It is all Gone.

    It is  all  gone, gone.

Gone, it is all gone,

Meddling  with The

Incarnation, it   is all gone,

With  The Godhead,it  is  gone.

Reputation  is  Gone,

Peace is gone, Life is a

Piecemeal share of life

And existence is the remnant

Of His  Grace,undenied   even

In the last bogie.

“Hare  Rama, Hare Krishna”

in the parched tongue,

Southerly winds blow

As a   matter of  fact.

It is all gone.

You  are by  me, my  side,

Stays all in good earnest.

You  Are, Are ruling  the  roost

Of  His  Dictum.

Canals flow silent

             Canals flow silent

Remembering  those dogged days

When   deserted with  sediments brown

and   red, crude  layers of  aridity,

eyeing  that   green eyed monster jealousy

brooding   also in  the popping  up

layers  of  green  plants  for  the  soil

was  barren  ere  while  ago.

Away  into  the  town,  the  tongues

Some  are dishonest, but  the chirping

Is  always honest, for it is

The  Melody  of God’s  Make.

Undiluted ,unspoilt by  any

Corruptions  and  corrugations .

Birds   speak  their  own  languages.

Yet, man  and woman  under  the

Blue  sky, employ  a  different, dishonest

medium. But oh! Here,to live  in a land,

To become a  butt  of  comic  ridicule

And vituperation, a  pain  and eyesore.

Canals   flow  silent  and serene.

“ How could   I know what  an alcoholic was?”

The  dim, dusty, musty, cluttered  room  

Of  the house, shall  I say, haunts. No! for

Certitude.   The  memory lingers, of  those

Hard, hardening , your muscles  and lines

Across  your  hands. Those vials and   lemon       

Were  meant to  pep up   your  spirits. Some

Ginger  tea  and  coffee light would  alleviate

Our   pained hearts and  body too.

 Life  was meant   for  us, to eke  out

 a precarious living  and . Ma  would 

milk the cow  and cow dung cakes

Meticulously on the wall of the

backyard. The next day hot water

in copper  boiler. The  siesta  and

cool  air in the veranda  would 

enrich  next  day  for  fields .

How  could  I know  what  the alcoholic was!

I  am  a teetotaler.

                             

Hats off to Hats.

  Hats off to hats.

In the matrix of civilization,

Hats and caps  and helmets

Sepoy  head cover change

Their colors. A big delay

in donning them, doffs

their  features, their perspective

looks. The matted hats foray

the  past craftsmanship. By

the nullah,you  sit and admire

the stream, see  a cap floating,

capturing the life boat float there.

Under The Tympanum Sky

     Under  The Tympanum Sky.

Under  the tympanum  sky,

Whether you are an Indian, or Anglophile,

Or cosmopolitan in outlook, you live by

A set cultural code, nobody can break it.

But, oh! These man made  laws are  beliefs

So governed by  mystic  laws with  a  hidden     

Secret, geography or topography of their own.

Days roll on: ages descend into new platforms,

Suppliant, gain new nomenclatures,bend  the

Norms of  cultures, which we tend to believe:

Still, the rubric prevails, we foresee,             

“Culture’s the crackable/  code
That guides all tribes and clans.”  

Here  goes  the  piper with his supple

Melody  to proliferate the  idea  with

The song, society goes berserk,

Skeleton, when culture is  torn  asunder.

Karma, The Careful Bird of Vigilance.

  Karma, the  careful Bird of Vigilance.

Methought, I can clip the wings of Karma,

Undo its doings  and  nudges,

Convert its  Divine chattering into

a  promenade of  unsilencing  throb.

She being  a wakeful Bird of pouring

Takes  me by surprise, not flying  away,

But pecking at the fruit, eyes the

World of notations  and permutations

As well. It looks  as if counselling,

‘Look at me. You  Don’t saunter hither and thither,

Unless  with  a  motif. Practice stable in your

Garb of right thinking.”

Now  she flies from tree top

 to topmost  twig of rumination

to carry out her preordained ordeal.

Amazing is she with her dappled wings.

A Flag Of Assured Solace

    A Flag of  assured   Solace.

You  are my  Hope, only Hope,

Assured  Hope thwarting  the  Devil 

Of  Despondency.

“On  one  of  these  Dark  Days,

 hugging  my misery”

I  can prostrate  on your Divine Feet,

I catch  your  admirable drift.

In full  saffron you  can deftly

Ride  on your  bicycle,

Can be mountaineering,

Can be marine  engineer,

Engineering  from enormous

Altitude, can be in Meditation

On  Grand  Himalayas.

Preaching  and counselling

Silently  to all Your Devotees,

On the other side, vehemently

Silencing   the Devil’s Voice.

Without you it is  utter  chaos.