ON MAYA gruelling..

        ON  MAYA gruelling..

I    slowly begin  to  refresh,

 read   the   quick  moving  present

for each  day is  a  nonstop  roller coaster,

in   the   blank  page   of  the  past,

I    traverse    the  path,

blanketed   NOT     by   the  jamboree

but   by  the  gruelling  Maya,

a  horrendous , selfish  environment

 a subtle  intricate  monster

admonishes me, checks me

you have  to  internalize,

Epicurean   stares   from    distance,

I seek   my  way.

When Adam delved......

         When  Adam  delved.........

When  Adam  delved, Eve  span,

Malefic  Satan  came to  sham,

Satan  spied, Eve yielded,

Evinced   Adam , both transgressed

So  mankind was born:

But  then  Satan  came  along,

Faithful  in every  era to  question

To nullify  the  purpose  of   Incarnation,

to  argue, to counteract, to tarnish:

queued  to  swell those in  quandary,

 possibly  to be dethroned to  the

eternal  realm  of devious   dormitory

for   there  bound  to be  No

Call of  Awakening   for   those   adamant. 

A moment in a solitary corner

             A  moment in a solitary corner 

      I recall   my grandmother’s  cow

MM---AAA-----AAAA----S, in her own  garden

Labour  for her,  also the consequential  labour

For my grand ma, tending, caring, cleaning,

Innocent  calf  falls  to the ground,

Tether  and crowbar witness  gleefully.

For   many  a  human, helpless,   I foresee,

Why  this  Birth? Why this  birthing?

Why   take  a  Bath or holy  dip?

As  for  those  deliberate   inhuman,

Callously  dipping in  vials of sin,

Is  it  absolving  karma   or  abrogating

Dharma , insignificant moments of 

Foraying  into the otherness of existence.

A  church  bell  peals out ,disturbing   silence,

It  is  also  part  of  Karma,

Karma   admonishes   

You  cannot   banish me, bear  with me.

X poem: The old woman's pondering

   Xmas  poem :  The old  woman’s pondering

When  the   November’s pall of gloom

Is  just  receding,   the  sheets  of  water

On the  streets   like  the  massive  orgy

  flowing, overflowing , a  force,  a    fear ,  repellent

much  the chagrin, panic   of the   hut   dwellers,

farmers, the   Golden  boughs of  December wave,

 the glimmering  Hope  of  Christmas   beckons

around us , the  glow  of   bulbs on the

Christmas Trees, the plums, and cakes:

Yonder   a  slender  woman   wears  a 

   Diamond     of   strong  determined  will  

Of  Charity ,looking  at  the  bright  stars,

Stormy  arguments under  control,

Why this mindless  hoarding   of  currency?

Pondering  how long  will  the  Soul  take

 to  reach  those stars,  are  the stars  only

the  destination? are   there   any  more 

sequestered    boundaries?  How  many

 would  have     died   of   starvation?

How   many  hankering   after  of   hungry

miles ,   a   voiceless  query? She  is not

able to  attain  a   limpid  solution:

Jesus   or  some  Incarnation   or  incantation

Santa claus  arriving  soon  ,hopefully

She  continues  her mission under

The   Christmas tree.

Nuggets of November

               Nuggets   of November

I   peep   through  the  half  visible,

 Transparent   glass   shutters,

 besmeared  by  water  drops, 

the  perverted  gloom  gathers

like   pell mell   infecting walls   and  roofs,

Now  it is  November, partly raining,

Partly  the  thunderous   clouds  spark ,

 The  usual  calm  blue   hiding  behind,

 The  crackers  in the wet  soil  benumbed,

don’t  burst,  lie   idle on the ground,

much   to the  chagrin   of the   kids,

some  crackers slowly  catching 

  burst  half,   drop   helpless,

I   read,   behind  some  embers

  of     subdued    glow and   spark,

 there is  no   spark

 but   pretentitious   ire  or  cow down,

 or    corrugated  mood,

 behind   some ,   the  mourning, the

  dead   in the    coffin   iced,

 there  is  the warm   calculus  of

coffer , the  value of  mosaic

newly  constructed,

the  box  moves,  but   man

with  the  calculator  , refuses

stuck  to  the  tiled  floor,

looking  up  at the  vault,

 how  to  reach  IT.

Here in sombre October......

                       Here  in  sombre   October 

             Bonfire  glows,  ghost  stories  run,  Halloween

              waves  the  other  side  of  the globe,

               here  in  sombre  October, when  leaves

           abandon  their tawny  shreds, many  claim

           to  recompense  their  lost   youthful  exuberance,

           picking  up  their leaves  or pastel  shades ,

            a   fresh  brew  in the log of fire,

             many  a  walking  goes on  with

           ambitions  on the   crumbled,broken    leaves,  

            a    twaddler  comes, somebody’s daughter,

            somebody’s  bother,  who knows

            A  Mother  Theresa  or  Mona  Lisa

            In the offing,  She   moves on.

            The  leaves  rustle   and    rue.

       

At the end of the final journey...

                         At  the  end   of the   final  journey......

       

   Alaska   to  Africa,  Nebraska  to  Nainital

Mapping   in  the   mind ,tracks  on

The   rout less   journey;

 A   self  willed      Wallkie   talkie

At  the  end of the apparently

Conclusive   path, nothing is conclusive,  

  you   read the  meandering

Past, so  much  has been misread

 and   misapplied , some  pages   are

even  kicked off   to the donkey

as    fodder ,  human   intelligence

works  faster,  some  break   is  inevitable,

 the     cover   of the   taffy

Peeled   off. Not  a  tasty  bite

But  a   sobering  tale ,yet

Destiny  tunes  , takes it own   course.

You   read  and   rehearse  the tale

to  the   dormant  society.

I weave a dream of...

           I weave a dream


I weave a dream ,
the colourful threads
are broken in the process,
the needle pricks me,
a  blatant reminder
pinafore of planning
looks pathetic,helpless,
for it is avaricious dream
a dream of impossibility.

The boy on the third step...

              The   boy   on  the   third  step

The   smart  boy on the third step

Of  the  staircase,   broad   and   safe,

A  place  for  most  to  ruminate,

for  some   for  alms,

 three   is  always   his   favourite,

 plays into the  web of  algorithm

 works   out    algebra,

hawthorns   and    pale     primroses

  dare not    sprawl   before his

mathematical  eye,

bends   and  minds  his business

fully  aware  he cannot solve

humanity’s   hump teen  sorrows,

for  THEY  are stubborn,  thistles ,

a  mild , sudden ,   spooky  sound  before  him,

it  is  the  spoon, with a  shimmer ;

the  spoon , deliberate  or  inadvertent 

he  knows not.

His  eye is his  algorithm.

Meekness

          Meekness



Meekness is a like a tusk
Remove it by the branded
axe of arrogance, see saw
with the blade of assured returns,
assumptions that are
returns which are no dividends
but deadline for doomsday:
your majesty is gone, invite danger,
you are powdered and pounded
on the Mother Earth,
Embodiment of patience.

The Raven in most of us

       The   Raven  in   most of us...

It is  past  ten  at  night, I am  awakened ,

I   see  through  the   window,

The  coal wagon  comes  to  a halt 

for  want of  signal,

Smoke   and  coal   and wheels,

Black   puffs of  smoke  blinding

blending  the environment

those   are  decades  age.

From   afar,  a  Raven  like

 Popping  out , be  discoloured

by   brown  twigs   and  leaves.

The  prurient     raven  in most  of  us

lavishes    unethically   protruding  wants,

 they  are  desires ,   jostling  to the forefront,

 unaccountable  wants, jelly fish,

those  are belligerent quacks

impinging   upon  our   reason    and dignity.

  

My Home

                My Home


Home , a glittering coin of two sides,

elusive, the coin rolls and
triggers , your hidden verve, mine too,
whose possession is it going to be,
methinks ,home too is
a block of concrete, cement slabs:

Mending wall, appeasement for hungry
Stomachs and hankering souls,
Home is a also a dividing wall,
where leeches breed, renting
Relationships , partnerships, counting
In terms of loss and profit ever,

I cocoon myself in a corner,
taps on my laptop,
Singing to the rhythms of
Creativity, occasional
munching of cashew nuts,
My vista, my tabula rasa.

Homecoming

             Homecoming



It is the fervent homecoming
of a beloved chick hugging
the care of its mom, warmth,
encoded affection only for life’s sake,
Affection is Life :
The chic so far shattered by a
not limpid multiple influences
foraying into his thinking:
and distancing itself ,
Coired by tremulous cocooned shell,
Now ,mother’s shadow
Permeates the flaggy wool of serenity,
Mother's  shadow goes well
with the Homecoming.
The Homecoming of the chic.

The High Speed...

        The high speed



It is the feline chase by the tom cat
that the otherwise sprightly sparrow
Speeds up to seek asylum on my window:
The spongy wings flutter, is it out of jittery
Panic or automated course of flight?
Combined both. Could be.
Now it slows down to peck the grains
Sprayed slender plastic bowl.
The High Speed of the water tanker
 overtakes the heavy loaded auto –rickshaw
innocent children , a morning ritual to school,
a bunker slows it down, slimming the route.
Shaping their fate .
It is the high speed and manipulated
Connivance, your patrimony is seized,
God’s Boon is a methodical, slow Gift,
Consequences are His High speed Shift.

Winnowing

           Winnowing




The sequestering chess master
Pulls and cuts in between the
Black and white on the pliable
Chess board, construing it
as if it is a Life of game,
so immersed is he that the
silent night is stretched
to the waking dawn,
yes, we all need a waking
dawn to redeem from the
boisterous clutter and claptrap
bemusing most of us,
the chirping birds fluttering
swoop out of their cocooned nests,
their nests, their home, their efforts,
a matter of pride for the winged ever
to come back and cuddle their chicks.
Some agricultural reformer
Swings a sickle ,
I can only look up for a wind
Or rain or solace from above.
Ground erupts always.

While he bites the ice .....

                   While he bites the ice......






When he bites the iced water
Of the blocking cakes visible ,
from the transparent pet jar of
his ten year old fridge , cool and carefree,
mocking man, for his frozen and moribund
attitude, overrated by a pretentious cult of
nonchalance and indefatigable synergy,
while he drinks the beauty of the dark eyed,
flowing into dithyramb , the future which
he revels into a mellifluous song
becomes a dark, dark chamber of commerce
irretrievable . He still stares at the pet jar,
white iced blocks stumbling in the neck
ready to pass through his throat. His
transparency is reduced into zero.

What a difference!

What a difference!


My Labrador does not sulk in the
Corner of my broad garage
but with its accustomed, massive,
wary, watchful look purveys
the surveyor and the casual passersby.
the white spongy , tail wagging,
Puppy, my puppy , now sudden
crosses with a dried bone
dexterously holding or handling.
Limpid or dried what does it matter?
there goes a woman in synthetic sari,
half covered and half let loose,
yet holding that cloth bag tight,
with unassumingly simple cloth bag,
not to provoke any suspicion
not nitwit, but meticulously arranged
carrying not papers but sins of supple
and manipulated texture, lithe , forged
and implied fornications,
denigrations of Gods,
she amply furthers , not knowing
when fallen , kicked and given Dog’s treatment.

When I close my eyes..

When I close my eyes........

When I close my eyes, to turn away
from those conceited , turgid, engulfing
sights of scenes and segments,
avoiding a geometrical turbulence,
surrealistic escape into calmed meditation,
You look up the unaging firmament:
what are those glittering stars?
Each star is a triumph of the newly transported,
mocking at the ground, you wonder
if it is a virtual representation
of the departed soul, adieu to the
agonising soil of clutter and grim battle.
I stare at those unfading stars,
Silent shining voices of the demented.

In my Space...

              In my Space .....


In my space of ten by ten , small
room, zig zagged tiles, white cement
blocks yet to be evened by the labourer,
Definitely no white ants spotted,
Masons’ finger marks on the wall,
Inadverantly placed foot marks
when leaned against, either
to be construed cautious lizard
Or a sunflower or even a plant
to be watered and nourished.
within the salient four walls,
a miniature show enacted,
Improvised theatrical ambience,
A docile indoor game,
no sound of acoustics,
No water splashes , no
rants of the villain , me
performing the soliloquy
 the wall figures  stare on.

Krishna consciousness

               Krishna consciousness

Krishna! I beckon upon you
with your coxcomb like
Peacock feather stemming from
Your bluish forehead,
Yourself immersed in self,
Yet permeating the Universe,
Playing upon your nimble
flute emitting supple melancholy
Notes, Oh! Where are you now?
Oh! Krishna, I am the lone sufferer,
On the Seam of intended
seamless existence, it is
a sheer struggle for survival,
Long ago you said ‘ fight it out’
In the battlefield.
You addressed a different audience,
But is it possible for me now?
Unable to counteract the slings
and arrows and mud
cast in a subtle way?
Why Krishna this pallid
State of confusion?
The battle delivered a
Message for all times.
The Gita was born,
The Gita is torn asunder,
Pages are misread, under suspension,
Oh! Krishna, come to reset,
Be a devout surgeon to
Perform this lobotomy,
Krishna ! be apart of us.