Those eyes

    Those    eyes

Those  universal    eyes  within  the  frame

Encompassing  ,encapsulating  more

and   more of  visionary  gleam

 today  undergoes vile    censure,

vituperation,  and  cinematographic    shifts,

outcome  of  contracted, myopic  vision,                                                                     

Those  universal   eyes

merged  with  the  third  eyed perspectives

glance, peer   and predict,

those   eyes  are  unfailing   ever.

It falls

  It    falls

I   look  up straining    my  neck,

after  forty  eight  hours  of   steadfast

dangling  in the  air, it  dances,

holds  stead fast,  undaunted,

It  is  like  me , content  to be

By itself  in   a  sedate corner:

The  tiny, threadlike, in  for 

Steady growth, it  perpetuates

Its   life  in the  void, in the corner,

Fearless ,except it  falls in the        

Eyes  of  those evil  and greedy      

ready  to  devour  and destroy,

a  timely  tap  on the board

deters  the   lizard, I watch ,

the  filmy  weaves  a  web

of  its own,  content   and careful.

December peels

                                December  peels

 November   showers   end,   still  pop out of the

Sky   today ,  as  I view  from  my  balcony,

  They   are  dismembering    clouts; still   no  wants.

December’s   melodies   melange

With   the  Dawn’s   whispering   blossoms,                                     

Something    like   a   clairvoyance                                                                                                                                    

Springs  from  within  upwelling ,

Climbing  the  tricky  ladder of   hope.

  It   chimes   like  paradigms

In your   heart,  ringing   out   the old;

Somewhere    from  the grass 

Emanates  the smell of  airy  wet winds

 Coiling  fresh   roots. I  go  back  to

My  days   of   cold  thundering             

 November   Morn.  Church  choir

On the  cliff  rings  out  the old.

                     

Twin sisters

        Twin  sisters.

My  Soul  wears  the  crown of 

Serenity ,  views  from  afar,

For   the  Skin   shrinks  day  by  day,

Even      afore  skin   stood   aloof

In the hollering   crowd,

Did not  want to  wound  her

Soul mate ;  far away embers

Of  log  only    guffaw ,

At  many  in  queue,

My  soul  wears  salient,

  The    crown  of  Serenity .

The wall before me

The   wall  before  me.

  Plugged  wire  like  a  snake

Signals  love  with   the  switch,

Why  not   permission?

Reaches   the   table,

The    majestic   wall  is  blank,

Stares  back  at  me,

I am  not  the  brick   and  

 mortar  alone  Used  with  lime  ;            

generations  ahead  will 

foster    their  dreams 

at   least     for  a century,

wall  energises   my  furthering 

moves , mocking  the moisture

on    the  floor, my  moisture d

face    glares   back  on  the  wall.

Spin or Shun

                   Spin   or     Shun

  Just   now    done   a    page   of     Dithyramb,

Look   above    for   a resolve,

But  I  hear  a   more   definite  rhythm   evolve ;

They  are  the  God men ,recite, in uniform  beat,

Spinning   and    chanting, chanting   and spinning,

Spin  the  impeccable  wheel  of  our   destiny,

Set  the   path  of  our  Karma,

Our  Karma  is  dawned    by  them

As  the  vibrant  chanting   goes  on;

The  celluloid   cacophony  in the

background     goes  , the    continuum

 of     wheeling  by God man  rolls  on.          

In God's pot

   In    God’s pot

In   God’s well  augmented

  Pot,   Unbiased, unequivocal,

Just  as  straight  from  Heaven’s

Bounteous, long  spell of  showers,

Rains   splashing   Unto this   eddied

 earth,  Yesteryears’   seeds, saplings,

Today’s  sweat   and toil,

Tomorrow’s Sunbeams    flourish ,

Blossoming  flowers   boom ;

Her  smile  of   returns,

Many   a  sickle   in   queue 

 to  knock  and  Trespass  the   yield.

God’s  pot   cares  less.

                                  

Life is ..

  Life    is.

Life    is a    blithe  spirit                                                    

Circling ,  soaring   higher,

Methought, suddenly                 

In  a   swoop  drawn  by 

Many   spooky    arrows,

Dives   to   this     earth,

Wound cuts  still  pierce,

Make  it  bleed,            

Some  sage in  a passerby

Soothes  with   medicinal  care,

In  another  event, this

Wheel   of  life   racing ,

But   too  many  stumbling  blocks

 Clustering  speed  breakers

Dismantle  the  wheel of 

Commercialised, uncheked

 Wheel Now  comes off,

Awaits  a  fresh  lease of life.

 Both   eager  to  take off.

                                                                                                    

                                                

November Rain

                     November   Rain

It  falls, roars, straight  into   the

Pitted, rough  earth, uncompromising

Like   Karma’s   axe  on the  targeted;

                               

They    are    Heaven’s  darlings ,   dual 

glossy  layers, both    merciful   and merciless,

rummaging    through  the green  and sheen,

I n  November’s   seasonal,  unfailing    

Rain, no  puddles  ,splashes,today,

For  I am indoors, glued  to  my  seat,

 your   indomitable  spirit ,catches  

the  high-spirited   of  the  foamy

flow     on the    open    roads,

you  pen  on the  closed  chambers

of  man  who is     reeking    and reeling

on  the  puff  of  his  ugly  soaring   desires.           

This whimpering jubilation,crackers

This    whimpering   jubilation, crackers...

This  day,  these  crackers on the open  ground,

Rising  flower  pots, though upfront, melt  down

Whimpering   jubilation, cracking   ear drums,

Yet   a  colourful    feast  to  the eyes,

Sudden  shooting  monsters, some   lifeless

On   the wet ground, encircling   smoke above,

You    carefully   trample upon

  disembarked   entities,   decoloured ,

spooky   puffs  of   smoke  around you,

 At  the end of  the journey  this is life.

Something popping out on the wall

Something    popping  out on the  wall

Something   popping  out  on the   exterior  wall,

Defunct , deadly  life, this  living,

Modernized , yet  moribund  :  living  in   shallow

each minute  eating  up   your   conscience

You   allow  being  eaten up,

Even  the  void  terrifying   you,

 Something    pouring   in disguise

as  a  presage   On  the  web  of   mechanical

gyration, the   nodes   where filling

 and unfulfilled    desires  clash, 

yonder  you   sight  a 

breathless   whale, the   castaway catamaran

the   noon   time  delight of  urchins

allowing  countless  crabs  a freepaly,                       

in  a quickly  transported   vision

 you  see  the punctured  dead bones,

hither   and  thither  wandering ,something,

shadow    or enigma  or  a  soul  whacking

on the   half  burnt  bones,

flesh  already  corroded  when alive,

  fetish   for  wicked  or   sinister  living :

something  popping out  on the exterior  wall.

'' GANGA IS SUNKEN''

‘’ GANGA    IS  SUNKEN.

The  meticulously   bought   copper vessel

Tightly  sealed,  gurgling  within,

Ganga    water making  noise  when  shaken,

Sacredly  covered  in saffron  robe

Now   travels  in    A/C coach ,

Amidst   speeding  rail  sounds                          

On    curvature  tracks.

The   great  ,obedient, septuagenarian 

  son , strictly  adheres  to  the  command,

Obeys  the ordinance of  his great  mother,

brings  home   the sacred   symbol  from

Banaras in  all veneration ,prostrates at

The  feet of  his  aged  mother.

Home   jingling   in  all  religious

Venerosity  for  grandma  passes

Strict  injunctions   that   after

  ablutions  the    Ganga   Water

be  sprinkled  all  over  the  house,

Grandson ,the  third  generation product

Furtively  making  merry upstairs

Finds  no  harm  in  mixing   some  Ganga

Water  with  the  whisky vial.

‘’  Ganga   is  sunken’’

God has unfolded His Umbrella

God   has  unfolded  His  Umbrella.

God    has  already   unfolded  His 

Well wrought   scheme   of Umbrella

For   His    chosen   and  snag less;

 Man  folds   harsh  and crude

Punching  and pricking  his  palm,

The  splash   smearing  his  face,

Puddles  as  if   to  blur  and swat

He  is  faceless, like   a cat

With   scratches  criss cross  

Its   mewing ,  looking  aslant;                                                                                                                    

God  has  unfolded  HIS  Umbrella,

Rains  ! Rains! It  splashes from the

Heavens .   Man    cannot  fold  them. 

Smart kitchen, Smart God.

  Smart  kitchen,  Smart  God.

My  well equipped  kitchen

With  a  shiny  tiled floor

Reflects   the  vessels  my  

Granny  passed on  to me,

 Ceded  out of  love  and affection,

My  wedding  gifts,  ancestral  galore!

 A picture  of modern kitchen

 Hangs on the  painted wall

Mocks  at those  upside down

 Giggling  vessels;                             

 Microwave ,  Tupperware  

Melamine  and    hot packs  almost   ready

to  usurp   their coveted   seats;

Inadvertently   thrown   matchstick

Still  dangling  with  a flicker of  Life,

Mates  with  a  dry    Jet clean   scouring  pad,

‘Ready  Set  Go’

The  magic flow  of water

On the black  granite

My  Home  God  improvises

To  quench  the  ire,

Smart  kitchen, smart  God.

Awakening

     Awakening...                                                                                          

 After  decades  of  torpor,

 You   never  knew  the happenings,

For  your  tarot  cards failed ,

Or   wilfully  executed  masterminded,

Strategy  by   those that  excel  in their art,

The  chess masters’ move  was   taciturn,

All the move was centripetal,

Subaltern  and wile, not perceptible

By   your naked eye.

This  awakening   comes like  a flower,

A  golden   Frisbee coming  towards you,

Sudden   like  the  advent of  celebrity.

                                                                                                                                                                               

Faith

            Faith

When   the  city  was engulfed

by   the   gruesome  blackout ,

the wailing  thin city as if

Clamped  by  curfew,

The   roaring  sea  devastated,

the bridge  and the  rail

giving   the  happy    passengers

A  clean  and sudden burial,

 the  Labour  in the  hospital

goes   on , the  cry  of the

new   born  comes in,

 the   flicker  of  the  candle 

emits    hope   for  the  inmates,

I  the lone  walker  on the

Flooded  road,   breathe

Faith ,   by the   felled

Tree,  slowly  Falling,

Falling  in the   Fallen hour.

Requiem for missing one

 Requiem   for  a  missing one.

Two  years  have  passed,

Two  long  years , no  ! they  are  short,

Looks   as if  it  happened  yesterday.

Where  are  you  ? Where  did  you  disappear?

I chanced  upon  a  blue  coloured  sari

Gifted  by you,  even  the  cupboard 

Wails for the loss, loss of  both.

I    look up   to  the    heavens

  demanding     full  Justice, 

is  she  eclipsed by them?

they  are  clever in their  whisper,

whisper  of the   Message,

she  is protected  by  every  wink,

every  blink of the stars,

personal  care.  Away, away

from this eclipsing  threnody.

What  is   Real  Dark?

You   are in the  deep  centre  of  the 

Gnawing   Rut  of  abysmal  confusion 

Corroded  by  Sins  Syndrome, 

Not  knowing  the  reason ;

 You  are  the  butt of   revile,

This  is  the  real   dark ,

The  causing  treadmill  continues

 Its    work ; its  tireless  play,

You   are  the   munching  cow  now,

Mull over  the  stupefying   mystique,

It  is  like  Stygian  cave,

Could  hear  the guffaw;  

Guffaw   by   outwardly smiling

  Yet ,  Boiling  within..

At last   you  go  circling.    and circling

Circle  beyond  the  ambit of   revival,

till    you  get  submerged

until   some   redeeming 

Divine   divines   your   anchorage.

Yes! it is endless

                                                       Yet, it is endless....                            

                                                      

                                            It is   summer’s end,

                                            Slow  breeze  as  hesitant

                                             as  the  unwilling,

                                           Whimpering of   this life,

                                            Morning   fresh  showers

                                           as  throbbing  as

                                          the   wake up  call,

                                           in my  chilled  room

                                           and   my  cosy  corner;

                                          the   fallen    leaves 

                                          as if dissociated  from

                                         their  no cognisant   stems

                                         search  a  haven on the  land;

                                         how  many  walk upon 

                                         merciless  on those

                                         deserted ,lonely, vagabonds,

                                        another   whiff of  autumnal

                                       force, the  heaps  are

                                        driven desperate  to a  corner.

                                     

A room of one's own

 A room of  one’s own

 Something   stares    back on me

as if  a    bamboozled,wandering ,

looking  at what?           

 The  murky   smell of dust,

Like  irreconcilable

Sediments, unswept layers

Of   deep-rooted , pain inflicting  

Cogitations thronging   those  many,

The  smell of  tea , otherwise aroma,

Puffs of smoke emanated  two days  ago

Scary  flies  today  mercilessly swarm,

The  broken pieces of ‘’Fa’’                          

Edge  the   shiny ,polished  table,

exotic   fragrance is dissipated,

pile of  uncollected ,multi  magazines

crave my  touch and glance  quick,

jasmine, breathless ,dethroned

from   their  stem,

my    being    away   for  two days,

it is not room of  my own.

                

Her diary

 Her    diary.

Holding  a  diary  not  as slim

as  her,   walks,    entwined  with   her

bulk ,  tumbles  upon  a  stone,

moorings , usually  strengthening,

what ?   the Devil’s  deep seated  tent:

flamboyant   , wanton,

  questionings: they  are

the  deadwood   in front  of  her,

at the end of  the  day

  they   are  the  strangles ,

tightening ropes ,

sceptical  about  the  Universe ,                

her  diary  scribbled with 

perplexities , she  un mutes  her

hitherto silenced  voice, how 

long  to be  a  thrall  to this

gruelling  monster  within?

Scoffs   the   ruling  passion

Of  notes  in a  pond  nearby. 

de language of kids (txtspk poetry)

    De  language of  kids.

De  language of kids is   play ,

Pranks,    assemble , 2   ensemble,                                        

a   release  of  their  word play

wth  imagination.         

De  language of  Gd’s   is  also

Divine ,ply ,                    

  apply    patience  

 release    wth   penetration.

We are crude monsters

 We are  crude    monsters

 Green   blade  of  grass

As  sharp   and  cutting 

As  the    sharp  memory

Of  God  who  dwells  also

Upon the  blade  or  bunch

Sticking  on the   piercing  smell

 Earth bound  rudimentary,

Up fronting    the benefactor  sky.

Those   are  not  morning’s

Fresh   pearly     dewdrops, 

Tears  of  angst  for  we

Mercilessly  trod  upon  them,

Can you find tears from the

Uprooted grass ,the  crushed

Flies ,insignificant insects

For even when alive insignificant:

Looking  up  to  the  Heavens

I   too  trod upon the  tender

bunch  green  and   sharp   

but are they sharp to retaliate?

My Space

       My space.


My space is huge  and interminable Faith
in the realm of God  and His Fort,
indomitable  and unyielding,
you  walk on the heap of the withered grass
to be burnt  or fed as fodder,
the   land   can  be  disgruntled,
a  transient    facade,
yet,my space   is  huge and interminable Faith.

You are on my Right..

  You   are  on my  Right....

You   come  straight  as sunbeams

Unswerving   as the   Rod of  Justice,

These   warm     shades  or    silent  wake up 

Calls   for  those on the green field

With the  pail  of  curd  rice  

and   lemon   pickle ; they  still 

hugged  by  the     mother  sleep,

done  their  karma  by the  paddy,

have  been doing  for  many  decades,

richly  paid  by  dividends  by  the  crops,

I worship  you  to  knock 

at my door , my  right  is  might.

                                                                                                                  

A facade

               A   facade

You   are miserably at  the

  very  centre of the  vortex,                

Cutting    cruel situation ,

The  spooky  spokes  of 

Conundrums   rising  by

Leaps  and bounds 

as   the  spring  ball,

what   are you  now?

An ignoramus ,itinerant

A  gypsy ,multicoloured  

Attire with big  beads,

Gnarling   around   your    neck;

Each   day  is  a domineering

Question   mark, sees    yonder

A  tree  as  tall   as  a  convoy,

Behind    the   bark of the tree

Gurgling  water  sounds

Flowing, whispering  secrets

Of  the   BIG  UNIVERSE.