Saturday, January 19, 2013

Walking in the fog


                                              Walking    in the  fog.

                                            You walk  in  the  fog,
                                            To  ease  the  clouds,
                                             Besmearing  around  you,
                                             You  walk  in  the  fog,
                                             Under   the    careless   dark
                                              Yet,  Sinister    and  spying  :
                                             Spiraling   everywhere. 
                                             Creepy  with  its  crooked
                                             Deadening   silence,
                                             You   think  of  next   Birth,
                                              Snowballing   the  transmitted
                                              Issues  of  karma, while
                                               Many   stifle   the  very  life,
                                               The   living   along   with
                                               Their  conscience,  submerge
                                                totem  into  a  fearless
                                               Uncanny ,diabolic
                                                underwater  currents.
                                                You  continue  waling
                                               In the  fog, with the
                                               Clouds  multiplied.  
                                              A sigh, stopover, heals .

Friday, January 11, 2013

Inside the purse.


                                Inside   the purse.
              
                 Inside   the    folded, quality leathered purse,
                  Sophisticated, attractive,
                  Tucked, cosy   in  my  palm, 
                  Inside   the  crowded    public transport    bus,
                 My   creativity   ruminates, chews   the  
                  Cud   of   observation, moving, moving.
                  Inside    the    purse, heavy  
                 Worn out   zip  struck  in the  middle,
                 Inside   the  bus, the  conductor
                 Calling   for   defaulters, loud   and emphatic,
                   Whistle  sounds     automatic ,
                  As if  it knows  the  timings,
                   Inside   the  purse,
                  No  pounds, no dollars, no
                  Western   money  transfer  receipts,
                 Jingling   are  a  few   Indian  coins,  
                 I   preserve    a    paper , very fragile,
                 Oblong,  crushed, yet  preserved,
                 What  is  there  in  a   name?
                 What  is  there  in a  piece of  paper?
                 Yes, very much  is  there
                  It  is    the  bus  ticket,
                 rolls    and   moves  faithfully
                  to  my  destination  midst
                 jolts   and   bolts.    
                                                        
                                                            
                                                           

Tuesday, January 01, 2013

Look up to The Heavens for clarity


Look  up  to   The  Heavens  for  clarity.

When  man   is   bemused
Most  of   the  Times,
Confused, or  pretending   to  be
Lost  in  the    trackless  path  
Of   thimbles , vouchsafes  the 
 Cacophony  pleases
 his  ambivalent  Moods,
 Silently  you  watch  his
  Histrionic   movements,
  Entreat   the  clouds  to
  Clear  up    fast  :    
  look  up to the Heavens
  for  clarity.