Thursday, December 27, 2012

Can anything redeem those Innocence?


Connecticut Elementary School Shooting - Dec 2012 Poems

   A prayer,  a sad, painful   memory,
    a  candle  or  lamp  relives  your  life,
   also    those   departed noble  souls,
    silenced  into   suffering.
    The    bright   wick  of  lamp  glows,
   Fear  is  shed, pale   darkness
   recedes  like  a  defeated, dying  soldier.
  the illumined  glow  shines  
   as  if  with  a  warming  smile.
   But  this  to  stay  only
   a   short while .

 When  the  Dawn  of  Christmas  is  too  close,
 Those  innocent lives  are  also closed 
  To  be  opened  in   a  New  Haven,
 By  a  violent   trigger of   vile  bullet,
What  was    shed  was   Innocence,
What  was   cut short  was   tomorrow’s
Future  with  high  feats  and laurels:
What  blinds  those cruel with  calumny?
What binds those with wicked  treachery?
The  thread of Universal Peace
  and Harmony Is  jeopardized,

Can   anything  redeem  those
Innocence   and  lives precious? 

Sunday, December 16, 2012

In God's Hands..


  In  God’s  Hands...

In  God’s  Hands,
His   Special   Green ,
The   Golden  parrot 
Of   future reading
  picks   tarot  cards,
My  karma  plays,
Gets  tuned   with 
Early , pristine  visage,
Your  karma  stays,
All  our   karma  relays:
In the amphitheater of 
This   arena, a   mirage,
All    get  shaped,
go timely sharpened
as  the  dexterous
potter’s  clay  moulded,
at  times  you  get
deluded  : But  His  third  Eye,
the strong  sustaining
wand,  pervasive  sturdy,
whirls    round  on the
cute  beak of  the Parrot.
It   plays  in God’s Hands.


Thursday, December 13, 2012

Be true to your salt.


Be  true   to  your  salt.

On   New  Year   Eve
I  made  some  sweet  pudding,
Offered  to  God,
Placed  on  a sacred  plate,
It  looked  as if   THE Sacred  picture
Of  Avatar  spoke  by  intuition,
‘’Be  true  to each  and
 every  grain You   eat.’’
I took  some  grains 
And   sowed in my kitchen
Garden  tiny   cute   pots,
The  pots    looked   as
If  admonishing,
Be  loyal  to  the  farmer
Who   tills  the  land,
The   farmer beckoned me
The  land  :   ‘’  but  for  the 
Arable  land, His profuse,
I   wont  be here 
to  plough  and    cultivate’’.
I sowed   some  fertile
Seeds  to  germinate,
Seeds  advised  me
‘’ we   cannot even  breathe,
    We  look  to the skies 
   For  water  and  sunlight’’.
I looked  up  to  Heavens
The  sun, stars, moon
and  the  firmament  
chuckled: look  up 
we  are  all  created
by  HIM. THE   UNSEEN
Be  true  to  Him.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

December wails or wheels?


December   wails   or wheels?

When   the   year  with    ups  and downs,
Wayward   sentiments    and   peregrinations,
Wandering   souls, coming to   a close,
The   final   month  December,  cool  with  its
 parting    crescendo of  jubilations  and  windfalls.

The   wool  to   cover  you   cool ,
The  close   jacket   speaks  of
Its  loyalty, or  servitude, of  how
Many  years  of   its allegiance.
The  hanger  blissfully     smiles.

You   unearth  the  pot  of  memories,
The   century  old  house your
Ancestors   lived    died, the  coffee mugs
Arranged  in order  on the   wooden  shelf,
The   warm  home  brewed  coffee  

Served  in the   big  mug in the  December  morn,
In  the  garden the   doves   in the  merry  swing,
Make  us  crave  for  the  same  comfort,
December  wheels   out the  departing   year.
Drooping    Leaves   and     Dew drops   shed  tears.
 

Friday, December 07, 2012

This is the city and my work at this space.


   This    is   the   city and my  work  at  this  space.

This   is   the  city   in the  December  Morn,
Where  the   creeping    dark  still  haunts   dawn,
Birds   cosy,   self-willed, in  their   nests,
Hot  water , old  fashioned  boiler ,still 
In   ancient   roofs, copper   shines,
Granma’s  sentiment and  ancestral  lineage
Works, still   occupies  a  space,
Cattle   and  cow   graze ,  slow ,
  Proceed  to    Steady  pace,
Some   still  in   bed,  yawn ,
With  s  sturdy  blanket   to
Cover   their face, craving   more  time .
This  is   the  city  in the   December   Morn,
 I  move  on   the  personal  computers,
Records  the  slow   whispering  dawn
and   the   crows   and   song birds 
start   their   free play   in the 
falling   clusters   cleaving   popping  
feathers   and  bones.
This   is   the  city  in  the  December  Morn,
Temple   priests    agile  with  Vedic  hymns,
And  the  church  bells  chime   in
Repeated    tunes    and   chores.
Ardent    devotees  in queue
to   collect   offerings   in 
sweet    puddings   and   food  packets.
This  is  the   city  in the  December  Morn,
Where   vessels  jingle  in  busy
House hold  , the  housemaids,
Housewives   rivet   their  bangles  
and  hands  to  edge  their  toils,
This  is  the   city  in  December  Morn.

Thursday, December 06, 2012

I look at the full grown tree.


I look   at  the  full  grown  tree.

I  look   at the  verdant, lush green 
Dripping   to the  bottom of  the   stem
Or  the  deep roots, it  is  like  the
Nonagenarian   full   bent.
She   ambles  slow  and  steady.
The    embossing   full  green 
Speaks  of   ancient   galore,
Perpetuating   oneness  from
The  creator   and  the  entity,
Your  Soul’s  ongoing   journey,
Here  and  there, some    untold
Connection, connectivity,
From   distance   the   uniform
Soft, silken   green , glowing,
Mass   consoling   man
‘’ look   at   me   I am  evergreen, smile.’’





Friday, November 30, 2012

Flowers


Flowers

I see  the  world, spin
Spinning   on  the  wheel  of 
decadence    and    self  inflicted   despair,
 I look  pathetic   at  those flowers,
near   in  the  verge of  bathos,
 crave  for  company
In   falling   chill,
Some   still   hanging ,  ready  to 
Ensemble   the   fallen  petals,
Rosy, bitten by  the  frost,
They  all  spin  , spam ,
  in this  Spinning  world,
 Snowballing    tardy
Agnostic    belief,
We    bask   in  the   chilly
Corner  tightened  to  the
Rope of    strong    Faith.

Friday, November 23, 2012

What? who?


       What who?

What  drives  the  autumnal  leaves  to  shed
to  the  ground  or be  heaped  to  a mound,
Scattered  to  corners  as  if   dismembered
Clouts?   Who  gives water  to the seeds
Or  breath  infused to germinate?
 Yonder  the  soulless   bogies  already
On  peregrination   to  their  pre ordained
Destination . who  infuses  life  or  breath
Into  the  dormant  seeds  to germinate?
Who   descends  to  give   most needed
Helping  hand  to  redeem you  from  sinners?
 Who   transforms  the   listless  to  be  agile?
The   list is   too  many.




Thursday, November 08, 2012

November poem


November poem  2012

What    if    the leaves   fall?
I   am   slowly   atop   the   tree,
The   smart woodpecker
 Chirps ,pecks  the   tawny    
Stems, as if to rejuvenate,
  The   lonely   tree  reverberates,
  wetness   as if  God’s
  Mercy  Pouring   down,
The   gubernatorial  Sun
Hides  behind  the  clouds,
Deliberate  as if  to 
allow  them  to  release
The  down pour,
After  all  the  Sun
Is  The  Ruling  Rod 
Of  Justice.
Here   the   boys
Revel  in  November  showers
 paper boats   are    too many.
In   the  kitchen  grandma’s
Billowing  log  of  fire
Keeps   us  all  warm
From  the  shiver.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Suffering and Thanksgiving twin sisters


Suffering  and Thanksgiving twin  sisters.

The   long  voyurage,
Sea  ruffled  weather
feverish  hectic  holding  you
In the  midway,  mid sea,
Gnarling   waves ,
Magic  wand  of  creator,
Waves  touching   the   Moon,
 Eerie   nightfall, 
Days  and   nights   pass by,
Sceptic   if   you  would  
Reach    destination,
Afraid  if   your    Death’s Paw
Sure  to  grip  you   soon,
Finally   reach  ashore,
Many  thanksgiving,
Thanks, thanks  ,
Thank  ye, Gods,
For   being  with   me
Throughout  this   tricky
Journey, want   not  anything,
But  YOUR  WATCHFUL  HANDS.    

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Dream


Dream

In   my  noon   siesta,
I  dreamt   of   thousand 
Memories,  colorful  vistas,
Ambitions  stretching  far , and far,
Sailing   into    many    realms,
Overconfidence   giving it
A  colorful    glee,
Soon    all  those   memories
Galore   reshaped  into   a
Big  dream of  nothingness
A  void :  I    wake  up  
To  see  only  an 
Empty    space.



Thursday, October 11, 2012

October poem


                 October   poem.


  In   God’s  calendar  of   foregone
 Settings,  seasons   mostly  indulge
 In   fair  play. There   ought  to  be
  never  Room  for    umbrage.   

The  gardener’s  pail   sedate
Now  in  a corner, the  soil-  smelling
Sharp  bladed  grass   wails  to
The   windy, slow,   darkening, sky.

Not  merely  sore     bitter  feelings,
 Nor  Memory    whet   by  corrugated
Surroundings    like  secret hideouts,
Yet   you  crave   herbal  treatment:

 This    bugging   ortho    on the left  arm,
drives  me  to  the  bunch  of  leaves,
Grandma’s   celebrated  herbal  remedy,
Multi   purpose    Tulsi    leaves  rescue  me.

 The    crumbled  golden  leaves
Don’t  grumble  their   age’s   countdown,
Accept  demure , resign  to  their   Mother,
Different  from  mankind.

 October’s   Morn  is  slow
More  dignified  a  maiden,
 You  continue    Walk   with  me.  
Come   ye, October!

Friday, October 05, 2012

poetry in com (motion)


           Poetry is com(motion).

Today  is  national poetry  day,
My contemplative  Muse, agile
By my side,  gently dictates,
Type  as it comes  and inspires,
Don’t go by alignments   now,
I   wander  to  the  riverside
Of  my  younger days, lie  by
The  sand, watch  the gurgling 
Waters,  fish   move  along,
Beautiful  fins  glitter  in the
Ripples,   crabs   monopolize

The   sand dunes, playing,
I   look up the    starry  skies ,
Sun,   stars  ,moon    and rivers
don’t   have  karma  or
Consciousness, they    are
Carefree :  they  are    happily    static,
 only  we  struggle
With   the   baggage   going
Before us, they   drag    us  along
Meticulously  during  the  sojourn,
Still   the   age  long   query  lingers,
Why  I came? Where  do  we go?
This  tiresome  journey  knocks 
Mercilessly:  it  is   eventide
Slowly   merging  with 
Amber ed   Sun  to   His 
Majestic  abode of  Shift.
Dogs   bark  in  mistaken
Identity  at  the  fallen 
Mound of    leafage.
Poetry  in motion
Now  covers up my  commotion.





  

Thursday, September 27, 2012

This is now


This  is   now

This   is   now    pure   white   drop
Of  water    straight  from    above
 A   sprinkle  of    wisdom ,  a   dawn,
It   is   now   a   caterpillar   falls
From   atop  of  balcony  sticking   
On   terry  bath  towel,     you   remove  it 
with  the   tip   of       your    art pencil,
it   is   now   you  realize  you  are 
a     Haberdasher  to  be
soaked  in  the  water,
it  is   now    you    tear 
the  last   page  to  know
only  you  are in the  introduction.
This  is  now   past   12     midnight,   
You  brood  of   bygone   ‘then’
 This  is   a   strange   now. 

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Tears -what ?


  Tears    --what   ?
Tears   swell ,   sudden  flow,
could  be   some  
Pearls  of   jubilation, over
Some  reckoning, beckoning,
Reasoning ,  like   sky’s
Guarded    warp;
  unfailing   season’s 
Pour,   farmer’s  boon,

Those unsurpassing      tears
Monopolised  by  the  eyes ,
Now  gloat  over, roll  over,
Crossing   the  boundaries,
Rub  sweat on  the  cheeks,
Wet  her  neatly  folded
Sari, here  unfriendly 

Bend, reach,  what  for,  
She   knows  not.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Blank to Plank


  Blank   to  plank 
 A   paper boat,  a   torn kite,
A    trash  can   overflowing ;
Inescapable, inerasable;
It   is   all   blank, a total 
Blankness    devastating,
You   are  in   the midst  of 
 Bogey   of  mischievous   
Immersing   you   in   the
Tornado:  you  stagger
 Not knowing   the   cause ;
Sudden   SHIFT  into   a
PLANK  of  safety, a  grand 
Relief    like  a  big  flower
Adorning   the   Trinity:
Shored     plank  shared
Your   shares  unaccountable.   


Friday, September 07, 2012

poster poems September


  Poster poems  ---- September.

 Majestic   August  is  going  away,
Sun  beams   dim,  recline  westward,
Maudling   Pale    is  covering    the 
Stems     already  with  a   denial
To   accommodate
 Those   drooping  leaves:
 I  hurriedly  trod  upon  these
Rusty  brown  leaves,
Scattering, scattering   are
Those    leaves  yet  gathering
Garnished   moments  in life
Once  upon  a  time  precious 
Moments   they  were
Golden   and  shining,
But  faded  by   Time’s   calumny.
I cannot  hum ‘  come  September’
I  look  up  to  see  the  fallen  kite
Clinging  upon  the  hinges  of
The   thin  barred  branches,
 It  fritters, tries  to  extricate ,
You  watch on  with  a  rug  
To  cover  slashed  self.



Tuesday, September 04, 2012

Who am I ?


Who     am   I?

 Who    am  I?
 A  lean,  lanky ,
Loose   jacketed,
 always    munching  
The   green  grass  of
  poetic   Imagination
undiluted, unspoiled ;
                                               
Tightening    the  grip 
Holy    and pure 
 The   thread   Eternal,
Gyrating    the   name
 Of   my   Mentor,
  springing like   sprinkles
Fresh   showers,

 Sachchidananda, The   Avatar is Eternal.
 Eternal  is  Sachchidananda .
In   the   vicious  escape   syndrome,
He   nullifies  the  vile   and vituperation,
Sachchidananda    is Eternal  Bliss,
If  only   you  give  total  surrender
To  His  Will  and  design and plan.                                                                                        
I drink the cup of HIS Bliss,
Avatar is Eternal for me.


Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Hard Days


                  Hard    Days.

       Those   days,  hard    days,
       A  long  voyage ,ruffled  weather,
       Emotional   moorings,

       your    purblind  vision,
      a    tight    compression,
      Let  loose  from  soda  bottle,

      Gas  emits  forth,  also
      Like  the   Volga  River
       Tomorrow’s  foliage   sprouts.
      
   

Friday, August 24, 2012

Searching for how many?


      
Searching   for  how  many?

A  smile  in    the  dark   soul,
a   smile    crouching   the   face                   
harbouring   vile    conceits,
                       
searching    for  those  souls
of  dear  and  near,  departed,
 could  be  in  the   branch  incognito,

inhabited    into  a   cuckoo, or   lark,
throbbing in  full  blown  melodious poetry,
also   calling birds  distinctly  loquacious,

key boards    helpless , looking  aghast,    
typefaces    searching    for   deletion
or    ebullient   addition,

yet  you  keep  smiling
equally  the  smileys  are   smart
dancing  to  and fro.
                                 


                                                           

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Silence ticks!


    Silence     ticks!

It is not     the  Golden  Silence
Emotionally   choking  you in
After  a  huge  rightful  windfall,
Or   a  reaction   following   a
Bonanza, or  worshipful   Silence
At the Altar.  At the  dead  end  of 
Night,  when your  key board is
Calmed  , when your PC
Shut down , the  ancient  grandfather
Clock  ticks ,opens  up a   new  realm
Of   eerie   embittering  Silence.
  That  special  speculates , speaks
Of  hoary past,  hitherto  conniving
against you.   It points  out  its 
weird   finger, that  something  
overflowing   is   yours,   that   blood
Red  should  have  been  your  Greenery,
Prurient,  emptied  your  coffers.
 Clock   ticks  every  second,
A  beat  at your  encapsulating   darkness
Hitherto   dominating  : Now   Silence
Dons  the  robe of  a  vigilant  guard
at the   reek   mound, beckoning  me
to  go  away,  I  wake  up  only
to    hear  the  overlapping   windy  doors,
milk  vendor  at the  lifts.



Monday, August 13, 2012

I shudder Life.


)     I  shudder   Life.

At    one moment   I  shudder
This   Life   of treacherous   strife,
It   is    like  a  gambling ,unhealthy  intruder,
This  broken   string of  pearls   at  point  of  knife .
   
No, never,   should I   shudder!
All   courage   to  imbibe     Beatitude   
Now  ,Time  for  me  to  gather,
All   Morale    to   live   the  Gratitude.


                                           

If you are gone



If    you   are  gone          

If    you    are     midway   gone                          
Leaving   me     in this  cruel   earth,
For    certitude , I am  woe  be gone,
Not   any more ,   to stay  blighted  heath.

Monstrous     sadism   and    nihilism    dominate,
This  patient   land  like   a    sacrificial   candle  doth hold,
Good   and    bad  you   alone  can   segregate,
 land   holds   us   with  the  same  metallic    Gold.

Gold   of  Endurance   and  unalloyed  Devotion,  
Sun, stars   and   ocean   offer   unasked, profuse,
 If  you  care  less, more  for   aberration:
and    man’s  heart   contracted,   refuse.


Wednesday, August 08, 2012

A thought stemming out in the cool air


     A   thought   stemming  out  in the   cool   air.  

The  piercing   smell  of  the  fuzzy    air,
It is   the just   rained    wetland,
The   serenading   flowers  ,they 
In   their  own  way,  away   from

This   ragamuffin   fellow   creatures
  resting   in the  garden, unwilling 
to  have  a  grip  of  reality:  refusing
to  comprehend  the   grandeur of  Nature.

You  wander   away, think  of  worshipful
Grandma   plucking   Tutsi  leaves ,
That  was some  years   ago.  You   wish
To    see   the   incarnation  of  her  Soul

Somewhere    in the garden. Yonder
‘ Krishna  consciousness’    band  is   moving:
A  message  in  the  battlefield, long   ago
A   legacy   to   the   world    at  large.

On   the  other,  stifling  consciousness   
Now, you   send   SOS   to  Krishna,
Krishna   is   everywhere,  only  when
You tread with  the  steps  of  Trusted  Devotion.



Monday, August 06, 2012

Today's entry into the page.


Today’s    entry    into  the page.             

 A  Boon,  a   Gift  of  the  past,
His   far sighted   vision  of  this   Era,
  Has   already     Foreseen   something ,
Contagious,  also,   phlegmatic                 
Unravels   many a  mystery :
Today’s   workings,   a    magic   revelation,              
Behind   the   accruing   heap    of
Flotsam   and    jet some, meaningless   activity,
You   gather   beautiful   foliage  
Of    ethical philosophy:  also  purview
   the   true   world, uncanny     and  diabolic
Hitherto    unknown   to you,
It   all   --    enters   into   your
White , unwritten    page.
                                                                              

                                                               

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Karma's plight.


 Karma’s   plight.

She  wrings   the  cloth  of   Karma,
Hangs  it    on  the  cloth  line  of     observation,
Steadfast , the  droplets  of  water   are
Further     squeezed, she  opines    evil  is  gone,
Clips  it   with  the  belief  of   cleansing   karma:
The   gubernatorial     SUN  and  the   rustling
WIND   touch  upon   the   adamant ,
Yet  karma’s  karma  is  too powerful
and   unrestrained ,   it extricates 
and  falls  into   the  sump  to  welter
into  the   quagmire.  She  adjusts   clips.
 

    

Monday, July 23, 2012

The Picture


    The  Picture.

Somewhere    drum beating   goes  on,
A   thread bare  warning   to the
Ecological   imbalance:   dead  fish
In the running   water ;internalize  your  query,
My  house  protected   by  whom? What?

 A  seamlessly     colourful   radiant    picture
On  the   clean wall, a picture    with  
Universalised    vision, extraordinarily
With  unique    third   vision   conversant
  with  The   Holy  Trinity.

 Only  the   ugly,   divested   of   reason ,
See  sex   and    seduction  in those  eyes,
 You   encounter  a    morbid  irreligious
World  of   gross    intrusion   into   the 
World  of    uncouth    invasion .

How  long  this  struggle  goes on?
At least   one  picture,   Your Mentor,
 With whom you confide   at the
End of  the  day  exhausted ,

Frustration   swallowing you
Like  cannibals :   you  are 
Retrieved , consoled,  holistic
Approach  is  essential.

Picture  as usual
Silent  and  serene. 

Monday, July 09, 2012

Crow in my balcony


Crow   in    my    balcony.

In   the   troubled   weather,  in  the  seedy  
corner!  Seedy  for   the  speeding  wind 
 dishevels   all   dust   around:
 on   the  oval   shaped  edge,
 There  it  comes  like  the   ghost 
In   Hamlet, with   a   suspense, with   a   message,
Shattering   my   existence,  my   conviction,
Looks   askance, here   and there,
Pecks   a   piece  of  bread  crumb,
Now   caws   of  comradeship,
The  scattered  food  particles  are
 Certainly   not    Relief  to  hunger,
Gathered   crows  are    garnishing  confidence.
It  looks  as if  a  pastimes   for  the   clan.
Crows   befriend    the   lookers-on.



Saturday, July 07, 2012

Blessed are the Times gone.


 Blessed  are  the  Times  Gone.

Blessed   are   the  times   gone.
To  be  part  of  the   Age,
Is    like a  rusted  metal,
Inevitably  dons   wear  and   tear.
  Weird  like ,  weans  away ,
The  thinning   worn out  coils
drop  crumbling    down 
To   your  feet,  yesterday  it  was
The   steady  tunnel, struck its  lane,
 now  wheeling, now  whirling   
around, leaving  the  age    to its
dismay  and  devilish  warp.
Blessed   are  the  Times   gone.



Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Sunset(s)


  Sunset
 Your  untiring ,egalitarian quill
 Rests   a while  on the   rose wood  table,
Your  mind  wanders   lonely
As  the  clouds of  bardic  epiphany,
 The   ambered  ,tired    retires,
 Behind     the  Hill,   
It  looks  as    if
 The   angry ,infuriated  giant
 Who  customises   Day  and  Night,
  draws   The  chariot  back  into  his   orb,
You  look  forward   to  the 
Restoration, it is  past   midnight,
Slowly  the  chirps  of 
Strange  notations 
 on the  Orange   flowered  tree :
Sunrise   like  The  Happening
Thrills   you. your  quill  back
To   its   moods.