Calmness Endures

                   Calmness Endures.

          The   puff of  steam

          hurriedly go ,stay and settle

         on the green coloured   

         hard ,thick,  window  panes,

        till  I go deft to wipe them off.

         Also  a  kettle with soot

        chuckles  as if terribly  

        weaned   off  an evil.  

        It is  the hot  puff of  steams

       Piercing  my nostrils   clogged

       by   cold  and subsequent  sneeze.  

       The pictures afar, on the wall

        don’t  blow, or fritter,

        stay  double calm.

      

Seasonal Shifts In Your mind

In the  winter of  your life,

wrinkles  criss-cross , the skin

loose, like  haberdasher’s

 garments  hanging.

Altered  by swift  currents and

Cross-currents,   fetish with

The free, uninterrupted  flow

Of writing, you  are in  for

a  deliberate   pause.

You   brood of  those

Summer  days, how

best summer could have

been  spent, summer  showers

have delighted you, the  sacred

pots in your garden,

little  realize  that dark,

Dull, Emissary , one day

will knock at your door,

Collage  with  your  aging

and  desire  for  unaging   process.

Helen! Don't Come Near Us.

Helen! Don’t come  near us.

Helen!  Don’t  think we will be

dancing  with you. Decked by the

frills  of  wavy, white,

 gauzy garment, your pride,

 prerogative.  We are content,

safe ,drinking  the minerals ,from

where  we are.  Not at all eager,

share your  full energized   orgy.

A core of  us ,crave to lead

Our lives, ordained  by The Supreme.

Our boundary  line is land.

Dare  not  trespass .

( Helen is the name of the Cyclone,formed in India)

A humble take on '' I am nobody! Who are you?''

A  humble  take on   ‘’ I am  nobody! Who are you?

 I am nobody!   who  are you?

I am  insignificant  speck,

A void, rudderless ship,

not knowing what for my birth,

My existence, a straw,

thawed   by  twists, shifts,  turns

of  plotted   villainy  and

vituperation. Quirky

circumstances  changed

life’s turn and   it sustains

on  a shaky  keel.

You  are a   Sage, Seer

with  extraordinary

 visionary  Powers,

an exorcist  to   drive away

 the   mad passions

gripping  the vile

and   seditious ,

though a  slow  process.

A Take on winter Storm's Mad Organ Playing.

Those  vile, crazy  in the

grip of  battle guns,  exchange

their  prowess.

The city is in the grip of

Fear  and vendetta  striking:

Sombre November splashes

its rains  and vultures

in  blood bath,

Hellish  darkness spiralling,

For  Moon  hides  her  Face

Beneath the interface

Where  thundering winter’s

mad  organs  roving,

dying  soldiers'  lips mutter

these last words to their

women in  anguish,

 ‘’Be bold, take care

Of our children, for

We come for a cause ‘’.

                                                              

Melting Grass

       Melting  Grass.

We  are   a   good, not at all

 seditious  bunch  of  grass.

Silly, stuff, cordoned off,

getting  unduly drenched,

in the flooding waters,

overpowering rains that

mercilessly  sweep us all,

immersed, we get decayed.

Yet, in golden summer days,

We are segregated ,divided

to   accommodate  fresh,

 green leaves ,in between,

 how mercenary they are!

She goes off

          She  goes off

By the cool, passing rivulet,

A  corner to cordon off my anguish.      

I get on the   promenade, pain  lingering .

The path  brews  acceptance.

Innocently, the plant shimmering

With violet flowers, waves,

inadvertently, I plucked one violet:

 thoughts  submerged, threw it off.

Tomorrow’s   straight, resplendent

beams  miss. Bees  are for  dismay.

Placid  violet, not turning, merges

with  the  mainstream. I look on.  

Truama Of The Dying

The   Seasonal  cycle  takes its turn,

Summer‘s   terracotta   recedes,

bids  adieu  to  the  Gardener,

This bitter Winter, Why should  I

Call it bitter, it follows its norms,

The ornamental, Curtain’s   twist and roll,

in the gaps, my peep outside:

some jolly, more  to   jettison the  angst

of fear, survival and  torment,

they live for  the  ‘today’ , the moment.

Not far away, the uncaring, careless,

 the wrestling ,warring humanity,

the  twang of   surgical  instruments

don’t  disturb me  anymore.

The  ward  boys  move about  mechanically,

I  stretched out my legs, relax,

On this cot which bore many

moving  in out often.  

Sit   up, look at the wall,

The clock ticks, tick! Tick!

It  is  the Timer.

Nothing can stop these.

 Nothing  can stop these.

Hark!  These  Nightingales  are

Sweet. Lull your ruthless anger.

But they look as if  they care not.

Warlike pellets of words,

like  gunshots in the air,

mutual exchange of vendetta,

all   for  land  and gold,

the same  is the gruesome

even in home front,

fallen an impassioned slave

to infectious ,malicious  urge.

Impatient  soldiers in khaki   uniforms,

Even  security guards are subdued

by  this acrimonious , garrulous  spot,

what picture of Madonna ?

what    Monalisa   smile could

mend these  adamant?

Warfront  or home the

Same is the scene.

My Grandmother Now Chuckles

My   grand mother  now chuckles.

She  is on the last  cubicle,

Laid on the floral bed,

for  many  came to pay

respects   to her,

she swallowed much silent and sober,

curled    like a nine year old child,

nonagenarian  shrunken to

this   state:  age’s cruel play. 

Once  the pillar of the house.

Treated  with  pepper, chanting ,

 those  that came for Scorpion bite,

herself  a  flourishing  Tulsi plant.

I recollect, her deft, seasoned hands,

how she would cook green, leafy

and   serve the inmates patiently,

she  would sit on the  concrete mound

outside  and wait for me,

A great soul, now gone,

to a better zone.

Our Prerogative

                   

Your  p lough, your meaning of life,

 on your  customized  shoulders,

Watch rabbit out of the burrow,

 Till your apportion   land,

curd, rice and  pickle in  duress of  strain,

fear   if  rain  fails us all,

Carnival to the Sky and Sun,

 Porridge and rice overflowing

On the  broad   leaved etiquette .

A Walk Into Wilderness.

    A walk into wilderness.

A hoary moment  of isolation  and despair

takes  you  for  a walk in the wilderness,

saggy, almost falling leaves,

driven out of their  privileged homes,

one can powder  them then and there,

rugged   stems, the airless ,emptiness,

powered  by seasonal  shifts, uncanny   

elements of visitations, I could  see,

some burnt pieces of wood, ashes,

ritualistic, supernatural ,or factual

must have mutilated them.

Could it be some curse working

Upon  them, know not. Birds

 demure  entry, not wanting

to  those ,once  they frequented

the  opulent,   succulent off springs.

I pray, some  sage must come

down  to  perform a carnival

to transform  the neglect.

Surplus kneels before Survival

She  is  not   a mocking  bird.

Believes in  diligence and independence,

Pecks  on the solitary,marauded ,  broken bone.

Survival is her immediate  necessary instinct,

Winter’s cold rings   still hanging out,

flies  to the other pre-emptied   pinion,

The dried  fallen  neem leaves,

Of  what   use are they now?

The   sturdy bone  moves not

Sticking  on the dried hinges.

Mapping On Egg.

I imagine a plastic egg

On my table mahogany,

dip my brush in gentle blue,

Embellish strokes of painting,

Sketch  Heathrow in its global

Majesty and international air  traffic ,

Saunter about   Thames   and Trafalgar square

Circumnavigate   in grids of    avidity and diligence,

The   egg tossed up down

In a see-saw landing pose

By the speeding fan,

My mapping is done.

A dead wood I was

         I  was a dead wood  

drifting  along, the spooky  path

of  maze  and intrigues,

the   scary foam  of waves  surge

 a whirl  of  surreal  in  me,  

tossing   me up and down,

the mariner’s compass,

holds   a dumb  charade

at the moment  of  travesty,

Your  advent   is the

Enlightenment of  Beacon.

Halo  glows  ever.

Oh! My God! It Is Nowhere To Go

       It is not God’s Land, any more,

       much is submerged, ancient is  gone,

       Good old days are buried alive.

      I swim on the seemingly

       safe currents tossing  above,

      Oryx, restrains   its move,

      Crazy bull with fierce looks

      attacks not  but  recede,  

      Market fairs look  defeated,

      Ozymandias,no longer subdues

      Our  passion  and  prided  anger,

     Yet, human Temerity  tames  tangible.

       Lay your head on your

       hands  and  brood over

        how  to  recompense the loss.

       

This sly cat you unearthed.

             This    sly  cat  you  unearthed.

             I am saddened  to  know  this:

             so long  , This  was  eluding  my  notice,

              Also    it  was devouringly  alert

               to  thwart me,   I  am   not  even   bemused –

              for  it is    sodden  with  such  fake

             encounters , counting  upon  trades,

             This  Boon   beckoned  this 

              Is   a  dangerous  paw.

               Thawed  by  no  supple  force,  

               this  was hankering  around ,         

                You  have to    Go  round

                 for   a  quick   Magic wand

                 to  drive , This creepy, possibly .

                                             

Water, Water, everywhere.

Water, water, every where

Right   from the   Saline    water tube

to   the blood  veins    of  the   suffering  

In  the busy   hospital  ward,

The   surgeon  after  the  incision

Or  extraction, draws  near  the

Watered  tub  or  tap,

 it   drips, though,

The   saliva from  the mouth  

Align  the  tastes buds , dips,

Drib  ,dribble  ,drive    through.

Tears  swell  the  eyes,

Sudden from  the hidden  corners,

 All  depend upon  the  emotions.

Some    spontaneous, some

encash  the    enticing  situations,

Emotions   are   shed  in   watery  hymns

Oceanic  roar,   River’s  rhapsody

Waves  rigmarole, taps   going  dry

All    fluid’s  tricks.

An Old Man Walks His Way.

An   Old  Man  walks  His  Way.

A well trained  telecom  person,

The   octogenarian ,  used to this

Market   path, home  to  town  shop,

 Walking stick  his   unfailing  companion,

Pinion , under  whose  tutelage

He  avoids   many  unwholesome  traps,

His  usual  way, his  much familiar

accustomed  Road, he knows

as if   to locate in a  geographical  map

as well  as in his  mind,

each  and  every  stentorian  voice,

mothers  chiding  their  wards,  he identifies..

HE  curses  the   loud speaker  

Piercing  his    already   deaf  ears.

One  hand to  serve  as a  sun shade,

to  have  a  clear view,

The  roadside  flower  sellers 

Know  this  veteran ,by the  tap,

A  regular  kiss  on the road,

Long  shadow  in the return   path,

He  falls in  love with,

Blesses his spring  of

Life on this  Earth.

   

Unread pages

      Unread pages.

The prominent  ink mark  and the

Book   mark  have  their  equal  say now,

Furthering   your   agile   mood,

 What  for?  Imprinting   your   reflex .

There are so  many fallen petals of Rose,

Still  their  fragrance permeating,

Like   Life  still  hangs on , but   they are

merging  with  The dried  leaves, 

Autumn’s  victorious  banner   holding on.

True, they  are like  so many  unread

In  Literature, untreated, more,

  not exposed to life.

One  life  is  not  enough.

Now   your  silencing  voice

Ensembles  with  the   ambers of 

Sun  going  down the other side.