Saturday, August 29, 2015

   A candid  recollection

Those    early schooldays   are
Like  a  free  kite for   most of  us .
For  the inimitable tag “children”
 Encompasses  childhood  days.
School days are either a   heavenly
Bliss for the innocence and   freedom
They don   and a    simultaneous torture
They  undergo  for  the home work
and    arduous class work
they are   compelled  to do.
To  have  a  diversion,
We  went  for  a  local Fair,
 Colorful shops and  congregations
and  candelabra  the centre of  the
Mall  illumining  the parts
around us.  Groundnut cakes
and  mango  jams  my favorite
 my favorite  and taste in the
Fair. Loud acoustics   and music,
Announcements  intermittent ,
Enliven  the show. Jasmine
and  Rose  garlands  permeate
with  the fragrance   give  a
Divine touch for  our eyes
Are accustomed to these in the
Local temples.  Now, oh! My God
things   are   totally changed and
as we grow we are also changed.
Thank God! For  a while, slate pencils
And  rubber   don’t  haunt  us.
Fair  still  lingers me.




Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Crab and crane

    Crab   and Crane

Crab  in its  limpid  move,
also in its habituated,
mood of   hide  and  seek
On   the watery  sands,
Draws sketches from its
Memories of  habitat.
Its   static   companion
Ruminating  crane
On the sheets of  water,
doing  penance  and meditation.
The  Blue  merges with 
The Azure. Ideal  spot of
Speculation  for  both.
The  shining  conch, also
A  watery  by product,
 Acknowledges the uniqueness.
Universal  pal  Moon shines
Seamless at  the  sandy  spot.
In the   blessed eventide,
What more do you want?




Monday, August 24, 2015

The Wards are Always Wheeling

    The  wards  are  always  wheeling.

The   repugnant   with  fear  and  anxiety
Wards  are overflowing  now .
Ambulance and   No clearance are
There  from morn  to eve.
No  longer  an  eyesore, but
customizationCustomization
For  what?  To adaptability
Of  man’s moribund , dead cells.

Oh! God  when will this come to an end?
Unabated  fire  of  ire, this  blood  bath
 Fail  The Messiah’s  inspiring   words.
Ego  and    vendetta   and  craze
For  power, can you stop  the  list,
Submerge  the dictum  of  peace
Into  ignoble  tunnel of humdrum
Harsh realities of existence.

What  can  the walls do?
Or the  wards  speak?
They  silently  wail
Along  the victims .
Oh! God ! when will
This come to an end?
Church  bells on  cliff
Blow in   ponderous vain.




Wednesday, August 19, 2015

      A   Sketch
I  drew  a  meticulously   observed
Long drawn quill of  a  bird
On the  broken white eggshell.
Brush breaths life into
Lifeless  outer ring, wails
For  the loss  of life.
Else a  beautiful chic
Would have turned out.
The running jell
Can you call it?
Spiraling  on the
Pan, dissipated  into
Edible with  pepper
And salt on it. The  quill
Joins  my bemoaning,
Adding  to the sign
On the shell.


Thursday, August 13, 2015

              On  Classics   and   Modernity.

         Erudite   Homer   and  voracious  Virgil
       Our  venerable  ancient  Classics,
       Ruled   the  roost   of  education  podium.
       Excelled  in hexameters  and knowledge
       Of  the  worldly  objects  vast  and  wonderful.
       Yet, modern  literature   and  modern  art,
        By  slow  and  steady  growth  took
        the   norms   and  grew  a   clan,
        steady   tree  offering  comfortable  shade.
       But, without  the  label of  ancient,
       Beginning   and  pride  of  Root,
       There  can never be  the  progress
      Of  Modernity or  modern literature.
      It  is a  step in  stages  of   Time.
       Still  we  worship  all.
      
   



     

Wednesday, August 05, 2015

I am million, million Births and many more.

     I am  a  million, million Births  and  many more.

I am   one   of  a  convoy of  The Supreme.
I am a   million, million opinions,
Shared and debated and united.
This sacred Birth, Feel and pride,
This Body and emotions  and empathy
Are  all preordained, a  dictate  of  karma,
The  rotating, yet sturdy wheel,
Now  the sole  aim  to  become
One  with  the Almighty.

I am  a  descendant of  million  Deaths,
Having sojourned and undergone
Mysterious births and  pangs,
Know not  the purpose here,
Yet pulling on  with  an
Undaunted Will and vigour.
His   Design  is my  privilege.
I  hear at last,  million  voices
 Converge to identify the unseen yet

heard   mostly silent  and  strong.
There  is  an  echo, repeated
It   voices again  and  again,
 ‘“to shuffle of  this mortal coil”
Is  not your choice,
His  is  the  order  and  Domain.
Live  up  the  day, tomorrow,’
These  Silences  are embodiment
Of  aeons,  viable  solutions.

We need to respect them.