You are a lone star

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On Wordsworh by Shelley

 You are a lone star...

Poet of Nature, the great Romantic poet,

the Bard of England, you have glorified

Nature in all aspects, a call for all

shun materialism and make us feel

to see God and Truth in all walks of life.

In your pages, youth and love, once gone 

never returns; Childhood dreams should not fade,

I too miss like thee, for these gifts  or toys,

once broken or faded gone for ever.

You are like a lone star, shining ,

wrote and wept for multitude,

songs which are immortal sayings;

In songs, your philosphy, creativity,

we see a  saint, a visionary, for posterity

you  left a gleam of verses never forgotton;

Today we miss you  a costly miss,

i recall time and again,

" The world is too much with us".

you will never return,

but your verdicts a true  sayings

for posterity to remember and emulate

 

Nothing like Tomorrow

 Nothing like Tomorrow

 At last, a relief,yesterday is gone,

gone with all its restraints, grief moments,

pangs and irretrivable sorrow, 

like a caged bird, i was alone by melf;

This moment of today, the present,

a joy perfect and consoling, smooth

and  like   zephyr  through window rills

and curtains flawless floating on and son.

My today fairer than lovely song,

melodious a lullaby rocking with hand

gentle a tale of comfort for a better 

and assured morrrow, rock ,rock rock!

But,  a  sudden knock at the door,

beckons me for a better Tomorrow,

it says," remember  Tomorrow will lead 

gentle and kind, wiping all tears, "

So Tomorrow, better than Today,

come with wings free of Dove's peace,

peace alone in  my house built of comfort,

beams supportive for ages ruling walls;

Come Tomorrow, rule my sleep

rule my dreams , rule my life from hence.

 

my mother

       a  take on (Carol's poem on my mother oct 13)

It was my favorite field activity,

which I  tended   with all sincerity ,

i didn't want to miss my ailing mother,

but she blissfully gave a  sign go further;

it was a season of reaping and binding,

life's struggle all there overflowing,

her  mind full of love and affection best,

who cared and nurtured me, the youngest.

shocking and sudden the sad news,

she breathed last ,her soul's wish for us ,

the best and best  for all of us .

field and corn and plenty lie  null

before  a mother's sacrifice full.

it is not home when she is gone.

The fresh morning with crows cawing,

church bells ringing , choir and priests preaching,

school children in their attire best,

rush amidst traffic and rules bypassed.

green grass  in bunches sway ,

unawares the sickle soon would remove away,

kitchen and dishwah in water's full flow

unchecked run and run with sound's row,

all in routine in and around ,

in introspection  ruminates my    mind ,

can all these substitute my beloved mom,

 memory green ever blesses us a boon.

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a take on ---on the death of levet by johnson

 on the death of levet by johnson

One day is not the same,

it differs from day to day

when age and health  enter

in decaying portals, we  lose hope

and comforting chair; 

my friend was my philosopher, guide

and care taker;

sincere  and short tempered,

he was my physician, looked after me

in all times; equally i repaid the same,

in dire necessity, i  took care of his needs.

When Death prepared his times,

he accepted with  demure;

unaffected by seasons and  chill,

unmoved by inwardly corroding misery,

spending his days busy and peaceful night,

in equal proportionate temper most ,

he the octogenarian, now in his cot,

sleepless ,moving to and fro,

coughed and longed for water,

drank in slow sips, closed his eyes

for the last, his Soul journeying for better days.

station

 After day long struggle,

 trying work spot and  busy schedule,

back home is an ordeal,

this weather trying sudden,

i mean rain  pour,    we all seeking 

refuge in station, amidst anxious 

croud, desperate, eager to reach home,

what and how about preparations 

for the next day, the question always rsemains,

nothing can be more gruesome than heavy downpour;

each one reading other's face, 

chanting, praying , looking up to Heavens!

Almighty alone is your saviour, 

gradually rain  stops, till you reach home,

you become strong and steady,

wondering what a  day it is.

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similie

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simile

in my school days

no learning about similie

but  during college  course

where literature  was my chosen

 field  for the degree, some exposure

to simile and metaphor and  image;

yet to perfect , to have  a grip 

into these, embellishments 

for the learning, deep insight

into the field of poetry;

self taught with insightful 

learning was my  avocation.

Right from Shakespeare,

through the age of Milton,

Arnold, down to Victorian

and modern, poems captured

our moods and a must in class

to learn deep into more and more.

images and simile and metaphor

to explain and expand -

the question hour  everywhere-

whether vertical or horizonal lines,

i am yet to have a grip of these 

decorative, linguistic aids

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spring

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5/11/25

spring

in the  thriving bloom of spring

treading upon primrose -

  when the grip of  youthful jollity 

arrested her like thorns in rose-

 like of wisdom blinded her like stone,

from somewhere  good saying ,

echoed -be wary for  the life

we are blessed is rare and precious,

hence not be in hurry, 

every move you step into 

a reordation in His page;

beware,beware , echo from somewhere

striking  her chords again and again.

leaves

 

leaves - November

i hear still the rustle of leaves,

leaves crumbled  away from their 

rightful mother trees,

 branches  now barren  devoid of foliage

 emptied by the crude autumn's show;

deadly calm grips the earth, dreadful quiet

reflecting moon and stars.

 Not far away , gunshots fire brimming 

everywhere, man's  unquelled anger,

wrestle with uncompromising ego,

is it thirst for land, or blood for blood

beyond our solve, firey  gunshot boom in the air;

but the "gilt leaves fall ,like innocent ,helpless

groping around; only  earthern floor is their refuge.

Air struggles with chaotic bombs and guns 

will they pray for an end?

long winter nights

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long winter nights

18/11/25

In the long winter nights,

chill winds and fluttering 

window panes,sounds of thunder

from afar, in-between lightening 

amidst your sleep - 

moving up and down

warmth of woolen clothes

keep you in comfort's hug:

no love songs, no  humming 

no tunes in night's chill care;

Now this body awakened by a call

for a new poem or  a sequence of 

verses, a plot of short story well-knit,

draw your note book of quick  rhymes,

sip of coffee to inspire your melody more;

forgetting all saddening moments,

conspiracies and plots still around,

wondering how long, how much this soul

can sustain? notes go on , sweet shortening

nights, for  a dawn of new awakening.

---------------------------------

moon

 29/11/25

moon

can i draw  your  waning and waxing 

in my notebook?  my  shivering hands ,

adorn still every corner and page,

 i miss you now, in my old age,

my windows closed, my eyes losing power

day by day,  once upon a time, my  bright star;

 how can i not remember r my youth 

when in competitions and meetings

till summer evenings, summer setting

aided by cool moon, my  aide and solace:

where do you go in hiding in such a vast sky

in winter's broad chill and spread?

 lovers and park, spring and summer

welcome you in their delight ul morn,

you be by my side, every moment's 

inspiration , navigation to distant shores.

come  moon , all the time, for my sake

for house is  dull devoid of your  gleam.

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R

Rich or poor,saint and sinner

 

Rich or Poor, or Saint and Sinner

Rich and affluent commute by  expensive car

the poor  by walk for miles   far and far,

the poor near signals  stand for alms,

rich throws a coin unwilling with looks  cold

poor accepts swalloing his fate  and times;

rich has a  kitchen modern well equipped

poor bakes his stale food  his  charcoals'  custom

micro oven rich man's  must ,on and on 

the poor washes his limited  vessels  in  angst,

 sticky  smell and decayed parts swell all around;

child of the poor sleeps in  cradle improvised sari,

 rich man's  offspring  sleeps comfort of lullaby,

rich enjoys t shirts  from mall  and show rooms

while  the poor, his child in ragged craves   for patches  good.

more often than not, poor bare foot and body exposed;

But now, the times are changing, for  times  anew;

 no difference between the rich and poor,

for aids,  loans rescue all where freedom enjoins

  pretension and caution rule the have not

rich  has a tag of show and  showy not.

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writing is my blood

 

09/12/25

It is true, i write, 

writing is in my blood, 

came along with my birth;

I cannot resist this wandering  Muse,

this pen , now my keyboard, this flow

even in sleep; the currents of brain

night and day, like  a stone in still waters

circle and  move for thoughts and records

unprecedented in time's bed;

whether rthyming or couplets or freeverse

all spontaneous overflow - a pain or sorrow,

a mood or  cavalcade, feast  or function- all their 

turns in  times' notes; it is not a  weakness,

it is a celestial joy by Heaven's mercy and Boon.

i go on, till my last breath, be it winter or summer,

 I will flow.

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Winter walk

 WINTER WALK

16/12/25

Much agains my elders'  good counsel,

in the cold winter i ventured for a walk,

that was the age and spirit of adventure.

you can imagine the winter snow, icy slopes,

barren trees  wet as if shedding tears for their 

foliage shed away from them,times' cruelty:

Throughout the path, cut prints  of unseen birds,

some rose petals mystic vision  to my eyes then.

There i sensed him, partly human and partly godlike

may be  a tree  another version of  distortion;

after some notes by   " frosted brooks".

Cold winter has many forms, transforming all

both  human and non human , frost and fog 

hand in hand ,stubborn in their  stay.

i left home alone, now coming back alone

only with dreams  unfulfilled , a voyage 

of wonder and  strange discovery.

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Down on the canal on Christmas day

 23/12/25

down on the canal on Christmas Day

Near the end of December,

cold slowly thawing all ,in its own way,

the dawn of Christmas  approaching fast,

carols and cakes galore all around-

me in  a mood of renunciation ,

chanting mantra of see the good in life

for better future;  i could see  a man in attire full

silken  adding a warmth of smile, 

methinks it is a wrong approach- 

light in all aspects-grief singing its own choir 

i could perceive  he is beyond all norms-

go fast to the lake, guided by my instincts-

see my ancestors in the  cawing crows

pay my respects, back home for my writes,

the  day ends.

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The man in the wind Jan 26

 december 30

 The man in the wind 

 is not the guard in uniform white,

  round  on his parole , 

 the man in the wind is not the police 

 his duty in turns , night watchman,

nor the man locking the mega shop,

the man in the wind   with  a watchful eye

on the visitors in Mall ;

Far off, ruffled by the windpower

driving by car, he questions himself

and reads his own mind,

meandering where, leading where. 

Tuned all the shutters of wind 

blowing fast endless rhythm of own,

wind blowing in all corners,

 collecting all garbage piles ,

the stink on air dipped by showers mild

when end comes no one knows.

The man in car returns ,after slow drive

  drowning  his own fear until reaches home

only prayers his sage by his side.

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 Renegade January 26 

As the new year begins, awareness dawns,

introspection constant questioning deep myself,

youth in its gay spirits,wandering aimless,

all responsibilities lying low, where is my land,

my kith and kin, my mother and father,

their guidance no more wanted, 

all by myself into my own philosophy,

time  running beyond time, all that is over.

Look at the woman with bread crumbs,

child in her sari's cradle improvised for alms,

wage earner's battle with his family and boss;

i am blessed, i forgot till now; no  mean crave,

no more looks, no more secret annoying, 

no wanting, only remedy is my memory ,

inward and silent teaching a  remedy for all the past;

let the past  a sieve memory , let the winter its cold-

all be gone for better days anew.

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What are dreams....

 dreams  January 13

What are dreams

In my lonely cottage,

winter's chill still by your side,

inward thought arises,often 

going on undisturbed,

until i wake up for a cup of hot tea;

if there were dreams to sell,

what would i do?

dreams come often with a shade

of panic or forewarning,

or like a siren, dead of night;

at times, dreams are roses

or jasmines, sacred with fragrance

a hope and will to permeate;

i would ask for life

without pain or penury,

life of love, charity, genorosity,

above all , endurance life's 

gifted call stay permanent ;

Let my dream come true

only for good , for the sake of humanity;

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Iam a troubled heart January 2026

 january 

Hamlets mother ....

I am a  troubled heart...

I am a troubled heart,

my whole life has been 

marooned  ship , nothing 

but agiations, brewing from  afar;

at such times, i am taught to be strong

surrender  to the will of Almighty,

all knowing and all seeing.

Patience is the rod helped me

steering through in troubled waters;

Art  and Life  and  Books and literature-

all see the troubled hearts, where do 

they come from and what is the threrapy?

Intropection and rumination - twin routes 

guide me through - still the way is not clear;

Days roll on fast, time testing every move,

but answer lies in Hope and Faith,

i am sure, these two will not belie -

monsters will not trouble us any longer 

with their troubled hearts.

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Piece of advice Jan 27 th

 

 Piece of advice

come, my dear friend,spend some time

for a piece of good counsel from your sincere

life long  a well wisher and saviour in good earnest,

come sit for a while, here for none can overhear ;

Life is not that easy, for its precious moments

to share for better purposes and doings,

life bestowed by Him for a rare cawing,

from heaven ,waste not  a moment;

nor spend in the company of vile 

who plunder your talents and treasure

for a remote mean thrill which is not

for lasting ; you sit calm and think a while;

run not after her charms, not her vanishing beauty,

rivers and running brooks, birds in the azure sky,

the full moon and brightest star and radiant sun,

carrry their own weight of lessons and beauty

enshrined in lines of poets and seers,

go , seek them for a better morrow,

shun the devil in you, possessing you,

for Life's a rare gift by Him the Creator;

Neglect not this friend's timely counsel,

for  you have a long way to go!

 

Time's doings Radhamani sarma

  Time's doings

Adjusting my pillow cover

Viewed  my surroundings,

my sofa and entrance

with a strange look;

curiosity enters now

for I  entered the house

after a long gap;

when I was with mother,

a togetherness strange

struck both of us;

partial imagination,

 partial real;

I loved the house

in the shape of a cake,

which imitated my mother’s

art and handicraft;

anything past like that

of Charles Lamb,

clock ticks mechanically

doing its duty;

we  all do our  doings

in a  mechanical way;

Time is a   big chasm

Carving our future,

We have to wait

For  a  turn

 

 

 

A rumination, now JANUARY 2024 POEM BY Radhamani sarma

 

A rumination

 

A nonagenarian, me,

Sitting in my village hut now,

recalls the  small home;

not merely four walls,

but heavenly full of love

and every moment, of mutual

share and smile .

occasional bickering

ended in mutual compromise.

upbringing was such

my grandmother starting

her day with epic and puranic tales.

Ingrained the necessity of  give and take;

Generations of children reared,

treaded the path of dharmic codes.

Whom does the age spare;

With the passage of time,

dwindled the strength

and home became a  space empty;

I am the loner, sitting

and counting my days;

home is missing, lost

only in next birth,

hope to see again the past home,

quite optimistic  and optimism

only my tonic now.

 

 

 

 

The way my being Radhamani sarma

 

 

The way my being…

 

My interesting, day, noon – all

merge with traffic, flow and immense;

you plan one thing, land up elsewhere;

expectations are high, but results lead nowhere;

 

I come across, my interactions are variegated

Doctors, lawyers, conversationalists,

Clerks and woman office goers,

Some giving me a helping hand.

 

In a  high pitch some body calls,

Pitcher some, intend to travel

Far off place and enjoy as if in  party.

The world is a  vast theatre,

 

View many actors on different stages,

Come across many stories and plots,

Many a  hidden villain behind the stage,

All going for a long time beyond time.

 

 

I get stranded where I am

My avowed plan , to move on

For the time being nullified,

World is a  stage certain.

 

 

 

 

Poem of the week: The Jailbird by Maurice Riordan The puruit of philosophy radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: The Jailbird by Maurice Riordan

 

  In pursuit of a philosophy:

  Often a  persistent feeling rouses in me

  An awareness, of something new, strange,

  unusual, requires my visits, my scrutiny,

   Break from routine, from shell;

  but from sometime, it was in isolate ward,

  within the corner of my heart, soul’s room,

  in its own ward, overcoming all temptations,

 at times, yields no doubt some small tempts, harmless,

  yet, an awareness taps it, for  the soul to break

 away, from the   little  show, to higher realm;

 now is the time to rise skywards,

 soar higher in pursuit of  a philosophy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

poem of the week, " just a musing" Radhamani sarma

 

 

poem of the week: 1963 by Meg  Cox

 

 

Just  a musing ….

 

 Walls with colored   tapestry,

 Curtains cute  and   quite a few drawings,

Soft with a smell invitatory for devoted

to the house from morn  till evening,

I was just sewing with a keen watch

Over  television news, amidst jostling

music and  intermediate silence;

 

sparrows  and crows

twitter about my window,

 a smooth voyage for my mood,

but sudden shift from here

leads  me where, where, I know not;

my mind rests a while,

I know not how long;

 

 

 Many a  happening through

My window, it is getting dark,

In the slow darkening hour,

Getting back home, inside,

My mind comfortable with a  lamp;

Always pray for the best,

Pray  until,  your prayers are heeded.

 

 

A stay of long endurance Radhamani sarma

 

 

A stay of long endurance

 

A new shift, new abode,

sudden with a wakeful coin

and apparel, the child, cute

and tender with a blissful smile,

kicking its tender, sponge legs;

autumnal child craving for spring bloom,

it is  a silent shift for a  salient abode,

from a tree hardbound to a feather bed,

the child unawares of new shift,

happily rolling into its world

of dream and sleep in turns.

Shift is a miracle envisaged

Shaped for a    future of bliss.

its stay in new arms,

the bright lamp and glitter,

all for a  stay of long endurance.