane method,
Send the innocent to the gallows,
It is the difficult who do not
interrogate and verify but proceed,
it is the difficult who revel and revile,
rebel against reason but treason,
like the termites the difficult corrode,
make inroads wherever they go,
it is not the children that are difficult,
It is the elders, determined to be difficult,
be it bus stops, railway counters,
Post offices, milk depots, voting booths,
The difficult make others lives difficult
they become obdurate,
If God becomes equally difficult,
It becomes more difficult for the difficult.

Being overwhelmed

Those years of inerasable subdued altercation,
two decades of yearning , while teaching,
Yearning for justice, earning while learning,
Peripherally knowing the surroundings,
Not knowing many things, knowing and
unknowing, weaning away from reality,
reconciling to my lot, ignoring many things,
somebody’s shortcoming, your purloined peace,
I reconciled to my lot, resigned to my fate,
Overwhelming pressure, counting days ,
Thankless environment, how long to
Pull on? I introspected myself,
One fine afternoon, as if from Above,
The order of my shift to a bigger place
was served, I was overwhelmed with
gratitude to my Creator.

A shoulder to cry on

When those bulldozers mercilessly pulled down
that hundred years old mansion of my
grandparents, I was the witness to the
disruptive process of demolition,
I craved for a shoulder to cry on
to express my anguish and despair,

how, often that couple carried the
brick and mortar and lime on their
shoulders, not merely that, how many
in that local village would look forward
to them, for a shoulder to cry on
in times of duress and distress,

Many a distraught with pain
for scorpion bite would
throng my grandmother for
healing by chanting with pepper,
for many a child , she was a
must, a shoulder to cry on.

Left alone in this cruel world,
bewildered and bemused,
scam and embezzlement
surrounding you like a
pale of gloom, grizzle ever,
I cling to my Avatar.


You need a God with
Protective vision ,
A shoulder to cry on.
at the time of birth,
we all cry, a must,
It is an universal cry,
We need a shoulder to cry on.

Anything is possible

When He wills to descend from The Above
to this chaos and clutter Anything is possible,
For Him the ruler of the earth,
The creator of this vast universe,
The Maker of the Deep Blue,
The myriad stars, and the firmament,
Anything is possible,
If He wills, He can fold the sky,
Dry the Ocean, Anything is possible,
Anything is possible for the Avatar,
for The God-sent, if He wills,
He protects, protracts and pains,
Shrinks and sprinkles, shrivels,
Anything is possible for Him,
He is silent and salient,
Yet, for the man who is
Vociferous and seemingly virile,
Anything is possible only in words
But not in deeds, not in deeds.

Ancient cities

I visualised ancient cities
for college competition,
those relics and ruins
times’ boundaries , erosions,
civilisations that are today’s
monuments and history’s
real story time pages,
no aircrafts, no escalators
where the first step I need
to carefully step in,
for sixty cannot compete
with sweet sixteen ,
those coins in copper pots
and idols of excavations ,
mix memory with
the past, and dexterity,
serenity struck those cities
where no multi storied
buildings and mush room
growth of population,
no bundles of toilet papers,
no dry taps,
those ancient cities
do not echo your voice
in tapes and comp discs
those are the ancient cities
without air pollution
still vibrant in notation.

A gentle touch

A gentle touch.
I was like a loner, a lost child,
amidst the medley of motley crowd
of ambition and ambivalence,
jostled and pushed by stampede,
At last Heaven’s gates of Mercy
Opened up on me,
My Mentor’s feather touch
Of healing and clairvoyance
came like manna from above,
It was a gentle touch of
Assured protection of
emphatic Words ;
for one who has been exposed
only to scatological words of
abuse, rubbish and scam,
His gentle touch is of
Ambrosial fragrance.

A day at the beach

A day at the beach
It was a very special hot day of summer,
You chose an evening of reprieve
from your monotonous office routine,
the cool breeze and you see the
fishermen’s tents , lives in their nets,
yet, it was not merely sitting by the beach ,
your papers filled with poetic freedom,
not only a day eating the ground nuts hot
while those urchins crying to eke out
a hard precarious living, trying to pop in
those hard earned coins , into their torn
trousers, you simply pity their helpless
predicament, generous to donate a five rupee
note, while the man nearby bargains for
fifty paisa, it is his will and wish,
you can’t impose upon him,
walk along those countless sands,
you see your embedded foot prints,
yonder, some birds take off by the
shore, some with dappled wings
paddle in the waters,
while the rocky , majestic waves,
as if imposing some harsh, ghastly
rhythm of life, create a fear
in you and me,
what are we before the oceanic
rigor and turbulence?
A helpless fetid flesh,
If swallowed by rigour of anger.

Patience and Green earth

Deforestation goes on ,
as if it is man’s prerogative,
Man’s thoughtless sickle
Fells the branches of the
ageless tree, the roots
spread on the brown earth,
yonder, on the neighbouring
hills, the cicadas on tall trees,
make a mockery of those
smart , busy hands,
blackbirds pour in as if
in elegiac mood,
oh! Man, why do you
turn the green earth
into a brown , colourless
wading pool of dry and wry,
Mother earth, which is embodied
Patience, bemoans and decries
Setting sun shadows the
Stubborn deforestation .

From Dream to Reality.

I saw a super built castle in my dream,
In the corner of high-vaulted roof,
A spider’s optimism persists,
Weaving and weaving,
Many layers of the gossamer like web,
Spider is too good to visualize a broom
Behind the glassy window panes,
I see Diaphanous and Diligence
weave and weave together,
plums and cakes in a rich bowl of dish,
Victuals and viands and drinks in plenty,
Dystopian vision runs away, erased,
I hear something suddenly disturbing,
repeated knocks at my door,
usual septuagenarian, takes for granted
my good will, alms and chat,
I wake up to see my already
popped up bristles of broom,
my glen calls me with a counterfeited glee,
I sink my mood with the gloves
in the kitchen sink, to see the
Reality of piled up stuffs.

I want to come to your bed

They have drawn the blinds mercilessly,
for I cannot see through the glassy window,
transparency of the white coloured
curtain is dimmer to my half sunken eyes ,
feel of icing cold around me,

the frost hit window is pleading
to be opened the next morn,
I am like a frozen meat
lying on my iron cot,
feel of icing cold all around me,

Three months of chicken pox
Incarcerated me, body and soul,
within the precincts of this narrowed
ward , where medicated smell ,
tincture and cotton permeate,

like the tegument of tender groundnuts
the marks of chicken pox pop up on me,
the polished mirror refracts my sulking beauty,
I ignored him in the past, now it is his turn,
The visitors’ bell approves, augments the silence,

I harken the wail of my chic, my blood,
in the next room, for meningitis caught you,
My babe! the wall is the veil between us,
I want to come to your bed,
feel of icing cold around me.

Come! Spring, Again in my Life.

Come! Spring , Again in my life,
Come Spring, to undo the strife,
I tread to walk upon the glassy grass,
that upfront the sun’s azure frame.

Come! Spring, Again in my life
to rejuvenate my withered leaf,
when thrush and cuckoo rebuild their nest,
nestle chicks in Love’s stronghold of Net.

I see, yonder committed poet
In his wonted secluded corner,
Weave numbers of spring tones
Chattered sprightly jubilation.

My heart echoes the resonance of
The warbling notes of Chiff chaffs
and merry blackcaps,
my gloves shiver under the

tender beams of the gubernatorial Sun,
I see swallows and swifts,
move from branches in swift turn,
Welcoming Spring in joyous tune.

Come! Spring ! Sprinkle joyous
Showers in my life,
Come spring! stay in life
of seasonal shifts of strain.

The soul peegrinates

I flew from the perfumed ,caring flesh,
Caring for its beauty and living,
some ten months ago,
burnt log of wood, embers
did not touch me,
farther away, I am wandering ,
waiting to search for in habitat,
with hungered looks I wander
from tree to river, brook to bridge,
I look at this, that, that, this,
Some fitting shapes for myself,
till now cannot find any,
I am wandering and wandering ,
in search of somebody ,yes, some Body,
more of human, less of sinning,
I move , slithering along,
It might be some more time.

Walking, walking on the road

It is not like sitting on a chair,
wheeling around majestic,
you being ensconced,
commanding and building castles
in the air, the chair revolving
around your thoughts,
nor like spitting on the
road, as the uncouth, unseasoned,
the chewed betel leaves,
it is very much walking ,
walking on the pavement
by the dawn, by the peeping
tender sun , the rays of which
feathering you, descend slowly,
along with your walk, your mind
talks, talks aloud those untutored,
fragmented chips of others,
not Iridescent, but intersecting ,
where you are unable to react to.
You walk further down , touching
upon the white flowers, the cuff like,
Some red wild flowers creep around
the railings on the road,
you walk on, endlessly on .

Thoughts flow

I sit in the corner of the big hall,
the gala birthday of a five year old
goes on, cakes ,songs and dances,
balloons fly as if angels swim in the air,
colourful decorations, candelabrum,
showering bright and bliss,
Birthdays and wedding come and go,
Does anyone think for a moment ,
who is responsible for this jubilation?
The creator, responsible for your BEING,
Who knows there may be many
and may not, I close my eyes , for
one moment : new revelations spring
like the burst of crackers,
Congregations and happiness go, merge;
Suffering alone stands like
a stupid donkey amidst giggles
and swindlers ,deception continues
to wear a motley gown,
they easily advise to forget the past,
when the past has got
its own murky implication,
groping in wilderness
stumbling all the time,
the unanswered question bounces
like a ping-pong ball:
But for the Divine Interventions what
Would be my predicament? What
Would be the fate of many?
They would Not spare
even the God-sent , Avatar,
Injustice and calumny done to AVATAR
Is injustice done to GOD,
I gulp the juice served,
As I gulp the conspiracy
In multiple bouts,
Thoughts flow with the
Question, “ where are we going?”
“ where are they going?”

But for you sombre winter...

But for you, sombre winter
when, excepting my quill ,
everything is slow moving,
fallen leaves like our fallen
moods lie as they are,
awaiting the fast blow
of the season’s strength
of the cold wind,

but for you sombre winter,
my soothing lulled voice,
will it expand into the hum of
much awaited Sprightly Spring?
will my heart crave for those
humming birds visiting my lawn?
But for you sombre winter,
would my saddened heart

weave an aubade of spring?
will my curious hand weave
an aubade lingerie for
my grandchild of Spring?
Can I fill those empty
Papers of my writing pad
with flow of thoughts on Spring?
Oh! winter! You are great in your own way.

A Day By the Frogs a limerick

A Snake was keen following a frog,
Frog was staring at another frog,
I was near a big mound,
there was anywhere no sound,
no one seemed to be pitying the frog.

The wail of a wardrobe

Some innovative sinister has revamped
my broad fragranced arena,
boxes and bundles of scholarly books
have replaced the passive ,hanging clothes,
the only hangers on the rod are helpless
mute witness, soon to be deployed elsewhere,
moths are ready to play hide and corrode ,
already settled in the dark corners,
I am breathless, those torn papers
have mocked at my stuffy box.

A Strange woman's point of view

‘ can you answer the question “who am I ?” ‘
Carelessly putting back her dishevelled hair,
she giggles and replies, “pretty cool as easygoing
as this grazing cow, sex is my appetite, flesh is food,
no bond, no wedlock, no husband, children are nuisance,
visit to the pub and bar, my addiction,
no contradiction, bath tub is my luxury,
as long as hold this bottle of drink
whether country wine or French wine
I am supine, my eyelids drooping,
off to bed ,“ she falls on her bed
with a thud, she is transparent
transparent, no doubt.

Carefree of discomfort

The nonagenarian, pale and lean
shrunk like a lettuce on the iron cot,
She monopolises it for three years,
Coma enters into her thin frail
for twenty days nearly,
her grandson’s ping pong ball,

not sound enough to reach
her almost deaf ears,
the white bed pan
that has served many
before looks askance
at the surroundings.

She has greened three
Generations , nourished
to their growth and prosperity,
all surrounding with eyes
wide open to view her
slowly closing eyes,

can she feel those fluttering
flowery curtains? the metaphor
of breeze wavy through her
grilled windows? those
chattering birds or loud
acoustics of politicians?

In the dead of her life,
Life is still for her.

in the wet of the forest.

It is my green desire
to go dreaming about
in the wet of the forest,
to merge with the green,
to play by the nutmeg
and the brown timber,
I see some marks of
Carpenter’s axe, sharp
like wound cuts
the tender sun hides ,
like a coy bride behind
the clouds, it rains , rains,
the green earth absorbs all
water into the fissures,
woody green shade is
like a jade of protection
for the needy and helpless,
I play in the wet of times.

Evolution

E ternity, comprise eternal laws such as
V iolation of dharmic rules ,rape, and greed
O ffence in public and officiousness
L ust and languor that lead to lugubriousness;
U ubiquitous lord of the Supreme
T ears and turns down all that is disastrous
In vengeful ire and wrath engulfing
One and all that is sinister and sinful
Negating man’s cruel wickedness.

I am born again

I am born again in a cyclic pattern,
an agent of catharsis,
to dive, to delve into the deep,
to solve and dissolve the evil.
I am born again to save the
Unborn from dying,
to weave a magic of dithyramb
into the minds of disillusioned,
to unknot the perilous to
Construct a more peaceful
dome of bliss and beatitude.
I am born again to be incarcerated
to redeem the purloined , purblind
humanity from the pawn,
I am born again to distil the
Waters of sanity in the mundane
and insane,
I am born again and again
to relieve those in torpor .

Fearless Fear

Fearless fear.
I turn the dreamy psychoanalytical pages
Of Sigmund Freud to join hands with the
Miles and miles travestying Frost, pick up
the apples and pass on to the old styled
Auden, gather some philosophical tenets,
look around people; some praying
and PREYING upon inwardly the innocent;
yet, many are fear ridden,
I have an awesome fear for the
Lord, God the ever vigilant Supreme;
any act of deliberate amiss
will go for His chastisement,
Quite a few fall in my line,
Fear grips some for the awful
demeanour of the past , the
diabolic devil shaking those
to the roots, even now,
in the nearby cottage, the dying,
almost dead, is fear stricken,
for the stake of his final journey;
the playful schoolboy fears
the frequent indulgence of
the cane of the schoolmaster,
there are many ramblers
fearless of fears ,
Fear stares at all, fearless.

Heaven is the place for HIM

The sweet swan broods,
A silent, melody
Winking at the blue sky,
The brook is liturgical,
Ornithologist , sitting by
my side, marvels at the
covey of birds swoop down,
“with His two legs, ever watchful
eyes, a halo and whirling club,
why doesn’t God descend
to this earth?” maverick he is
he queries, with eyes wide open,
MY Miltonic mood of muse
Responds, this murky muddy
Sinful place is too much for Him,
for Him to wield all at one go,
for HIM to step on and stay,
Heaven is the place for HIM.

Solitary ones

It is the solitary Him with his
Ubiquitous vision of predictive
Protective logo that we worship,
It is the solitary singer on the road,
Cares least for the alms,
It is the bird watcher, solitary
In the forest flies with the poetic
wings ,in search of serenity,
it is the solitary who rewrites
the history of the past
fused in a poetic tune,
the solitary thinker in you
brings out the stupefying
hidden facts to the blind,
it is the unique solitariness
that procreates my creative
bent of mind.

Morning coffee

It is the boiling kettle of water,
Stream s puffing out for hot coffee
decoction inviting many of the kids,
and the adults in the ever warm kitchen
in my mother’s household,
It is the first sip cup of coffee,
that peps us up, for the rest of
the day, it is first sip from the
hot cup with the fine flavour,
that is the propelling factor
for the poet for the inspiration,
it is the morning coffee,
which is a bed coffee for many,
without which a bad morning,
it is the aroma that invites
many a good neighbour
to my house for a chat,
it is the coffee for which
she gave a modelling pose,
it is the coffee which runs
the race everywhere.

Longing

Longing
It is the creepy longing for something
Indefinable, this makes some, hum a song,
In the hub of humanity, it is this longing
which needs seclusion for some to seek,
It is this longing for human kindness which
most of us crave in duress and all times,

It is the longing for its clan
that a crow caws ands shares,
it is the longing for that lonely
rhythm which seeks salvation,
it is this unspoken unique voice
that clings to the Alone,

It is this longing for Thanksgiving
which makes me adore my Avatar,
My mentor, the universal Supreme.

In the forest.

There is Life in the forest,
Life in the flora and fauna,
Life breathes in the tall
pure and pine .

there is life in the forest,
Woodbine and woodcock
Intertwine to vie with peacock,
Parrots repeat chanting hymns.

There is life in the forest,
When sweet water
While scythe intervenes,
rude stem, flows in profuse.

There is life in timbre
and melody flows
as if oaken flutes,
melancholy flows in

wooded, green forest,
there is life for the anthills,
there is life when coupling
snakes , still in seclusion,

there is life in the bubbling river,
life in the colourful fishes flowing by.
life in the primeval forest,
life in the wooded forest.

FROZEN

Yonder, she is milking the cow, the dumb,
to feed the selfish human,
the Blue is pouring dogs and cats,
The maize and the grain bask in
the warm sunlight, high and serenade,
the fields are profuse wet,
oh! Only man’s heart is frozen,
Thaw less beyond redemption,

My memory does not erase,
to think of those bitter
experiences of the past,
to reconcile those harsh,
frozen , shriek, stiff, dark,
it needs ages, insufficient time,
even, time is melted, thawed
into nothingness. Frozen frozen.

Friday night

Friday night
Friday night is illumine d bright,
My home with candelabrums great,
At the sanctum sanctorum,
My home’s altar, where my
Ruling deity adorned by flowers,
Incense and camphor permeates,

Friday night, outside sky is bright,
It is azure, starry night,
There emanates, A song,
notes of my questioning
heart, marvels at the mystery
of the universe,

it is after this holy, Friday night,
I crave for the two days of rest,
Saturday and Sunday,
tireless my mind tired my body,
Friday night is good,
Friday night is bright and great.

Destiny

Destiny
I t starts from the embryo,
enters into all shapes
like a wary conjurer,
taps the doors of success,
tickles the mound of
Pretentitious disappointment,

Destiny is a ruthless politician
Casting words at the podium,
It Slips through the back door,
At times sits in the front gate,
Doesn’t care if it is a bedroom
Or bath shower, or a moving bus,

It is the destiny that engulfed
Many in tsunami globally,
It is the ire of destiny that
Shook the cradles of
ancient Civilisation,
did and undid many wars,

it is the destiny shaping us all,
it is the destiny shaking us all.

The Road Ahead

The road ahead is the road taken
The road ahead is a thoroughfare,
Preferred after a well thought of
Prolonged deliberation, no short cuts,
No ambivalent paths, nothing to bypass,
Only to bypass the impasse,
The road of the past , uncertain,
Despair creeping into me,
I had to traverse the zig zag path,
full of meanderings , pell mell,
the road of the wilderness laid,
thimbles and thistles, pricking me,
the road past leads to the present,
to the distinct future, future of clarity.

BEING ALONE

Like a brooding Dove,
Sitting alone on this mound,
I stare at those unreachable
Twinkling , friendly stars,
Yet am feeling lonely,

I am part of this medley,
am part of this motley,
yet , I am alone,
to feel and comprehend
The Alone,

The bird on the bending
Branch, caws, calls for its clan,
I am part of the crowd,
Yet I am alone,
Sing alone the lonely song.

Amidst this pretentious mob,
Each one of us, left within us,
A movement of being alone,
Sing alone the lonely song,
I am being alone.

A snowy day

No kisses, no homework, no sums,
No toys, no tantrum from mom’s
Duty conscious screams,
for there is no school today.

it is a dark , dismal snowy day,
I see nothing but white sheets of snow,
Mom! You bake cakes indoors,
let me play with ice flakes .

it is a dark dismal, snowy day,
let me go roller-- -skating,
on this day of heavy snowing,
with my teddy bear hugging.

It is a dark dismal snowy day,
But for me it is a lively day.

My bag is full of nonsense

My vanity bag is full of nonsense,
Of silly crab of scribbled pieces
Stemming from my imagination,
Some wiseacres call it hallucination,
I call them poetry, some name them
Jittery, there is no jewellery or lottery,
A plastic comb to set right my
Dishevelled hair, a sticker for my forehead,
Do in Rome as the Romans do
They say, I dare not gainsay,
My quibble craves for some sense,
Some garlic and ginger to pep up
My mood of intense ,
My bag full of nonsense.

homework

Homework
I do my homework in class,
When others go, have a running race,
I avoid the nightmare at home,
for my dad, my brother, my beloved mom,
it is a sinister syndrome,
Sitting in turns with my books,
of various subjects and tricky sums,
if homework is not done,
by canes I will be undone,
homework is a matter of pressure,
if done in a hurried measure,
no fun, no television, no movie,
bending my face to the surface,
minimal homework, more pleasure,
more homework ,less leisure,
I hate homework in undue stress,
I love play more and more
to relieve my stress

Anothr birth of new quantum

Her zeal of salamander is quenched
The orgy of her past deeds,
Slow , shrinks her face:
Janus turns the mirror of
hoary past, rewinding her past,
she sinks into the abysmal sea of life,
surging waves of the ocean guzzle her,
even amidst choking she sings Dithyramb,
sinks far below the fathomless deep,
Retribution on the heap,
She invokes DIONYSUS for
A new life, fresh beginning, clean start.

what groomed me

What groomed me?
It is not the first feed of breast milk
that you did nipple with tender care into
my mouth, when the umbilical cord was cut
you put me in my baby seat,

it is not the hurried washing of the
utensils with minimal water, in scarce days,
after which you hurried me into my school
to seek admission right from my pre KG,

It is not adjustment to get progress
Card signed by you to protect me from
the occasional wrath of dad, not even
the homework you did to save me

me , from being caned by mechanical teachers,
it is not the unredeemed jewellery
you pledged to pay my colleges fees
it is not the concern, you ran after me with

the hall ticket for the exam, it is not the
wait during my return from my excursion
to local zoo, it is not the insults you bore
from counter to counter,

it is the fulcrum of support,
Congenital affection through fallopian tube,
the concern for my well being,
the Prayer, selfless sacrifice, groomed me .

When crafty lonliness bugs you.

When this crafty loneliness bugs you,
You tend to hug the warmth of humanity,
Phlegmatic matter of routine dilutes
Your already thinned nerves,
The warp and weft of your soul’s
craving seeks the inner meaning
of the cosmos, existence,
you read every movement of the crowd,
yet, Supine, helpless, on the podium,
bow of violin goes up and down,
sings serenity in cacophony.

The orange peelings

It is in the sombre winter’s dark morning,
darkened by the croaking of frogs,
day begins with the ordeal fo r me ,
I wash my bowl of oranges,
those plump peelings give a cry of wail,
yesterday we covered those plump pith,
You can’t gain entry without our permission,
Today we are demoted in the bin,
Scary flies are swamping around us ,
free permission, what an irony!

Paper plane

Paper plane.
From earth’s crevice, it takes off
to unimaginable rapturous dizzy heights,
propelled by intuitive imagination,
piercing through puffy clouds,
dragging along the zigzag manner ,
I too fly along with it, explore unknown zones
Little knowing the ground realities,
I was running along somewhere
in the middle path, lost into space perhaps,
it got crushed for it is only a paper plane,
me too, the whereabouts not known,
it is only a paper plane.

I let it go
I let go the passion of cankerous evil of jealousy
for once it starts corroding me, I find the
uprooting devastation , slowly consuming me
without a checkpoint,
I let go the fish caught in my cupped palm
for its survvival , for GOD has created life
for it in the water,
I let go my head ache , for
my work suffers with the
bug of intruding pain,
But I let not go patience
for once it goes, life drains.

A thing of Beauty.

A thing of Beauty , which we think is lost,
is never missing for ever,
if not yesterday, today gains new release
of renewed life with colour.
with redoubled grandeur.

The cold, cloudy wintry morn,
exposed to the sky’s chuckling scorn,
the weird like magnolia tree, in dark stems,
as I sit and watch the barren twigs,
impoverished , brown, not a single leaf,

To day, to my surprise, just sprouting buds ,
as if hungered and thirsty , intertwine,
yet could my eyes glance blossomed
rosy magnolias, in thick clusters,
beatitude of Bliss and beauty in flowing colours.

Motherhood

Motherhood

Divine Mother’s
evanescent smile
bespeaks of many things,
motherhood, universal
motherhood, motherhood,
Mother is mother,
whether abominably poor,
Or altruistically affluent,
she is the common
denominator, unique,
for she undoubtedly
fostered you with the
first drop of that
precious mother’s milk
and selfless ,unpolluted care,
she protected you
within the cosy walls,
her womb, though
you kicked her time
and again,mother,cares
for ever, earth like
patient, penetrating,
mother is mother,
let us not smother
our conscience
mother is mother.

I am overwhelmed to be

I am overwhelmed to be....
Oh! God , I am overwhelmed to be,
Today, in the vast, united states of
America, to be in the temple of
Sana tana dharma, wearing the
Diadem of gratitude, to the Maker,
For He who makes the Nation ,
Nature, also nurtures the Myth
Of Your survival, chance of your
Being here, le t again thanksgiving,
form the core of the beginning
and end of Each day,
for all your benign Grace,
for each hour, each breadth take up
an embalmed vow to sing
gratitude to your Maker,
for He who makes and mars,
let the privilege reach the
forbidden and denied,
let me not have the
Contracted mind to reap
it for myself, again and again
it is a wonder and mystery,
God’s boon has myriad
inexplicable connotations,
you may retire from your profession,
but no retirement for gratitude and Meditation.

Chattering monkey

Chattering monkey
Chattering monkey in the morn
Stirs me with a wakeup call,
go to your laptop with a tap,
set a tune on this keyboard,
with a song on a springboard,
cheating, cheating, cheating,
beating, beating, brow beating,
chattering monkey in the morn,
springs from within with a sound of horn,
wake up, wake up, wake up,
chattering monkey recedes ,
to have a new make up.

His passion for Undoing

Stretching in His orb,
extending , all pervading , His
impartial looks and rod,
it is His unique passion for
the chiselled creation, to
watch and hook and steady
those who run helter sklter
and welter in the quagmire of
lust and carnivorous greed,

It is His passion undoing
and doing man’s impassioned
perilous deeds , purblind thinking,
in His passion, there is explosion,
Encapsulation. endless enumeration.

On the semi naked person

On the semi naked person,
like a burst combustion engine
She fell upon his white, marble like
body, his face only a just withered flower,
kisses are like Heaven’s showers,
a thin cotton cloth covering his loins,
tattered, life’s full fulcrum
i s gone, time spent in the army,
transparency is seen in his
uncovered story of his life.
she wails and weeps on the
semi naked person.

All zeroed to nothing

I lift both my hands,
to worship the sun god,
rising with a smiling nod,
lines criss cross,
my folded hands,
age has its slow and steady
impact on the subdued body,
undaunted will prevails
yet, the bickering monkey,
the braying donkey,
the caterwauling felony
eating my flesh,
as some feel, if at all,
all zeroed before the
dwelling deity,
The Avatar smiles.

Change is inevitable

Change is inevitable
Miles and miles away,
from my home country,
here, in California, I see
the popped up rosy buds
amidst barren twigs, the wintry
winds blowing, those magnolia

limpid , crave for the warmth of sun,
with the changing seasonal shifts,
how much of change , change brings
in the distance of Time and
Wuthering, weathering days,
God alone does not change,

I live the present
With a fervent hope to
See the tactile drama
Of ordained life in the future,
While viewing the past,
How much of challenge

One sees in the negatively
Pointed, corroding ego,
Inner vision presages
like a sooth sayer,
change for the better is
inevitable, imminent.

A reply from Prometheus

A reply from Prometheus
I asked in an imaginary poetic mood,
A question to Prometheus
why can’t you quench the fire
which you thoughtlessly stole?
Hell fire is raging in Heaven,
Earth is quaking, shaking,
Out came a prosaic reply,
I can’t quench, there is NO WATER,
too much of sinning around me.

A sense of belonging

Clear us of our uncouth mess,
with the craving look of utensils,
in the dishwasher, your soft hands
deal dexterous, wash and wipe,

the spooky sponge counteract the soot,
the accumulated foam slowly
down the sink, there is a sense
of belonging, longing,

with the tactile tap on the
keyboard, with the pop ups
blocking, you avidly blog,
there is a sense of belonging,

warp and weft of the sari,
shiny on your delicate skin,
the weaver and the design,
there is a sense of belonging,

the taste of Indian culinary masala,
the subconscious recording of poem
which is a tabula rasa,
there is a sense of belonging.