Saturday, February 27, 2010

An archaeological thrill!

An archaeological thrill!

It is not Samson’s secret of strength,
It is neither Delaliha’s betrayal,
It is my living in the hundred year old
building, a luminous addiction grown
into a deep-rooted passion.
Every plank and panel ,
aach mud lump and sand dune
Is a vital resonance of the
Deep rooted past, with ancient history
revitalising .I smell its aura permeating.
Whetted by a saying strengthened
by generations of dwellers ,there
Is a possible treasure buried in the garden,
A copper pot of coins,
My angst of desire propels me
to dig , dig , delve in the garden,
round stones, roots, mud slumps,
dried leaves, anthills, molten sheets,
ribbons, broken combs,
I imagine dead bones of new born
Of miscarriage s,
I foray into my grand mother’s
Story times with sad details,
It is a thrill of a thread unbroken
A treasure I see while wiping sweat.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

In every drop of blood -----

In every drop of blood shed,
there is the milk of mother’s
Kindness , gruelling care .
Every drop of red blood
that runs on the violable mound
or platform has the excess ,
alcoholic addiction ,
the glassy seductive vial’s
sardonic contribution,
every drop of blood on
the battlefield for justice,
runs with sacrifice unasked
at times unsung, unhonoured,
each drop of blood
with handcuffs and fists exchange
blows and words the mounting
meaningless gruesome warfare,
where egoism has it kernel
has pride anger and unreason shed,
shed in profuse in coloured red.
In religious crusade every drop of blood,
I see sacrifice, sacramental
Vow, devotion, strengthened,
When humans become irrevocably
mundane , every drop of blood

shed is sex exploited and expunged.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Better to be a wall and ----

Better to be a wall and .......


Stroke of Midnight, clock strikes,
But the wall is motionless, silent,
Dead as a stone,
It is better to be a wall,
brick and mortar and lime stone,
no feelings, panic and jittery moment,
no Arthurian legend, no Herculean strength,
no tears, no sentiments, no sanctity,
absolutely no sense of defeatism,
even grass bends ,glows, dewdrops glitter,
life infusing therapy, divine Melody emanates,
wall, the dividing wall is stubborn ,
better to be a wall.

Friday, February 12, 2010

When Memory takes you too far.

When Memory takes you too far---

You relax under the Banyan tree,
Lighthouse for the ageless hamlet
Perceptible landmark for the searching,
Habitants gone, only roofings remain.

The Banyan sprouting far and wide,
marvellous emblem for lasting days,
Sturdy roots, yet not uprooting
The Byzantine agents of green recollections.

Blowing wind opens up pages
the voluminous hard work in my hand,
bookmarks fritter and fly ,
chapters rehearse facts of the present:

Echoes in the local temple where
Devout Sage on the podium preaches,
grab not, crave not other’s possessions,
amply Citing sterling worth from scriptures,

amidst countless vultures and foxes
who read in –between lines ,messages,
steering in the front, stabbing at the back,
the influx criss-cross temple precincts, chapter closes.

It is easy to forget, it is hard to erase
Memory ,anecdotes of childhood days,
Yesteryears and angst tracing you,
Living knit unto memory perpetuates.

You chase after those crows
Feline cats that sat in the backyard:
How your grandmother fed them!
Old tiled roof under which many

generations have augmented ,
swing you enjoyed swings in your memory
green , you relax under the old banyan,
How Memory takes you too far!



Sunday, February 07, 2010

Trappings of Fear

Trappings of Fear

It is past midnight,
Eerie silence is thwarted by the
tap on the key board,
seconds ago, minutes ago,
My involuntary eyes observe
two needles join the mumber,
when half of humanity
immersed in silence , when the
other half silently active, seductive,
knock! Knock! knock!
I feel a knock on the door,
In reality it is vibrating echo from within,
The gyrating rhythm in my heart’s core
falsifies the established heresy,
how can there be a nocturnal visitor,
when round the clock there is a
guardian angel , keeping vigil of
your hearth, your dwelling,
The uncouth even traps the unseen
In the debris , of quagmire of dirty politics,
I am bugged only by this fear,
that they all have to pay the price dear.

Saturday, February 06, 2010

You too live in illuison

Ye! Rosebuds in my well groomed garden,
Hyacinth and jasmine of aroma,
among twitter and chat of parrots ,
you dance and serenade,
whispering breeze gently glide upon you.

Some intruders by means stealth;
God has knit in his well ordered cosmic
mansion , ye to flourish and prosper,
but you live in ignorance
not aware that you are going


short of time , you are plucked ,
dethroned, endurance blighted
for ulterior motives,
man’s unknotting obduracy persists.
God’s knitting goes on,
there the gardener’s pail too.

Thursday, February 04, 2010

On the bed again

I am on the bed again,
Not on the cosy bed of Roses,
but an improvised one
on the dovetailed tiled floor,
roll on on the floor of matted thoughts,
ruminate if the slick body
in the fictitious figure in the novel
in your glossy hand is
commanding and prurient
or delving and demanding.
Compact disc player by the side is
Whining , at times seductive,
You ponder if the SOUL unseen,
Yet seeing everything around you,
Hidden , silent and angry craves
for liberation ,waiting for the
final call from The Above:
this silent voice becomes more obdurate,
but this boorish tent on the skin clings.

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

What I see in them!

Those pictures meticulously transfixed
to the wall ,long drawn images ,
The Buddha, a Christ, a warrior,
The saviour , a sage, a monk
in them a sacrifice , lait motif for
a willed abandonment of self comforts;
But what I see in her ,
A visible protraction of frog’s eyes,
Greed as a vulcanization, long drained
Passion of envy devouring the other;
Croaking all the while,
For decades this corrugation develops,
You are a passive onlooker.
Hens chuckle in the yard.