Methinks it does good for certitude

Methinks  it  does   good  for   certitude,

Singing   and   merry   and  do  good

Be  a  good  Samaritan   always;

Be  it   Yule  or  New  Year,

“Be  his  merry ton”

Ringing     and   dancing;

Song  bird  in my balcony

“Craketh  a  merrie   note”                           

Methinks  it  does  good  for  certitude.

Wortes  to  the pot – my  garden 

Carries   a lot,  cure   and   serendipity

Methinks  it  does  good   for certitude. 

haiku

1) speedy  gale

 arresting   many  a  pulse

  stopover

2) branch falling

  creates  a  space  for   balcony

   gluttonous    View

3)  on  the  blade 

  Of  grass  sprout   many  a

  Strong  write

4)  the wind blasts

       staying   only  the  quill

          steady

5)    carrying    tiny   pot

    of  chronicles   spiraling  

     on her  head

6)  silk  saris  hiding

  millions  of  living  deaths

     hot   and  dry               

He is a good shepherd

He   is  a   good  shepherd

He  is  a  good  shepherd 

Who will not  abandon the  distressed,

Lost  and   long forgotten, even if  snows

Heavy  and  thick  and  he is  a good

Shepherd  who  searches pastures   anew.

But   a   lamb  from  afar   woefully  wails

butcher  and   shepherd  are the same.

I see it    run   and  bask   behind  a   mound

Innocent  and  scared; searches  for  its  clan.

A good  shepherd  protects  it now.

Not  only  the  sheep, lamb  and   flock,

The  shepherd  and   cowherd and  us,

The mortals in the  inhumane   coil,

We  all  run   the  race  under  the gates

Of  Heaven, cross  and    jump our

“Stubbled  grass”  and  mud.

He  protects  us all  ever   and  anon,

If only  cling  to   His   heel   and   Mercy.

haiku

          uprooting 

  speedy  gale not    menace

  but   a   mentor.

 Modified :

  dreadful  gale

  a  club on its  way

 trees   uprooted.

fierce  gale

angry  tap

many  aground

Ancient thread of our Roots ( Guardian)

Ancient    thread  of  our  roots   (Guardian)

We   all  return  to it,

Return  to  what, the  recurrent

Question   and   answer

 Like  spread cotton  seeds.

 A  silent  return,   as  if  

  a   resurrection  or resignation

To  the  roots  of  ancient  past

Of  primordial  wish, innocence,

Perpetuation   and   progeny;

Until  our   bodies  are  covered

With  the  homespun   thread of

Solidarity, flag  nodding   farewell

To  another   region. Muscular

Lover  drawn  and  submerged

to the  soil.

In my selfsame room

          In  my  selfsame  room

In  selfsame room of

my  choice   and  compact  style;

a  room  of  my own   Like   and  Make,

many  voices  creep in   like  jamboree

to  tune  me  to their    enticing  notes ;

it  is  a    room of  brick  and  mortar,

may  not  be  a    room of permanence,

but  methinks  ambiance  of permanence

of special  quality  prevails there.

Time  the  healer, Time  the  walker,

Time  the preacher, waiter ,tester, teaser

All  walk through  today the  Time

Silencer  and  abreast  frozen tongue.

Frozen Times

                      Frozen  Times.

   Sit  in  the pop corn  show

   Revel  at   the  tasteful  beauty

 Orderly  arranged  in  colorful  jars;

 Your  jerkin covers  you in

  Un forsaking  fidelity.

 Your   green  memory 

 In  its  rehearsal  plods

through weary  days,

 Prolongs   with you.

We    climb   through  hard

Blocks   of  multi   layers  of

Iceberg   of  our   times;

These  are  frozen   avenues.

In  the   frozen  times 

in the  congealed  hearts

our plight  of  Karma

hides  unable  to  take

its  wings  of  flight.
we  are in  frozen days.

In the midst of my writing

In  the  midst of  my   avid  writing,

Dictated  by  My   agile tap of

 Notes, Muse and  silent voice,

In  the midst of     Life,

 In the process of my dreams

 and  delving  deep into  the

  mysteries of   Nature,

  be it  a  wolf  in the paper

  be it an animal  with growl

 I dwell  in the “delicious dizziness”

 Of  my writing  oeuvre.

 My  wolf is  a  passive  spectator.

 I let  him come.

     Meeting point   (guardian)

  Time  was  away, did  not want  to sway

 Nor   it inclined to intrude  into  our  ways

For  Time  knows  we are  beyond  access;

Yet,  lovers  and couples  congregated 

In their  meeting  point of  choice.       

Time   did  not  heed  their needs.

 Gunshots  and  pellets  and  volley

Soldiers   and   sacrifice  and  pool of  blood,

Time  watched  and  warned but

Did not  stay, but  far away.                                                                      

Bell   in  the  center    twanged

As  if  to give  a  sharp  signal.

 Time  was very  clever  and cool

Conscious of  its  moorings of impact.

Be it  the gushing wave, dashing spirit,

Cool   Moon  or  the  Azure, or  The

Deep, both  in  Good   and The  Bad,

Time was away, with  its  wary eyes.

 

                                                    

haiku on thanksgiving day in US

    this  day   thanksgiving

    bestowed on us  the gift 

    forgiveness       

 blood  and  gun  hardened

 feast  follows     felt  feelings

  tears  of  thanks giving

1)   red   syringe   into vein

   rebuffs –  refusal  to  befriend

   another   poison

2) leafs   dance -   bonanza

 soon    a   mix  in    bowl

 for    necromancy.

3)    Pillow  slipping

       declines   head  puffed  up

      with  pride.

4)     trampling    grass 

        humility  whispering

        me  inside        

 5) milk boiler  whistles

  Tv remote  takes  upper

  lower  mode 

6)  looking   at  the  clouds

    her  heart   embraces  into

    the  other world

                                                        

7)  tick  off  a  page

  in the  watchful  calendar

 debtor  paid off

8)   staring  at   the wall

    telephone  handset  wails

    self  is   useless

9  my  “i”  certainly

negates   with    the   theory

  of    solipsism   

10    In   that  shade

         She  builds  castles

           Over  there.  

  

           

Flower Remedies

      Flower  Remedies

I listen to the Call of my intent Voice,

Gyrating  always to   prone  and  guide,

look  at  the seas, dashing  waves   and

compare   and  compeer  with  the emotions

of many  afflicted  suppressing  their  inward

turmoil within  the  four  walls of  lubtub.

My  Rose  garden flowers  with  jasmine  too

With  the  wind  flowing   and  blowing

Enchanting  aroma  instil  a   therapy

At  least  for  the moment ;  balsam

Like  an efficient  curator  and  cure

Assured  herbal    mix. Whether  four

Flowers  or  forty in  bunch,  they

Are  evergreen in our memory

Decor  our   worshipful  hall of

 Meditation  and  Devotion.

A take on Psalm Mary Sydney- Guardian

A take on  psalm 52   Mary  Sydney    –Guardian

Oh! Treachery ! don’t be confident,

You can  for ever hang  around  the

 Shoulders of your faithful  master,

For  the villainy be  sure exposed  by

His  Miraculous  Workings,  The

Universal  Creator,  and Maker

In   due  course  to  snub   your  nose.

 Time   and  time  factor  alone

 Has  a   Definite  say in this

Pre-ordained   play  and  counter play

 For  certitude  and   ever.

 Your  lies   and  lures of wicked

Set on those  who believed  you

Would  be  Intersected    by   sharper

 Blades of  His   super  strategic  tact.

  The  Good  always  takes  asylum in

The Kingdom of  God, whereas

The  boast  and  arrogant  vile

like  you  and  your  parasites

gloat in a  murky pond of

self   beating  drum  and  end up

in  defeat  and  denial.

God’s  gates  are always  open

Impartial  for all: Good  and pious

 Stand    at  His  Gates, while  you

And   your questioning  vile  believe

In the  Negation  of  the Door.

Still  we  hold the Olive

 To  augment  peace  and goodwill;

Yet, you revel in your narrow

World of  abnegation  of  common 

Sense  and  righteousness. Who

Can  go against  Karma ?Destiny?

  

A ritual ever

A ritual  ever.   )

Throw  away the  clutter of  hatred

and  calumny  in the  laburnum

filled   pot of  stay:

Slice  off  the   cornered   decayed

Part of Apple ;  peel away

Oozing  orange, drawing  a 

Melange in the melalrmine cup 

 On the   Chippendale  table

Surrounded   by  four elegant  chairs.

Not   office -  rotating chairs,

nor  reclining cane chairs of

comfort, nor  even the  painted

wood but  Chippendale   Chairs

invitatory set of  welcome kits.

Sit  and  Muse sacred.

Age  always has its impact,

 Look  at  the picture  above

Your forehead,  guidance

Your Gift  and  benign pot

Of  Luck : Yonder  breeze

From   A tree of unwithering

For more hundred years.

                 

              

Stagnation

              Stagnation

This  stagnation    hoary  and  stultifying

making  its  inroads  like  blunderbuss

inside  the pocket of  sentinel wary.

From   afar I try to  thwart it

Day in  and  day out.

One morning  me thought ,    

 a Sycamore  be planted  new

in  my    blooming  garden      

with  prosperous  leaves  

undoing   all   numbness .

Growth  grows in  breezing

leaves , whiz past :

Booming   Hope sings  along

Copiously branched leaves;

 leaves  mythically  vibrate.

Talisman like    charm  and

towering   up  Hope  Power  up

 in  my  debilitated  heart,

clap up  for  sycamore,

 more  and  more  for protection.

   

four line haiku -one

     pearl

    A decor shining

    on  my  neck

     awesome  gift



2)  hoary  skeleton

 wrinkles of flesh

 deride  under

  thin  bone

Dream work of my life

Dream work    of my life --- Guardian

 I started  to   think of  my  writing ego

Passion,  books  and  creative  aura:

Nurturing on, tantamount  to a fresh sprinkler,

as  that of  a  babe clinging  to be

fed to its  mother’s   breast.  

Mother’s   milk of human kindness

being  fed into  the  tender  innocent.

Words! Words! Sprang  from  the

Core of  my heart, every  corner

Of my room   a  silent listener!

Slowly  became  a Dream  work

Of my life. With  the passage of Time

A  pleasant  daily routine   and

avowed  commitment  for 

The  Muse  ever up swelling .  

Even  the  wrist  watch ticks  extra,

resonates  every word  it  encounters.

Pulse  regular  is   rhyming  meter.  

haiku

under  the  sky

never ending question  shines

where  are we going  

                                          

calf --- haiku

calf  just  born

taken to a   point

of  no return

     or

 calf  from  womb

 merciless  to  the tomb

tender bereaved

     or

tender    new  born calf

from  tether to blood  oozing

slaughter house.

      or

 Just  born  calf

from  pangs  to  crude   twangs

of  unhappy ending

2-line haiku

  1 )  full paper

        her  scribbles -   a new  art   form  

2)   dry  bank

      her writing   flows

  3)    atm  -  rescue

         no  cash,    

         I  with draw

4)opening    her  palm

Surprise -   a fly goes out


5)Pillow  declines

head  puffed  up  with  pride.

senryu

eleafs     dance--  bonanza

 breeze –soon  to be pulverized

 for   herbal  cure.

senryu

Poison    in    man’s   hands

rebuffs -  can’t  mix and  befriend

  other   poison

revised

birth  pangs

the calf lifted  fast

to   dismal  chamber

Some Three Decades Ago....

            Some  three  decades  ago..

Man disowned, or soul   migrated,

this  lifeless  lying    inside    the  box

 the  garlanded, scented,

 a  short   time preservative 

for   the  long lived, a  tenure

ordained, now  closes:

Coffin embraces, this  body

Just, bereaved, in the bereaved

House, where  the word Death

has  resounded   every  corner:

He is  now  insensitive  to the

Coffee  aroma,  likes   and disputes:

His  flat  self  consoles  all  around,

Preparing   them  for  the voyage

Of  which  we do not  know  the

Destination   and  time  of

Disembarkation. This  so called

Death  gives a   quirky  smile.

seven numbers of senryu

                               (senryu)

  1)   Cloth liner

  no   need, already

  sunbeams   swapping

2)   parched winds

 Shy  away 

from  her hard heart.

3)   underneath  the willow

   a  paper of   love  song

             fritters

4)  on   the   slate

       Child’s  saliva

        a  deft  scrub.    

5)  in  walls’  crack       

 ants  lining -

unification                                                     

6 stretch your legs

Shrink  thoughtful   mind set

 Corroding  peace.

                             

7)     in  leaf   turning

         Yellow –life’s philosophy

               Opens up  

haiku

          inside    speeding    bus

         window  taking   me    fast

          realms   beyond    

A Call from the violin

 A   Call  from   the  Violin

 

Not  a   sound    box,

not   even   a  set of  box

but    box  of  musical 

rhythms   and   rhapsody

in my  hands  of  core.

my  violin  is   made  of

German   make  and  super

Wood   polished    and   soft.

Bow  and  strings  of  horse  hair

Pervade   up  and down,

Perchance   notes of message

Of   End    and  void.

A call  of  voice  no more

Could  be  gainsaid,  a  voice

Of universal   verve  and 

Vivacity,   A call of metaphor

Of vibrant  notes.

senryu

gunman’s   pocket

prayer book  resides

  always  guiltless

haiku

       in   desert  air     

      love’s  shedding    tears

      wet  the  ground  

      a   bulky   novel

      couplet   the preface

           finish

         blanket of  sky

         uncover many things

         stars   pour    

       roaring  waves

        Pebbles  stable  lie

        water  purifies