I am

I am I am what Iam and what is expected of me, I cannot be what I am not, I can see everything unseen, I can fly and view on the winged wings viewless, for those with unflinching loyalty and unquestioning faith I am the life-safer and life boat, Why, I am the life extended in my devotees’ being. The unreasonable, unthinking remorseless, attributes sex and Shape to me, Ariel windy, fire and water uncontrollable and the cheap get crestfallen to get stored in the slot of sinners tainted with stigma, Benign and Blessed are those who crave for my Graced Love with everlasting devotion.

It was a sleepless night

It was a sleepless night It was a memorable sleepless night indeed, Not with those of eyes of searching looks, not craving for the embalmed love of bygone days, nor for those embraces of missed romance, but many a nights’ similar plights of lost love, truth cupped into twisted tales, tears wetting those cheeks, those tears were not from mere eyes, but from the heart’s softest corner, love lost long, long ago, even displaced by diabolic dehumanized ones crept to shake the roof, A recollection of a sordid episode of a child Crying and battling with life, a severe bronchitis Somewhere a call from the God of Death, The child is heaving a sigh of relief from those dissatisfied devils, backdoor intruders for lifelong gain, you were only a mute witness to the drama of assertive argument and sin sickening pell-mell. It was a sleepless night when I had the feel of the dead innocent child embodied into my being asking for justice and it was the sleepless night that a call from the Above whispered ‘endure, endure, and endure.’

The unguaded street

The unguarded street These morning strolls in the main street, at the dawn, the rays of the sunbeams as if the seer through the magic wand measures the future of the curious, dispel the darkness with the zoom of the lorry laden with the vegetables from the garden of the village, to the fair, the serenity of the atmosphere paves the mood for the writer and the artist, the singer who hums the tune, the street is not guarded for no cops till nine when the traffic increases and the polluted, wind- laden dust raises mounds of misty clouts to blind the innocent passerby. Now the street is amply unguarded, for the swarm of flies from the litterbin buzz around to prove their agility, now the street is typically unguarded, for the roadside maker of dish and fast-food counts the snippets to be plundered by the seasoned hungry.

The Bed

The Bed When a severe backache pokes me like a pointed dagger which the smooth floor, wherein I lie resists, I take recourse to a bed, where my partner, my hardbound dictionary weighing heavy befriends my pillow, the ill improvised bed is more conspicuous by the absence of the master through out, the cover is besmeared by the ink marks, no flowers, no aroma, no incense, creativity, my Goddess, awaits me in belated hours, the quill flows on: This pain mocks at the quill for the intermittent distraction, tonight I am off with my master, the door is barred, lights are not off. Lights are not off, for the devil not far off, defeated, turns off.

Why? why? why?

Why? Why to probe into the ‘whyness’ of Select things you are eager to know, when you yourself do not know why is it you are doing so, The answer is that your why is followed by many ‘whys’ it is like seeing the origin of the name of God, who is the first inventor? Why probe into the question Who created God? Aren’t you aware that you are belied by your own eyes? Why do you probe why the woman only is gifted to carry the child and not the man, why? Why? why? Why is that that a child is born not of one single entity, but of union of man and woman, be it regal wedding, marriage legalized, or accidental Collocation or total surrender? why the sun rises in the East, that sets in the West, the ‘why’ of many things is not your concern, oh! Man, beware.

Every drop of blood--

Every drop of blood --- With every drop of blood shed, be it from the black or white skin, or red Indian or mixed race, what is spilt is not the vegetation consumed by or the animal flesh raw or cooked, pounded or fried fish or chicken assimilated into colored essence or what we call blood, with every drop of blood shed is the milk of mother’s cared affection, flowing into thews and sinews carrying the ancestral heritage.

Nothing is more gruesome than---

Nothing is more gruesome Nothing is more gruesome than to get the message try and try, to make your life insipid, nothing is more appalling, than to be powerless before the stark villainy masquerading that overpowers the reason, nothing is more horrendous than to see the truth hidden and allowing things to happen, nothing is more torturing than to be a slave in your own roof, the concubine of your husband reigning like a queen, nothing is more painful than to have the belated revelation that you were beguiled in the past, for ulterior motives, After all nothing is more sinful That God and God sent is the butt of ridicule and victim of man’s treason and treachery.

Walking in the rain---

Walking in the rain….. As I was walking in the rain, holding the umbrella with one hand, umbrella tilting and twitching, When the other hand a bunch of books, my treasure, my livelihood and my bread bereft of which my existence would have become a meager no better treatment than an ant, I feel the sprinkles of rain water on my face as if to rejuvenate my spirits lost and forlorn, taking me to the days of English summer, a lily by the pond, nods as if to preach the nuances of life, like the belching cow should you look back in anger the harsh realities around you, just as you trample upon the decayed leaves and peel of oranges and tomatoes thrown, tightening the grip of books, lest they should become one with them, I climb up, up the staircase, back to my study, back to my reading room.