Nameless strugggle

Nameless struggle

These are not my dreams

Didn’t have pleasure of driving

Golden  chariot, nor did I  ever 

don Golden fleece, gold rimmed

saris never decked my small

improvised cupboard, for tiny

hut was my luxury and dwelling.

Call it poor man’s karma?

Or our ancestral curse;

self-made attire, washed, dried,

indoors cloth liner, feast for eyes

covering up vacuum and patches

of our have not colored faces;

children’s  tattered shirts and

gowns with often stitched edges

are the price paid for daily wages?

Call it poor man’s karma?

Or our ancestral curse;

End of the day  curl up

like puppy on a pyal of

Cemented mound only

to wake up for great ordeal.

                                                                    

 

Still , Summer in and around me

Still , Summer  in and around me

 Look at this autumn, slowly coming

like Dalila  as if to combat the heat of

cruel summer’s heat, yet we all prefer

mostly summer with its breeze, verdant

green and gubernatorial sun shining on us.

Sun shining  on them in friendly rightful

call; seasons and sunrise and light have

their own influence on us all;  it is the

dictum of God  or Nature’s rightful

rotation entering into different zone.

Springing like  a  ping    bong ball

Winter’s  chill memory still taps me,

for the   bonfires of past, my childhood

days, burning of old rags,burning of desires  

now dancing like a summer’s doll before me.

That burns even after I perish

 That  Burns even after I perish

From High  dreary  mountain top,

A search for you still on and on ,

With snow peaked cap  atop,

 My pursuit is for you twined on;

So many decades of life in love;

Steering  a sail amidst  storm ,

A dragging on  while I bow,

No matter even it is yard of grove.

Great is the spirit that remembers

after years of struggle and sacrifice,

memory is a  precious gift dismembers

void and ferocity towards edifice.

Yearning  for you was always there,

every star and spirit in its abode ,

Searched   not knowing going where,

Rested a while on healthy promenade.

The torch of divine anguish

Burns ever even after I perish.

after Lapstrake ( guardian)

After  Lapstrake ( guardian)

Here is sea calm today,

 My boat and life boat sail

Smooth and steady now.

Yes, my boat braids itself

to the brown end of estuary.

Much traffic  across globe

and seafaring – all quite

within our distinct view.

Whale and shingles and net

all fishermen observe.

 by the rim of shore, we too partake

of their poised hands. The boat

or lapstrake is not complaining

now, it concurs with our will,

We get a  new lease of life.

 A Release from all our self made

 Animadversion or  those  stemming      

Outside. The well crafted craft

Treads majestic as a queen on

“diced sea” as smooth and light

As plantain leaf. We must ever

Watch  out still our life’s moorings.

A view inside park

A view inside park     

This two-legged searching

For a select corner in the park of

three decades of solid front:

with its congregations and

happenings a passing through

your mind, retreat into serenity.

Entering into senior citizen’s mind

A rehearsal of emotional stress

and calculations of life’s entourage

with permutations and combinations of

household ding dong in your memory;              

you view yet another perspective too,

a middle class, salaried, rent and loan

fees and hikes, school uniforms

with content your forte.                            

Kits and kites thronging every corner.

The nebula Of life visibly moving;

Not love for Life in any corner

of park. Park, still, silent receptive,

middle class gossip and concern.

After his footsteps -- after Gudardian

After  his foot steps:

Like father like daughter

running after gold and comfort;

parsimonious beyond belief.

Gold capped pen, gold rimmed

Spectacles, gold lined livery

Strewn all over, gold pendent ;

  Gold  plated bowl

 on dining table,yet  her

 appetite on unappetizing;

her eyes glance on the

photo of her mother

she has not seen, only

heard through him,

she was equally covetous

had  a  Midas’ touch in her

day to day living and

earning, with a   passion

for sophistication and

luxury. Within her

closed doors, glass

room, she is a slave

of her greed, her restive

unrestricting her moods

and movements; her cute

curls hanging, the  coaxing

mirror   in fronts of her,

her scissors  still active

for a  better morrow.