At the end of the final journey...

                         At  the  end   of the   final  journey......

       

   Alaska   to  Africa,  Nebraska  to  Nainital

Mapping   in  the   mind ,tracks  on

The   rout less   journey;

 A   self  willed      Wallkie   talkie

At  the  end of the apparently

Conclusive   path, nothing is conclusive,  

  you   read the  meandering

Past, so  much  has been misread

 and   misapplied , some  pages   are

even  kicked off   to the donkey

as    fodder ,  human   intelligence

works  faster,  some  break   is  inevitable,

 the     cover   of the   taffy

Peeled   off. Not  a  tasty  bite

But  a   sobering  tale ,yet

Destiny  tunes  , takes it own   course.

You   read  and   rehearse  the tale

to  the   dormant  society.

I weave a dream of...

           I weave a dream


I weave a dream ,
the colourful threads
are broken in the process,
the needle pricks me,
a  blatant reminder
pinafore of planning
looks pathetic,helpless,
for it is avaricious dream
a dream of impossibility.

The boy on the third step...

              The   boy   on  the   third  step

The   smart  boy on the third step

Of  the  staircase,   broad   and   safe,

A  place  for  most  to  ruminate,

for  some   for  alms,

 three   is  always   his   favourite,

 plays into the  web of  algorithm

 works   out    algebra,

hawthorns   and    pale     primroses

  dare not    sprawl   before his

mathematical  eye,

bends   and  minds  his business

fully  aware  he cannot solve

humanity’s   hump teen  sorrows,

for  THEY  are stubborn,  thistles ,

a  mild , sudden ,   spooky  sound  before  him,

it  is  the  spoon, with a  shimmer ;

the  spoon , deliberate  or  inadvertent 

he  knows not.

His  eye is his  algorithm.

Meekness

          Meekness



Meekness is a like a tusk
Remove it by the branded
axe of arrogance, see saw
with the blade of assured returns,
assumptions that are
returns which are no dividends
but deadline for doomsday:
your majesty is gone, invite danger,
you are powdered and pounded
on the Mother Earth,
Embodiment of patience.

The Raven in most of us

       The   Raven  in   most of us...

It is  past  ten  at  night, I am  awakened ,

I   see  through  the   window,

The  coal wagon  comes  to  a halt 

for  want of  signal,

Smoke   and  coal   and wheels,

Black   puffs of  smoke  blinding

blending  the environment

those   are  decades  age.

From   afar,  a  Raven  like

 Popping  out , be  discoloured

by   brown  twigs   and  leaves.

The  prurient     raven  in most  of  us

lavishes    unethically   protruding  wants,

 they  are  desires ,   jostling  to the forefront,

 unaccountable  wants, jelly fish,

those  are belligerent quacks

impinging   upon  our   reason    and dignity.

  

My Home

                My Home


Home , a glittering coin of two sides,

elusive, the coin rolls and
triggers , your hidden verve, mine too,
whose possession is it going to be,
methinks ,home too is
a block of concrete, cement slabs:

Mending wall, appeasement for hungry
Stomachs and hankering souls,
Home is a also a dividing wall,
where leeches breed, renting
Relationships , partnerships, counting
In terms of loss and profit ever,

I cocoon myself in a corner,
taps on my laptop,
Singing to the rhythms of
Creativity, occasional
munching of cashew nuts,
My vista, my tabula rasa.

Homecoming

             Homecoming



It is the fervent homecoming
of a beloved chick hugging
the care of its mom, warmth,
encoded affection only for life’s sake,
Affection is Life :
The chic so far shattered by a
not limpid multiple influences
foraying into his thinking:
and distancing itself ,
Coired by tremulous cocooned shell,
Now ,mother’s shadow
Permeates the flaggy wool of serenity,
Mother's  shadow goes well
with the Homecoming.
The Homecoming of the chic.

The High Speed...

        The high speed



It is the feline chase by the tom cat
that the otherwise sprightly sparrow
Speeds up to seek asylum on my window:
The spongy wings flutter, is it out of jittery
Panic or automated course of flight?
Combined both. Could be.
Now it slows down to peck the grains
Sprayed slender plastic bowl.
The High Speed of the water tanker
 overtakes the heavy loaded auto –rickshaw
innocent children , a morning ritual to school,
a bunker slows it down, slimming the route.
Shaping their fate .
It is the high speed and manipulated
Connivance, your patrimony is seized,
God’s Boon is a methodical, slow Gift,
Consequences are His High speed Shift.

Winnowing

           Winnowing




The sequestering chess master
Pulls and cuts in between the
Black and white on the pliable
Chess board, construing it
as if it is a Life of game,
so immersed is he that the
silent night is stretched
to the waking dawn,
yes, we all need a waking
dawn to redeem from the
boisterous clutter and claptrap
bemusing most of us,
the chirping birds fluttering
swoop out of their cocooned nests,
their nests, their home, their efforts,
a matter of pride for the winged ever
to come back and cuddle their chicks.
Some agricultural reformer
Swings a sickle ,
I can only look up for a wind
Or rain or solace from above.
Ground erupts always.