Guardian ( as you set out )

Guardian  ( as you set out )

Life is  undoubtedly a   two way  path

Intertwining in your coil of success and

Failures, soars and serendipity; an edge.

Arrival and departure lounges, ever busy

tracking and passengers  dragging baggage;

their indomitable destiny, chasing   karma

vigilant devouring their plans and ambitions.

Short notice, your landlord vacates your

Apartment, your  in-laws mushrooming

On the plundered  coins  gathered in the

Garb of  have-nots and   it is your  duty,

Some argued boldly and assertively.

Your intuition tells, “get ready” . your

Grandchildren already bidding adieu.

Your bed slowly  slipping you  to a

Better place of eternity, comfort and care.

Bills and  payments and loans and redemptions

Shares  to the next generations.

Yes! You set out to a different world!

The ruins an Golden Age

Come to the verdant country side,

A walk by the salving brooks and           

Majestic hills, where medicinal plants grow

Copious and  charming, with mystic songs

always transporting you to a world beyond

your ken and  wit; where are those colonies now?

They are dying and defunct like the dried fallen

Leaves. The quay stones speak volumes of  their

Pride  and history ; ruins are our once jewels ;

How often, urchins played under the tamarind tree,

Young pair of lovers indulged in romantic  songs,

While some others  rocked the cradles with sleeping

Babies, awaiting hot lunch in packs plantain leaves.              

I go back and think of Golden  Ages, when our

Grandparents  voicing from high hills and mountains

Echoing their cultural grit ever watching us:

I want to relive those  Golden  Age.

A fantastic journey

A fantastic journey

You  came to us , after cozy

Imprisonment in mother’s

Smoothly walled chambers,

 Full-blown after ten months

Or premature  as in some cases;

Could you float  and see albumen and blood?

me also, poised  in the same question,

the tough passage was for mother

an ordeal and  indescribable rebirth for both ;

not a  ghost from tomorrow, but make

and remake of  recent and  yesteryears’

glue and  picture kicking out of the  chamber.

Oblivious of the hazards of outside world.

You are galloping from timeless and silence

To cacophony and  disporder,where life is

A null and chaos and cutthroat competition.

A world where life is only a   shadow and unreal.

Wondering at the creation and wonder is not the word.

Before and after--- the burial ground

Before and after---  the burial ground

Life’s  pristine journey

begins swift as bee, buzzing  round,

for the sane and genuine grieving

 only in burial ground;

 Moments  of glamour and gloom,

like the waning and waxing

 Of anything materialistic- it is

  the  stagnant  water -previous show;

 what is the kernel in this body?

  What is the soul hiding, where,

 In the mega project of flesh and sin

 Not knowing the Unreachable.  

   A little ganga water purifying,

   Only our exterior, our thaw less

  still ruminating  the  events  leading

   to our bathos and perfunctory roll.

    Aftermath of revel and rebel

    mad  rush for attorney and property,

     signing and  countersigning

   shadowing all our efficacious deals;

Love! Never lose hope

  Love! never lose hope

Ever since  His creation, Love is the

Dome on which many sat and  dreamt

to breed and glow,despite  opposition;

respite and  discard and  for many

it grows to munificent heights.

There are many ways to branch off,

Suspicion and  anger and  bliss

hamper   to  distract and  quell

our mood  of lure and care; yet

love blossoms when right choice

delights and gives no room for

doubt or uncanny apprehension.

His wings are pure  as Dove’s

Fancy in flights high and sustained

Joy reveling in lasting  faith.  Let us

Please him, catch him, hold him

Until he flies saturated with wings

To untold bliss of heaven

Calabash’ A clash of ideas

‘Calabash’      A clash of ideas

What do you think of God’s creation?

  Very first creation? A succulent orange

Plump apple or fig covered by leaves?

A rosy pot of luck or white  jasmine in

the garden  permeating fragrance?

The  first man was out of stick and mud,

Fashioned according to his full fledged

design and  care and caution. But  Man

described him as “ shoddy bricolage”

expressed a  peculiar desire he wanted

a man to befriend with .A calabash was

the ultimate choice, God would have

certainly been bemused at Man’s requisite

beyond explanation or solution. Original

mud and stick and roundness  now, what a

contrast in ideas? God is bewildered now;  

but man and woman -all the more in  a state

of stupor, decision less moments. What we

do call this?

SWAN

Here  is  my white swan

Sweet and beautiful,

Cute  like a  doll curled

Yet full of  zest. Again

 ever   a   prided pleasure

to watch young cygnets:

flying high, close to the  water,

I wonder if swans play jugglery;

Cant construe if whistling is warning

A peculiar throb  of its vibration.

 A  music I hear but not a premonition

 Of death. A music prolonging  

to  a life time memory and logo .

Oh! My swan, my boon!

Paradise lost book Two - Satan’s move on the go

Paradise  lost  book Two -   Satan’s   move  diabolical on the go.- 

Angels’  talk, which could not be relished by  Satan;

He was  quiet, a  little while, but being a  seasoned

Politician and expert in maneuvering things, looked

Around  to proceed  his  lecture. Satan is glad his sea

Should find  a shore  springing alacrity ; shocking rude

Elements  on all sides though unmanageable. Life’s path

Is equally endangered as between    Charybdis  ally ;

Man ‘s fall is Satan’s  bliss and boon. Waiting for more

 Chances  to nullify man’s hope and  thwart GOD’S WILL.

Chaos and pandemonium and parasites, siding the evil

Prevail the  chosen spot where Satan now reigns. God’s

Plan if be benign and constructive, Satan’s plan  malign

And destructive, yet would not yield. This world  of multi

Special creations and  carve of divergent  Nature, Satan

Always aimed to turn against God. He always rules in his

Mischievous  orb. We have to live and  endure in this

Universe of  mystery and  mischief and venom  with a

Wary eye on the evil mongers and poisonous asps

Ready to sting and on  and on.

Takes after (Guardian Lavernock by Saunders Lewis

After  life's adversities...

Sea and  sky, song and  shore,

We  lie and chat on the pebbles’ shore,

Skylark’s swoop and song

Ringing like a  prophetic note,

Through the ascension, we merge

coil along  the Beauty of the Universe.

We think of the past, present and future,

get annoyed by the pitfalls of life,

 hoping life would be better, wished

life could have taken us through  safe

moorings and  ended in river valley of

blessed spot. But now all in divergent shapes,

praying  The Almighty that Life would  steer

into a  calm and steady sail. What wealth remains

after all turbulence and adversities?

Only moors and sandy shores,

Skylark descending slow into a

lifeless empty  passage.

After Guardian- At the back of the head

After Guardian-  At the back of the head

At the back of your head

Don’t surmise only black curls

 dominating over,  beyond  these

a kingdom from whence you see

a galaxy of stars, a world of unknown

region where most of us merge

after some time; don’t ask if we can

speak or see  or visualize future

from there,  a mysterious horizon.

I don’t see you or your eyes,

Your mouth or complexion,

But only the mystery of this

Galaxy, stars and moon, flow

Of rivers  and falls on mountains;

Nature’s  Beauty and  Marvel,

Creator’s magic wand and flute

Silencing our earth;

Time's ringtone

Time’s ringtone

 Like a  wary watchman, Time waits

 without  compromising his own sense of Time;

 Time is the healer,time is the tester,

 a good recordation in our diary

  carrying us through  hazards and

   secrets of success every minute.

   in all our steps and  serendipity,

  Young or senile, time like a  creeper

 coils round  like ringlets to shine on

 furthering  our beauty and glow

 or with a  different coloring  shade

 on our  aging process.

 Whether be setting   Sun  or falling leaves

In the autumnal parade, or Spring’s moods

jubilant and serenading, Time’s flavor

always runs in, ringtone ever singing.

nothing happens

Guardian’s Event

Nothing is happening,

In this ever happening,

Eventful  creation;

toad croaks, water drops,

gossamer faint glimmers all

around the earth and you

tread slowly in all panic;

nothing happens.

Sunsets and rising on the

Eastern horizon, how do

The orange embers disappear

And  appear, nothing happens still.

Where  is the unused space here?

So much of inhabitation, so little space ;

Birds and buds blossoming still,

I see  a void still, nothing  happens.

In the stillness of humanity, I see

So much  is to happen,yet nothing happens.

Tree’s pride and plight

Tree’s  pride and  plight

Interspersed with my

Thick green foliage,

a swarm of bees and  berries,

day’s call and copious  buzz.

At noon, a surreptitious    caterpillar

pair with the  pained bloom,

not shedding but sharing with the

clustered clan ever accommodating.

At dawn, crows black princed,

covey of parrots with green livery

Pride with the parentage,

their wings a  see saw fritter ever,

until a thud of wind sweep and

dogs bark gathering all shiver

my kith and kin of neighborhood

silenced into  shrunken chamber.

I wait for Spring’s advent

to reshape my defunct call

can I see again my broad spectrum?

Under which many umbrellas  figure in.

  

Poem of the week: Sonnet – September 1922 by Ivor Gurney

He is divinely unique;

He does not get annoyed  or upset

if he is infuriated or hurt beyond limit;

because he is a thinking person

taking everything in the right spirit.

Water and fun, sunrise and sunset

don’t clamor ill will or rancour

we may not be a toad, or sly cat,

need not be a ferocious lion, neither

tardy nor haste in our midst,

but practice the pristine calm

of control and  cool unless pushed

to  the extreme. Be a butterfly in the

 twisting world, spinning around;

we keep spinning around the earth,

as it spins round day  and night,

our anger and  ill will have their

moments of success  and  defeats.

Moon

After   Guardian  (  Moon)        

Ye! Moon, much adored

by committed poets and wise

astrologers ! where did you go

into hiding? Sadly we all miss you.

When you come back in full forum

Of dignity and bright cheers, it is all

A boon for us. From my storied balcony,

You boom like a pot of Luck.

The mid sea reflection of yours

In sail and song steered by prolonged

Journey is a serene  beyond question.

No, you are not a trolley; smiley,

cool and how often favoring lovers

and  birds and travelers !

On earth, a supermarket trolley,

Moon,  you don’t care ;

There  a child claps stuffing

Evening  cake  in your mouth!

                                                                     

my inn

I retire from pomp and show,

din and bustle, retire to homely inn

of simple and low cot.

what are  mansions but show

where flamboyant wavy pet

your drinks and moods.

In this small inn, freedom

with free play, bright sun

to cheer up  with   champagne .

life of simplicity, abrogation of

falsehood and  grin and glamour,

I wear as armour in this inn.

Here is my peace and calm,

Here is my serene and yearn

to weave a carpet of my own.

After a full round of life,

The end of journey beckons

A New Beginning in the inn,

SMOG ( AFTER GUARDIAN)

SMOG ( AFTER GUARDIAN)

 I have so much to write,

 longer than ten novels immediate,

 more and more of themes and takes,

my small head cannot take as much,

though headache sporadic resting

upon my  forehead and  veins,

yet  a commitment like that of

God’s   Boon and  Assured Protection.

Under the sticky fog and smog,

always a  face-mask and  air -purifier,

noisy air pollution and traffic

unavoidable, pouring out  themes

and  thoughts ,colorless shapes in

heaps and  boundary less . pray for

a new  Science  be born to save these

 “breathing and coughing and dying

 too soon”.

Here for me, no love, neither love lost,

But  a  yearning passion to save these

Trodden by  penury and drudgery .

After Guardian( Green Boughs)

   After  Guardian  ( Green Boughs)

My young friends  are dead,

My beloved old generation,

my  bosom pals, strong pillars,

shoulders  right in earnest

moments of grief and  glue,

dipped in blue sitting on the

edge of  sad contemplation.

Girls unwed, those wedded

Loyal to their young exuberant

masters,  now bereaved, in soil

of sacrifice and warfare for the

sake of nation’s honor and pride.   

With sanguine thought steering

always the appropriate path;

All are gone, now;  Peace  and

Glory be to them all. Elders

Now rule the roost,always governed

by stupid rules, stringent laws

over the nation of  historic pride;

“And all my own generation
They have cast into the fire”.

Within a prison of four walls

Within a  prison of four walls

Me  a convict within a

Cell of four walls, all the

Time watching and hearing me.

I am a listener of my own

Heartbeat, faster than sentinels;

Don’t ask me how I landed there;

rounded up in streets by cops

along with others as unruly elements.

Other cases of criminals, not proven,

another cell, lathis and wailings of

shock treatments, pangs of brutal deaths.

A man at the corner has his own moorings:

This vast world, a  shell for us,

Our deeds or misdeeds.

Heaven or haven,we have to make

Visitor hours our time of  bliss!

else, a doleful day of guilt and corrosion,

ruling our passions, also guiltless moments;     

why his life? Why hypocrisy? Why

relentless move and meaningless clatter?

Besides, digging, watering, gardening

we have  to dig into many a dark cells,

water our hardened, palsy smitten spaces

of discussions and dingy rooms, stuffed

with irate ruminations clear up fast.

Heaven or haven,we have to make.

  

  

Strike it up Tabor

Strike it up Tabor

 Strike it up Tabor

We are in  party galore,

moods of singing and dancing roar

Strike it up Tabor,

well tuned strings afore.

My spirits  go about the maypole,

I will be blithe and  brisk,

Hop skip and  jump,

roll over the pole,

merge and mingle in the crowd.

My joints don’t ache,

my thews  grow strong,

We are in a frenzied

 Dancing mood.