Too Late in The Journey

                  Too Late  in  The Journey

 By  tubes, London  tubes,

Life  changes your outlook,

So  much you  have  undergone,

Hitherto inexplicable,  a voiceless.

Too  Late in the  Journey,

 Journey  of  this  life, with  a

A  purport,  a  special  signifier.

 At   this  end,   from   where

 I come, drastic    happenings

 Negating  the   ethos  and  

Nullifying  codes. You  perceive

One  becomes  immune  to

The  system.  Yet, you  stay  away.

Life  is  a  journey,  miraculously

Set   for  you, now  you  set out

 For  this . Now  really   a  thrill.  

You  play  the  instrument

To get  solace  and  relief.

We  kneel   before  Him   to get

The  best   from  Gods.

Bangor to Euston

    Bangor  to Euston

After   Shakespeare’s  Welsh border

and   Glendower,  the portrayed  rebel,

 via   books   and  pictures,

during   my college  days.       

Now   almost  a decade  ago, a turn,

a  practical,  a chance,  a trip

to UK., It was  a summer  morn,

the Intercity  Express, from  Bangor

to Euston, a seat  by   window,

a lovely tour of purpose.

Driver’s double check if

All  the commuters  were on  board.

As  the  train  speeds  past,

A  feast  or  delectable  sight

The  green slope on either side,

Could  feel  windy    and  frothy

The   deep  watery  with small  ferry like.

I  recollect, “ Bliss is in that dawn

To be  alive”.

White  swans   gather by

A  faithful ,collective comradeship

In the  white  sheets of  water flow.

 A  deep  river in the midst,  

How much of  poetic  inspiration

It  gives  and  impetus  for  the

Disappointed  lives. As  the  waters

Flow  with a   message, Life has to go on.

Dark  sets in slow   reaching me to

Destination ,to Euston, lights

Illumined in the station,  platform.   

If  Dark is there, will  the Lights

 Shudder   and  Stay behind?

On Snore and Snail

      On   Snore  and  snail

It is  a  midway   between  City and  Town

and  Hamlet.  A peculiar  time  for  celebrations:

Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Martyr’s  Day,

Children’s  Day, All go well in their

well   set cuisine. Hassel free.

Blissful  eventide  falls,

Poet  carefully  sits  and types

On  Karma’s plight;

A  prolonged   snoring

dismantling   all our Peace.

This   loud, snoring  ringing and  rhythmic

at  breathed  intervals, a  disturbance

in the  room  for  the inmates.

But,  for  the persona,  a blissful

Sleep, poly vocalic language.

A child  claps  at  the sudden ,

Clasps   at  the   pillows   and

Bedspreads    and    colorful

 Sheets   strewn, some piled up.

Snoring  amidst  coir  sponge.

Yonder, on the clipped lawn,

Snail, seeks  to  maintain  its  ( celerity).

A linguist perhaps would clap

to beat  in tune with the rhythmic

Syllable count of snore  and  snail.

Death cuts stones and rocks

Death  cuts   stones  and  rocks .

From its  broad  cruel  network 

Views  its own  Shadow  and  wonders

The  otherness of  its  doings .

Death  melts  stony  and   virile,

Time  and  Death intertwine in

Seamless  Time- ordained pact of

Negation and  Total eradication.

Seamless   because it is boundary line.

Death has  its signposts, weaving 

Flags of  welcome  and Victory.

 I have seen eagles   and  vultures

Enter into  escapades , away from

The claws of Death. Those  creatures

Soar  higher into a  secure time zone,

Eventide slowly descend 

To merge  with   the   dark in

The  coves and  trees’ bark.

Their language is  our pleasure.

Yonder  burning  embers 

With   twigs   and feathers of

Strewn chicks   and birds.

Death   cuts stones and rocks.

This precious Diamond Ring

   This precious Diamond  Ring

This   precious stone   of  Glitter

Of   Ageless   aeon, spark   and   shine,

 Decor  on my finger, diamond ring,

This Gift of  mutual bond  of   affinity,

An emblem that stays  in between   us,

Costly   and   consummate of Gratitude

and  grated  aura  on  the  skin,

touch   and  soft  and  evokes

Serendipity, also  furnished with

nuggets of golden designs 

surrounding  the  curve . A Fine

friend   and  reminder  assured

protection  in troubled  Times,

multiplying   Fame  and  Firmness.

I preserve  thee more

In  velvet  box  of

Zipped  safety.

Lizard brazen on the Painted Wall

Lizard  brazen  on the painted  wall.

I view  just  above  my  head;

Click  on  an escapade,  its  prey.

Lizard   sticky on the wall

A tiny insect    transported

Inside its  soft  belly.

Still  staring    at  the  corner

Of   the  void. Filling  should 

Be less, it  internalizes,

Its protruding  round  balls

like  eyes, fixed   and  scary.

Now    on the   flat mosaic,

Locust   amidst paper  torn

and  rolled   to the corner,

rolling   and  rolling  still

rolling  and craving   for  a shape.

Dead  or  alive,  I don’t know.

Yesterday it   was clipping

 The  green, verdant    leaves,

Today, whipped by a whiff of wind

With   thorny   brambles

Perhaps  undoing  the clipper.

I look  up  again,

Voice  augurs,

as if  Lizard  beckons,

My stay on the wall,

As Gods  stay  with  you.

  This    One  Moment

This  one moment  is so precious, so vital,  more tense, of  anxiety  and concern. Do you wonder

Which moment  and for whom? Yes, this is precisely  for  the students, whose results  are announced

Or  going  to be announced. After months/years of  diligence and perseverance and burning  the midnight oil

It is but natural, students wonder as  to  the declaration  of  their  sum of hard work  with  a  tinge of  more and

more of anxiety  and concern. I have seen students getting panicky, why even   I was like that when the

Results  were  announced. All  the more  for  the parents  this  is a   moment of Life and  Death.

 Their care, concern, Furthering   a  move for  the  future  is  one reason: but more than that, the susceptibility  

and  sensitivity  and reaction  for  the neighborhood,  for  the  society  and for  the environment  both   critical

and  acerbic  censure   and  some  with a  wounding  remark.

What  if failure  occurs in   academic  life? It is  not  the question  of  Death. My point of emphasis is that it is a

Matter of concern for  the failed candidates  that  they go to any extreme,we  see in media  and newspaper reports. Life  is  gone  for ever.     Candidate  can take   up   re  exam  and   get  back  the  score and  hon our, but

If  life is gone can we redeem it?  Is it  Not  the duty of parents   and responsible wards to take care of such 

situations  and  instil  more and more of  confidence   and  not  to  blow their( students’) hope  and  energy  of life. 

Finally  my humble  appeal  is  that  benefactors  and   munificent  organisations  with   humanitarian  concerns,

Preferably  government  aided  institutions  specially  designed  and  motivated for this  special purpose of 

Training  and counselling   should  be  set up ;significantly  with the motive of  boosting  confidence   and  instill

The importance    and immediacy of Life  and not the NEGATION. This is  the Moment of  Achievement.

  

War Experiance

Ashoka, the great   Mauryan  emperor   supposed to be   a  very war thirsty, changed  drastically  his  outlook

On life, after being  an eyewitness   at  the  gruesome  realities of   warfront   and mass killings, Asoka

Took an oath not to touch armaments   any more. The following is based on  one such experience. Also

A  gentle  take on  “Combat Gnosticism”

                                     War   experience

                    So  much  of blood, So much of  human warfare,

                    I am  immersed in blood  bath, the corpses

                   are  now  sacrificial  ire. I could   hear the 

                   wail of the  widow, the  son’s angry  pitch

                   against  the  crude  artillery , a mother

                  in front  of the dead ward, wishing God

                 could  have  changed the  ordeal, reversed

                  His  dictum. Many  patriotic   soldiers

                 Mangled   and  muted beyond  identification.

                It will  take  ages  to  revamp  the  scar

                and  scene. Is  my  Booty  real? Is my

                Victory  a  wholesome   Gain? All   a   mirage/

               Fie upon  my  diadem, my  state, my region.

               I take   a vow not  to indulge in   battle anymore,

              On to  pilgrimage   and  pray  the  word “ war”

              Be erased in the pages of History.