Saturday, November 28, 2015

What can be greater...

      What  can  be  greater......

Sorrow  in  its  dull  attire   retraces
Its  musty  past   ruminating  its
Quorum of steeped    memory.
Yields  are  bewildering   numerous.
Queries  are  wholesome new.

What  can   be  more  hurting
Than  the  ruinous  ignorance
Clubbed  with  the  messy  dark,
Sidelining  you  the  victim ,
For  its    romping  prosperity?

What  can  be  more  gnawing 
to  know  than the  Growth
due  in you  is  stunted  by a
Diabolic  lot  of   vixen fox.
Nothing  short of  throwing  axe.

Childish wonder though, at times,
 beneath the  rough exterior of  groundnut,
Nothing  solid  stays  or  pops out
A healthy  nut to  consume.
Why  this  sad  terrain to mourn?

What  can be  more  consoling
To know  than realization stemming 
From your plethora of experiences,
That  none   can  be  ruthless   insidious
When He The Supreme solid by your stand.



Thursday, November 26, 2015

Sea's governing principles are God's


      Seas ‘governing principles are God’s
 On unruffled day, the waters are calm,
Rare  phenomenon to  observe. Queen Moon
Sees  Her  Visage  in the reflections
Of  her ever friendly  mode.
But  we  all  wait  for the  waves to  be  proactive.
the waves  touch   and  go, a  free play.
Sea’s  cool, gratified  by shingles on the Beach. 
Ships  royal  anchorage  are  like Queen’s
Majestic  scepter.  Traffic  goes on .
Beneath  the countless  gyrations,
The Deep  is wary  and  watches   the
Profound activity ,also trade  that provokes
Seas  go  on. Fury is  boundless,
 catches   one of  the prime Elements.
“Beauty was never the whim of a demi-god,

Holocaust is  also its Duty.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

They Were Rare

They  Were  Rare

They were   select  four.
A  group of  very  rare,
High-spirited  always,
Set out in search  of a game,

But destiny willed  otherwise,
It  was  their endgame.Their  lives too.
Admired  sunrise   and  sunsets ,
Rowing   boat, songs  of  rhythmic

Melody  in tune with  every  row.
Rowing, rowing, every  spirited  OAR
Pops  out of  their  breath  and  blood.
But  Destiny, does  it  spare anyone?

The  boat  capsize  is  the rude  shock
Sending  waves  of  fear for  the neighbors.
History  proves,water  engulfed 
good and  others too.

But   these  were  retrieved sooner
For   a  short  while.
Who  can  undo  their karma?
Karma of  any  kind whatsoever?

Their will read  later,
But written earlier  and  ahead
Expressed  their desire
To donate eyes  and  Brains
They  were  rare  four,
Gone down in history of yore.


Thursday, November 19, 2015

What Your Clarion Call Means To Me.

It  is  not  just  a  call,
A  specific  wake up  Call,
I see  the  Dawn, the spectacular  Sun
Rising ,the  just blossoming   yellow
Flower  as if  breaks  the  Dark
Slowly receding  now.
Call  for  a  Day of  Hopes,
Seamless  serendipity ,and  undoing
 Of Desiccation  of  suspended  spirits.
Aroma  of  flower spreads  like the
Mantra  or  Chantic effects.
You   shake off your  slumber:
Come  to  feel the  Yellow  flower
With  the   Call, it is an  Awakening.
Mysterious  it is.


Wednesday, November 18, 2015

All Silenced To why?

All   silenced to why?

   Shot  and  ghastly   sound
  Unusual  and  scary,
  Undoing  all good in  a second.
 The   jubilant music hall till now
Vibrant  with  Melody  is
Turned  into  Malady of frozen blood.
Peace  on Dove has flown now
to  a temporary distant mode.
 What you see unwittingly  now
Is   a   void  of  cacophony ;
 Your  Sudden Silenced  voice
holding  your  breath  and
pulse. Gunmen  induced not
pellets but hatred  and cruelty
in  their   instruments, their  aids,
to raid   their  surroundings.
You  are a  mute witness
To this volley of  bloodshed,
Know  not how long?





Friday, November 13, 2015

A Shot,a sound to terrify.

 A   shot, a  sound   to   terrify.

Bowls  of  milk ,orderly,
Neat in  white  melamine  cups.
In good segments. Cats  mew
And  come  closer  to  taste,
 Sparrows   from  their  ancient
Coves in houses, scatter   and chirp.
 Raindrops  from  roofs flood
The  pillar gates  and floor.
 No  more word of  drought
In the dictionary, at least
 this year Anymore.
Dark looms   large, blind  our
Vision. You  keep  writing  and
Continue  to  ruminate . The  life
You  witness, the  world you
 see  is not  the  same.
The  drama  enacted   is not what  it is  to be.
 Burst of  a  cracker ,sudden  and sound
Of  a  blast enough to scare all of us.
Real  fright is  elsewhere.
The  gates   are open.


Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Broccoli Wails

        Broccoli  wails.
Yesterday  I was  proud with  my crest on,
But today some crude hand chopped off
My fertile green head; my stem uncared for
Left behind. I was pot boiling with my spicy
Companion on the frying pan. I am construed
Such  a good hearted /wanted one for Cancer cure.
Does it mean I  should  dance here for  sure?
Look  at  my  brethren, there on the plants,
Some  are getting  dried, wither,
For  not being  watered. For the  lazy gardener
Away  for   short while, that is  the way
The world works now.


Sculpture speaks


           Sculpture  speaks
    Many inquisitive ones visited  us ;
    Recently, eager  and agile.
   Me  and my  brethren stay, live  here
  for long, though  splashy waves 
   and   battening  rains corrode  us  at  times,
  anvil  and  chisel  shape us inside  and out.
  A Saint  or  Shiva, Buddha  and
  Bohemian cult, Purohits   and pundits
   Pop out of  the  expertise  carve.
   Delve  is  systematic  and  serene.
   As hammering  goes on,
  We don’t   bemuse, but sturdy  and firm.
   Breeze  from  the Bunyan 
   Is  a  thrice fold  Boon for us.





At Many Cross Roads..

1)    At   many  cross roads..
  Mind  is restive, not  for
 a  dulcet moment now.
At the  hustle bustle cross roads,
Zebra  crossing and  signal sign posts,
Waiting  to read the automatic trans tile,
No chameleon  on the  wink,
But  the  peel of  a plantain
Irksome   and sticky on your
Fast   moving  heels.
A  thin  wire like your  eerie  fear
Might  camouflage your brave put up.
Thews and  sinews of  hands  shake
Behind the willed wallet you don.
You  want  to shake  the  storage
Of  Mind that  is  restless.
A thin  shadow, a  cat crossing,
Not  an  ill omen  now,
At this juncture. Move  on.
Cross  roads are  teasing  and trying.




Thursday, November 05, 2015

You Do not Die

You do not die.

 She  too is a  tool of
Uncommon wish  for
A  petrified   cessation
Of this seamless Breath.
Torn between  Death wish 
and  desire for perpetuation of  life,
she  sways  with  uncertainty
and  emotion . Enacts the drama,
gruesome  and merciless
to grip the  clamps of  Death,
‘oh! God! When do you plan to
knock me down?’ God  nods.
The   Omniscient   admonishes
With   gentle smile, The Plant
Is mine, you have  no  right
To uproot the Tradition
And  Longevity. You have
To water  many plants.




Sunday, November 01, 2015

On The Teeth Of Wheeling Death.

           On  The  Teeth  Of Wheeling  Death.

 On the twangs of  wheeling painful Death
Something sparks, silent and  steadfast,
What you call this painful paradox.
A rehearsal  of  mix of  pages, you revisit now.

Verdant broccoli, just  unpacked, now
In its  sauce pan,boiling  with  spices,
Now looks  as if keen on going back
To its stem  and  clan. A vain  yearning.

It is  the  gardener’s fault,
Owner’s treat, its angst.
Woe  to  the  Creator 
It  bemoans with certitude.

Take   break, go back  to this life
Of  fallen  foliage  and shrinkage.
Your  delve  into  philosophy
Continues  with  assemblage  of  facts.


There is reverberating Life, craves
 Not  For  reprisal, but  for  redress.
Many a   sages  and  many  a  saga
Have unleashed , encrypted  this

As Death Wish. Again   this is 
a  penitential   cry  for  a  feel
of  deeds, represented by your
dictates   of emotion  and empathy.